Wet n’ Wild When Things Get Dry

Sex is weird. Actually thinking about the act of sex is weird. The things we do during sex are weird. The noises that occur when we have sex are weird. Sex is weird. And that’s okay, because that’s the nature of all things sexual, and it's one of the only borderline-appropriate times to get truly freaky… so I’m all for it.

For me, sex is a singular and notoriously blissful scenario in which 'weird' evolves into an extremely flexible term, blurring whatever arbitrary 'normal' line exists between moans, sweat, twisted sheets and most likely (probably) (definitely) my own less-than-socially-acceptable bodily functions. Oh yes, it is my opinion that sex might just be the unsexiest act in a long history of unsexy acts, chief contenders including squeezing out a sponge in the sink or engaging in a Reaganomics debate with your grandfather.

In a bedroom world of hump or be humped, having someone repeatedly thrust their junk inside of you is possibly the strangest undertaking to articulate. Even writing that out made me cringe, but hey, it’s the truth. But for some inexplicable reason, within a realm well beyond my limited knowledge, it is also the best thing on the planet. Sex is sexy; the act not so much.

There exists a mutual understanding that anything weird or embarrassing that happens in the bedroom stays in the bedroom. For someone doing long distance, this sentiment is magnified; time is limited. I’ll take what I can get, no matter how weird things get, and I’ll be damned if I don’t enjoy myself. For months at a time, my sex life is relegated to long weekends and holiday breaks, during which I’ll pack as much of it as possible into my day. And while it’s wonderful to relieve the built up tension, sex once or twice a day every day consecutively is an impossibly hard (no pun intended) lifestyle to maintain, even if it’s only for a short period of time.

Most recently, two or three days into Thanksgiving break, my boyfriend and I were engaged in one such marathon, my body riddled with profound soreness but sated by the sex I'd been denied for so long. At the start, we spent a few uncomfortable minutes trying to get it in – there wasn’t enough natural lubricant, if you know what I mean. Take it from me, it’s very difficult to keep it sexy when you’re desperately trying to slip it in to a dry situation. I found myself shifting my body repeatedly to try and keep things lively; I liken my movements to those of a constipated walrus—beached and struggling.

We’d never encountered this problem before, but I attributed it to the ample amount of sex we’d been having. Perhaps I’d simply run out. Following a few more minutes of unpleasant walrus-ing, I took matters into my own hands. Flipping him on his back, I spit on my hand and starting lubing up my business that way. He stared at me above him, looking a bit grossed out. Oh shit, I thought. Maybe this was weird; maybe I was ruining the mood. This had been a completely normal thing to do in the past. My ex basically used to encourage me to slobber all over him. Okay, not that exact phrasing, but a little spit definitely wasn’t a problem.

“Maybe you should get some lube,” my boyfriend said, watching me carefully. “It might help when this kind of thing happens.”

Taking this as a “that’s-gross-but-I-love-you-anyhow” indication to go ahead, I continued with what I was doing. When he slid easily inside me, I don’t think either of us was thinking about it anymore. After finishing, I lay silently next him, still perturbed by his initial disgust. I just couldn’t shake it. Meanwhile, he didn’t appear fazed in the slightest, smirking uncontrollably with his eyes closed.

“I love you,” he breathed. “And not just because you are very, very good at that.”

Just like that, any qualms I had vanished.

There are a lot of things that are really fucking weird about sex—but who’s complaining if you get to muddle through it with the person who loves you enough to cope with it? Not I. And as for all that spit, all those kinks, and all them fetishes? Let them be. Keep an open mind. Yeah, I’m looking at you, dear boyfriend of mine.

The bottom line is that there’s no normal way to have sex, and that’s what makes it fun. Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do, ja feel? At the end of the day, we’re just animals satisfying a carnal need and if that means using spit to shine things up a bit, so be it. Bumping uglies isn't what it is in the movies. The lights aren't always dimmed, the mood music isn't always on point, and your body most certainly isn't always void of unsavory noises and smells. You don’t get to edit out the weird and keep all the sexy, they are one and the same.

With winter break fast approaching, I’ll be sure to keep things toasty. Brace yourselves, kids. El Niño is here and it's gonna be a wet one.

–Anita Bohn

Facebook Comments

Leave a Reply