This was something I wrote many years ago, a little edited to sort out the details but otherwise, just as I found it. On a very old blog I thought had been lost in the ether. It was a post a thoroughly enjoyed writing and reading it again has made me smile. So I thought I would share it with you:
Limb from Limb
Sex is a strange thing. And not just the action that makes your wobbly bits wobble, your body strain, your hands clench and generally makes men pull the most amusing faces… I mean the build up, the event itself, the whole experience and all its surroundings.
You usually start with a kiss. Now I’m not knocking kissing, it’s a wonderful thing when your lips brush together and you feel the gentle, moist warmth of another person’s tongue tentatively stroking your own as you lean into it and run the tips of your fingers down his back whilst he pulls you closer and strokes his fingers through your… Nope definitely not knocking kissing. But that’s in theory; it’s not always exactly how it goes, is it?
From the gentle, somewhat tentative start, to the mashed together biting, grasping finish, the first kiss sets the mood for the sex or has the power to stop progress before it has really begun. The first kiss shared with someone is one that can never be recreated no matter how similar the circumstances because once the initial mystery has gone, it can never be restored. In the beginning the unknown is waiting out there, a tense breath from discovery, a moment from unexplained compatibility or seconds from total Platonism.
And it is shortly after this that it becomes necessary to remove the clothing. Whether it is a slow seductive strip tease, or a rushed ripping removal of the other person’s clothing, there is always something to disrupt the proceedings. A button stuck in the hair, a jumper that snags on the nose, a bra (need I say more?) but the most likely criminal out of all of these is the socks.
Whether you leave them until last to avoid the difficulties they cause, or try to surreptitiously whip them off before it’s all begun, socks are never a good item of clothing to have to remove. You have the awkward wobble as you try to balance on one foot, or the moment of horror during your carefully planned strip tease in which you realise that you’re swaying and undulating in your most seductive fashion in your brand new, sleek and silky matching underwear, running your hands over your body and tilting your head back, with your eyes half close, your mouth partly open, tongue moistening lips… And a pair of slightly damp and sweaty trainer socks, usually the ones with a hole in the toe. Sensuality set, you move on to the next stage
Foreplay is exactly what it sounds like; a game. A little teasing, tickling and tantalising in the build up to the main performance and it’s more often than not swept under the carpet in a rush to get to the feature event!
This is followed by a fumbling mass of limbs writhing in an attempt to gain control of a situation designed to make you totally out of control. The increased heart rate, elevated breathing, flushed skin, widened pupils and inability to form coherent thought during this time show the lack of control your body had over its own usually autonomic response. I believe this is part of the reason people crave sex; the fact that you can be so vulnerable with someone else and yet hold so much power all in the same instant. Or it could be that whole making babies crap…
After all the excitement is over and you settle down to bask in the glow (or in some cases glower at the bastard), there’s often a sense of stillness that wasn’t there before. The intangible tension and electricity has dissipated in a cloud of sexual energy and now the world seems that much calmer and reality insinuates itself quietly into the background once again. Or, as happens in many more cases, reality reasserts itself with a thump and you run around the room trying to get dressed in the correct bundle of clothes and find the bloody socks that caused all the hassle in the first place, while putting your t-shirt on inside out and trying to tame the bird’s nest you have somehow created in your hair in the last 15 minutes using nothing but a pillow and enthusiasm, before you need to run out of the door on the way to work/lectures/meet their parents.
Sex is a strange thing that humans have made into a sport more than anything else. First you pick your partner (s) and then you chose your position, location, condition, arrangement and audience to suit your needs. In order to even find a suitable partner they must first conform to a set idea you have about how your partner should aesthetically appear. If we’re going to be brutally honest here, there’s only two parts you need for sex; everything else is just bonus material! Sizes, shapes, colours all make a difference in people’s perceptions and these can determine who is the next person you want to have as your children’s parents or just the next person you jump into bed with.
At the end of it all sex is our future. Without it we would die out and then who would be left to pass on our secrets, treasures and findings. But on the other hand, if we were purely supposed to have sex for procreation, then maybe whoever designed it shouldn’t have made it quite so addictive.