1. I am not afraid of sex. I am careful, I don’t fuck just anybody, but I have no illusions about it. Sex is messy, sometimes loud, awkward at first, and rarely a Britney Spears perfume commercial. Vagina’s are weird looking, and so are penises. But I like them nonetheless. And while I’m willing to bet those girls giving blow jobs on the Internet are just really good actresses, (relatively speaking of course), and aren’t really THAT attracted to his dick, (I think my most disappointing sex-moment was when, directly after I orgasmed, the guy looked at me and said, “That was it? I guess this is no porn movie.” I’m sorry, was it supposed to be? Is it ever? Who the hell have you been fucking?), I’m also willing to bet that you like one or the other enough that just thinking about it turns you on.
2. What is it with guys and the term “making love?”
Us: Sitting on the couch, in the dark, 4-5 feet from his stoned and presumably sleeping roommate.
Him: “…do you want to make love?”
Me: “…are you really attached to that term?”
Him: “It just seemed more appropriate given the situation”
The situation? You mean the unbearably romantic setting, of course: stoned roommate + studio apartment + blanket to cover us just in case = making love. It’s more exciting, sure, but warrant for love making? Not so much.
3. To be honest, I’ve never liked the term “making love,” at any point in time, with any guy. I think it sounds cheesy, and while I’ve been in relationships where I understood why people use it, I still think it falls under the category of romanticizing sex. And while sex can be amazing with the right person, I make my love in other places.