some thoughts about sex life of two

Some Thoughts On Sex

Men, this is for you. Not that I represent all women out there, couldn’t be so audacious to say that, but I am sure there are some like me. They would agree with me when I say that you learn to have sex all your life.

Did you yawn?

Let me rephrase that. What I mean to say is that, with the right person, sex keeps getting better. How far can it go? I don’t know, I am yet to discover, but here’s an educated guess. Well, ideally up to the point that orgasm is borderline nirvan-esque?! May all Buddhists forgive me for using Nirvana in such a mundane way, but, really, how much better can amazing or fantastic get?

Here’s a story you might identify with. How do I put this so I won’t get too embarrassed?!

There are two types of sex.

(I will stick to this word, instead of the romanticized “lovemaking” or the inhumane “fucking”. I am a scientist after all. Was, anyway. So I stick to equidistant labeling. Sex is sex in all galaxies.)

There is rub-it-till-it’s-raw-and-take-me-there sex and there is push-the-right-button-and-take-me-there sex. Don’t get me wrong, both can please. Both end up in the same place where time is frozen, colors are brighter, your ex has developed hair on his back, nose, and earlobes while you are Angelina Jolie.

But it’s all about the journey, my friend.

While the first type of sex makes you simply lose weight (up to 200 kcal per … ahem … shag, I’ve heard) because of all the spazzing muscles, the second type floods your brain with oxytocin and endorphins. These hormones help managing pain, maybe this is why feeling invincible can be a … side-effect. Warning: Do not make life decisions when feeling like that. It’s all lies!

The aerobic sex is a constant.

And this constant depends on the chemistry between two people. Boy, it can’t get geekier than this, huh? If there is no chemistry, this constant is zero. If the chemistry is, let’s say, through the roof, this constant is pretty darn large. You usually know from the very beginning just about how large.

The magic sex (I believe I have used this term before), however, starts off really slow.

There might be clumsy kissing, there might be head bumping while trying to undress, or awkward positions resulting from the need to impress. All in all, a feeling of idiocy or embarrassment are not completely out of the question. But for whatever reason, you hang on to his smile, or his voice or to whatever little obsession that weakens your knees. You see each other again, maybe not as motivated, but with a distinct feeling you should do this again. Sex that is. And you do. You can’t really put your finger on why, but it’s better. Not perfect, but better. And that keeps you going. Soon you realize you struck gold and you do it just for the sake of it. How much better can it get? Sex that is. The answer? Ask the buddhas. My karma is already quite shit.

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