Afternoon Delight

I write to you from a place of blissful calm, dear blogosphere. Some pickled ginger crunching juicily between my teeth, spicy tuna and a few tempura prawns swimming lazily in my stomach... and a brain full of even jucier, spicier (not lazier) sex flashbacks. Yum.

Do it in the afternoon, people. Do it before work, after class, on your break... do it anytime that will afford you ample time afterward for fresh and immediate reminiscence. Too much sex is had in the grey and fading twilight hours of the day, when everyone is spent and tired and wan, and the general sentiment is to squeeze in one last to-do before passing out. That, or in the wee drunken hours of the morning, when no one remembers anything the next day, except perhaps that they were prone to sudden uncharacteristically explicit fits of verbal enthusiasm. Or maybe it's just the roommate who shares a wall who remembers that bit.

I used to feel so guilty having sex during the day. As if I should have been doing something far more productive with my time. Penning my magnum opus, or saving pets from fires, for example. But the trick is to squeeze it in (no pun intended. Baddum bum chaa. Heh heh. Penis.) Plan your coital encounter around the rest of your day. My biggest problem with daytime sex was that it would always happen on a day when I didn't have too much else concretely going on, and post-coital cuddling would turn into napping, would turn into four hour napping, would turn into waking up confused at five in the afternoon and resigning ourselves to watching Doctor Who for the rest of the day until it was time for bed again (maybe some food ingested somewhere in there). But today, for example: I got up, had some emails to send, a few scheduling crises to navigate, ate a muffin, etc. etc., then hopped on the bus for my enormous and unweildly commute into town for the day. This took until about noon, at which point I met up with the boy, exchanged high fives, and headed for his house.


Cue three o' clock, and he headed off for a job interview and I made my leisurely way (via a house roll and some gomaee) to work, feeling most glowy and wibbly and dopey smiley-eyed indeed.

I call that a good day for sure, and not a moment wasted.

Another option for midday sex, if scheduling is really tight (heh heh. Tight.) and you like a little danger, is to do it somewhere discreetly public. The roof of the math building of your alma mater, for example. Maybe there's a window on the second floor above a conveniently sturdy table that leads to a ladder up to a part of the roof that's mostly out of view of the library windows. Perhaps. Just purely by way of example. That could be good too. If you wanted to do that.


Heh heh.