Wanton Hussy - Column for 9/18


Sometimes I'm just slapped upside the head with the realization that we live in a world that so desexualizes us. We restrict our sexual natures to the bedroom, to the privacy of our houses, to discreet hand-holding in public. While I'm certainly not advocating PDAs in any big way, I'm just pointing out that it's simply a bit odd that PDAs make us so uncomfortable.

Minor case in point - recently my husband came to the office to visit me. I kissed him, chastely, a quick little smooch, no tongue, no saliva exchange. The kind of kiss that you could give your grandmother. Not sexual. Yet my co-workers smirked a bit and looked away. Why? He's my HUSBAND, legally and everything, heterosexual, God-sanctioned, and it wasn't explicit. But then, I thought when was the last time I saw a couple kiss on the mall and DIDN'T look away? If they're smooching in public, I'm hardly "giving them their privacy" by not staring.

So why do we do it? I don't know. But I think it's got a lot to do with how we desexualize everyone we're not actively lusting after. Despite the fact that we are all sexual beings, we tend to pretend that we are and others are not. Why else do we get so disturbed when kids act in as sexual manner, or when the elderly do the same? We don't like to think about other people having sex. Thinking of our friends, family, and coworkers having sex makes us uncomfortable. Why is that?

So I decided I'd start making more of an effort to stop doing that. Not that I'm going to start actively lusting after all of my friends, family, and coworkers; just that I would like to make more of an effort to see them as sexual beings, people with bodies that are or could be erotically perceived. I have way less of a problem with my female friends, since I tend to think most of them are attractive on some level anyway, but I tend to purposefully not notice if my male friends are aesthetically pleasing, whether they are my type or not.

(Plus, I'm having some trouble lately with erotic character sketches, so I thought this might help.)

Names withheld to protect the easily embarrassed.

B: Coarse blond hair scattered across a sturdy, strong frame. I wonder if the freckles on his arms go all the way up his shoulders and down his chest, landmarks on a trail familiar to his wife. B's hands are rough for a man with such a high-level desk job, proof of leisure hours spent actively in the garden, repairing cars, doing outdoorsy things. What would his skin smell and taste like? I imagine like the earth, like the dregs of a thick cabernet sauvignon combined with the salt of sea air, skin always warm to the touch. B is good with his tongue.

He would be practically silent in bed, but breathy, only finally releasing deep groans as he becomes overwhelmed with pleasure. He's probably frantic at the end, as his need overwhelms his tight control. I bet when B finally lets down his guard, lets someone into his heart, he's tender and gentle and relaxes his intensity, content and at peace, until the world comes calling on his pager again. I bet he loses and breaks them accidentally on purpose rather often, trying to escape the job he thought he wanted. I bet B's kisses make his wife weak in the knees when they're alone, kids gone away, and he's had it with the university and the universe, and just wants to fuck until it all goes away in a wash of bliss.

A: If B is restrained intensity, A is sunlight formed into flesh. Energy pouring out in waves, but not exactly uncontrolled. Tempered with age; I bet in his youth he was far more exuberant. I've noticed his hands before, large and strong, and I'm sure they give great massages. I think of them kneading bread dough, confident but sensitive. Kneading flesh, sure and strong. A's eyes are penetrating, seeing what you would keep hidden, but never judging or condemning. Something about him gives off this aura of acceptance, tolerance, peace. What would it be like to have such energy directed at you in bed?

I imagine A makes love like water, like a sea god, Poseidon or Manannan. Serious and intent, but graceful, slowly building waves of pleasure followed by the inevitable crash of blissful joy after hours of build-up. Climax clean, pure, like sunlight and open air.

J: Where the other two men are tallish and blondish and Nordic-godish, J is more small and dark. Where they are focused and intense, he is scattered and distracted. But so full of energy, always going, always running, always thinking, always chattering. I bet he really likes dirty talk in bed.

In fact, I bet he has quite the kinky side, that I seem to think his partner doesn't indulge very often. I'm sure his thighs and buttocks know what the sting of leather feels like, and I'd be surprised if he doesn't fantasize about dominatrixes telling him what a naughty boy he's been. I'm sure he'd be extra naughty just for them.

Where the other two men are reserved and intense, J is all over the place, distracted; a fun romp through arousal and climax and back again until he collapses, finally spent. I see him asleep, sprawled out in wild abandon, contentment radiating from every line of muscle, thin chest lifting with each quiet snore, slight smile quirking his sleeping mouth, as he replenishes his energy and dreams of the next round.

Columns by Wanton Hussy