When it’s time to hit our hips together, some of us young and restless ones get really hot when you don’t go all the way… nude, that is. I’m not talking about leaving your top on while you fuck in the bathroom. I’m not talking about leaving those drawers around your ankles so you can get dressed and run out of the frat house as quickly as possible. What we’re talking about in this here column is a calculated attempt to leave a little something on when it’s time to get it on.

Wearing clothes during naked time, as ass-backwards as it sounds, has pulled a major switcheroo, shifting from sexual taboo to full-fledged industry over the past decades. The fact that the little pink bag from Victoria’s Secret is now just as familiar as the little blue box from Tiffany’s is the perfect example of how completely we have embraced the act of wearing a little something when our hubby is expecting nothing.

The appeal of these dainty under-things stems from the fact that it makes the woman feel particularly sexy while sending the man’s wanton desire through the roof. So you want to talk about double standards? Why don’t guys get anything like that to make us feel sexy? I mean, I look at that accountant in her little black getup, and there I sit in my Nike shorts feeling guilty. I go buy some new boxers – whatever, they’re cleaner – but they’re still no sexier than what I’ve already got. There’s the thong for boys, the dong thong – maybe that will make me feel sexy? So I strap on that bad boy and… on second thought, maybe men were never meant to be sexy at all.

But don’t just limit this thinking to the frilly, ooh-la-lingerie side of things. I know how proud you are of those boots you just bought – leave those bad boys on while you’re on a bad boy. Kick me! Dig those heels into my side! Rip my shirt! Oh, you see? Aren’t you glad I left my shirt on so you could rip it off like that? Man, this is hot stuff! Leave a skirt on like that trashy late-night cable soft-core porn. Don’t take off those glasses; I want you to see this! Leave your watch on, and stare at it blankly when I ask you if you love me.

Some strategic concealment heats things up faster than me walking into a room. I mean, think about the differences between Playboy and Hustler: Hef hides the good stuff; he’s tasteful about it. Looking at those pictures takes a little imagination, and hiding the little that they do makes us only want those women even harder. Then there’s Hustler, where you can clearly identify the lower intestinal wall of those vacuous women. Apply the positive side of this thinking to your next hookup.

Don’t just strip each other’s clothes off as soon as possible. Make ’em wait for it. Tease them with what’s coming their way. Watch them squirm with passionate anticipation, then stare blankly at your watch.

On the flip side of the same coin, leaving the clothes on without thinking about it too much can often lead to some of the hottest sex to ever stain your little mattress. Those nights are notorious, when those sultry stares on the walk home not only guarantee that sex is going to happen, but that you won’t even get the chance to lie down. Nothing is as over-stimulating as a sexy sistah who wants to start riding before you can wiggle out of those dungarees. It makes us feel desired, wanted, like a big fucking piece of meat just waiting to be conquered. Even more so than when we wear our dong thongs.

Whether you’re leaving that loin cloth on so you can get down with some serious teasing or you’re just too hot and bothered to bother with that Rubik’s Cube of a bra strap, wearing clothing during coitus isn’t being lazy – it’s fucking hot! And if I still haven’t convinced you of that fact, allow me to persuade you with one more notion: Anything you leave on is no longer fair play for those scavenging shackers who always try to snake your coolest T-shirt after they cum.

Well, now that the column’s over, what do you want to do?

Baby, you can leave your hat on.

Daily Nexus sex columnist Dave Franzese, ironically, wrote this column buck-naked.