It’s September now, and that means cooler weather, which means…
MORE SEX.
It’s true. Proven. Statistically proven. More babies are born between June and October than any other period in the year. The only time the stats have differed was after WWII when all the troops came home after VE Day and VJ Day and started impregnating their wives and girlfriends.
It’s actually tradition. Seriously. Go back far enough, all the way back to the Mayflower, and you’ll see it. Women tend to get knocked up in the winter. Backinnaday you’d be sitting around in your cabin, basically sealed inside because of cold and snow, you’re trying to keep the fire warm and trying to keep yourself warm, you don’t really have anything to do… so fuggit, let’s get bizzay. Plus, like I said, you’re trying to keep warm, you snuggle up close, you lock eyes (or her ass nuzzles up to you JUUUUUUUST RIIIIIIIGHT…) and that interior Barry White starts playing “Let’s get it oooonnnn…”
There’s nothing wrong with it. I’m all for it. In fact, I’m all for it all year round. Who isn’t? Who wouldn’t? I mean, c’mon let’s face it, there’s excuses and reasons all year ‘round. In the winter you’re cold and trying to get warm, so let’s create a little friction. In the spring the sun and warmth comes back and all the flowers are blooming and all the animals are getting it on, so why don’t we enjoy all this beauty and make some beauty ourselves? In the summer it’s hot, people are wearing less clothing and DAMN you look smoking in the bathing suit/sheer light blouse/short skirt/nothing at all, so let’s turn up the AC and turn up the heat. In the fall all the leaves are falling and it looks so pretty and it’s starting to cool down so let’s make something out of this mattress made of foliage.
We’re sexual beings, folks. It’s plain and simple. What is the meaning of life? TO MAKE MORE LIFE. That’s why the urges are so powerful, that’s why it’s everywhere we look, that’s why, despite all the protests and all the condemnation and every person in the world denying they use it pornography is the number-one recession-proof industry out there. It’s why Playboy has been around almost 60 years. We live to procreate… or at least practice. Lots and lots of practice. I’d say practice makes perfect, but we’ve all known someone who needs just a liiiiiiiiiiittle more practice. And training. And maybe a neon sign telling them what to do and where to go. The point is, we like it, in one way or another.
This is why you have fetishes. I like boobs. I REALLY like boobs. My girl E likes legs. Mine are like tree trunks, so she LOOOOOOOVES my legs. Some folks are into butts. Some are into hands. Some are into feet and shoes, one fetish I don’t understand AT ALL. But then again, some folks have trouble understanding other’s likes and dislikes. My former boss was an assman, and we had a discussion once about his thing for butts and mine for boobs. “You can’t do anything with those,” he once told me. “Then you lack imagination,” I responded.
A human being can find a sexual turn-on in just about ANYTHING. The comedian Alex Reymundo compared masturbation between men and women: women will plan a masturbation session, make it an event, they’ll get a bottle of wine, light some candles, slip into a nice warm bubble bath and bring themselves to ecstacy. Men will get turned on just knowing they’re going to get themselves off later. Fairly accurate, honestly. A woman will need something about a guy to get turned on: a tight shirt, pants clinging to his hamstrings and buttocks just right, the glint of a streetlight in his eyes as he smiles… a guy just needs a girl to bend over picking up a dropped paperclip and he’s ready to go. Hell, I knew a guy in college who would see a mannequin at the Gallery Mall and have to excuse himself to the bathroom.
And it’s FUNNY. Sex Is funny. Don’t deny it. Something happens occasionally and you laugh, you laugh because it happened during this act that is so passionate and all-consuming. If you’re into it enough, people can fuck through the Apocalypse. But think about it: the bed squeaks a certain way, or you make a certain noise, or you fart, or something. How many times have you laughed during sex, then just dug down and got right back into it? How many times has something happened in a love scene on TV or in a movie and you just fall out of your chair laughing, because you’re thinking “I’m SO glad that wasn’t me?” or “Can you imagine?” It’s entertaining, it’s entertainment, which brings us right back to where we started.
The religious zealots can say whatever they want, that the pleasure and entertainment value of coitus is a Test By The Devil to overcome our more primal selves, show that we are more evolved and of a higher intellect than the rest of the animal kingdom.
Don’t kid yourself. We’re not.
Robin Williams said it best: God gave us two heads, but only enough blood to run one at a time.
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