Best fuck in town

“That was the best fuck in town last night.” “Yeah it was! Coming at the same time beats 99 out of 100 others right there.” That’s an exaggeration. I hope.

And I always thought the concept of “coming together” was some crappy 70s “making love” thing. Like I hate the expression “simultaneous orgasm”. I just hate it. Too long. Too many syllables. Completely clinical and unvisceral. If you have a better word let me know and I’ll start using it.

Usually I like to take turns and enjoy the hell out of both her orgasm(s) and mine. But with River the simul-thing works out really well. We can each come and enjoy the other’s come at the same time.

And she knows if she ever wants me to come in a hurry all she needs to do is fake an orgasm and and it will make me come whether I want to or not. But she says she can’t fake it.

“I’m actually glad we weren’t on the balcony last night after all. We couldn’t have done what we did out there. Brook still probably would have banged on the wall at us though.” Apparently we breathe too hard for her.

“I remember when I was her age, hearing my mom giggle and my step-dad growl. And I was partly disgusted, and partly happy for my mom. These days I’m just happy for her.”

“I worry about Brook, hearing us, and thinking sex must be pretty great. And then when she finally does it she’ll be thinking, is that all there is?”

“I don’t think she’ll have any problem having a good sex life.”

“I mean because of the guy.” I’m forgetting it might be a girl.

“Oh. Yeah. I had to go through a couple of duds. You did too, I think.”

“You mean sexual duds? Um, not really.” It took me quite a while to get a dud, and it may have been me who was the dud on that occasion. To this day she’s the only woman I’ve ever had sex with just once. Not something we wanted to do again it seems.

“I thought you said whatsername wasn’t so good.”

“Well she wasn’t very imaginative, and we had a bit of a rut (no pun intended), but at least she liked sex. And that other whatsername really liked sex.”

“I used to like sex, remember. Whatsisname was the first guy I liked sex with.”

Hmm. That’s the guy she’s described as sex being just something he did to her. And she used to credit a different whatisname as the first guy she liked sex with. But I’m not gonna go there with her.

“Yeah, you used to like sex. I remember. And sometimes you still do. Like when we have the best fuck in town.”

“Yeah.”

Why do I call it that

Why do I call it fucking? Some people think that’s not a nice word. I think it’s a very nice word. It’s what River and I do, after all. We fuck.  And it’s very nice.

What about alternatives?  We don’t “have sex”. That just sounds so much like “Hmm. I know I used to have some sex. It was around here somewhere. I wonder where it’s wandered off to?”

And we certainly don’t “make love”. Eew. That’s so 70s. A decade best forgotten. Except for Devo, the Sex Pistols, and the Ramones. And sending people to the moon. And the first microprocessor.

It’s not “making love”.  Even though there’s an extraordinary amount of love involved. The love is already there, we’re not making it. Even though we’re “making it” in another sense of the term. Or is that what “making it” really means? Fuck.

Sometimes we call it “doing it”. When we’re feeling geekish it might be “mating”. Sometimes “being affectionate”. Then there’s “screwing”, but that’s for when we’re feeling extra raunchy.

So most often we call it good ol’ straight up fucking. It’s what we do.

And I hope you do too.