Every now and then, when Mark and I settle into bed with the idea of having sex… something completely different happens. Like, in the Monty Python way. On crack.
Often, it’s when he’s anxious about things — right now, he’s getting ready to direct his first paying freelance gig — or overtired or a little loopy or I’m not entirely in it yet myself. Now and then, I see it coming. Sometimes, like last night, I don’t.
There we are, all naked or half-naked, in or around bed, we’ve got sex on the brain or as a plan, and then it’s like — POW! Boy mysteriously and immediately regresses to half his age and has this sort of spaztastic “Gadzooks! Cowabunga! AIE! It’s a naked GIRL — right next to ME!”
This reaction is generally demonstrated with what I can only describe as interpretive dance. Last night, it began with a strange sort of Robert Crumb-esque cling to my lower body and sheet-spelunking and evolved into what I could only presume was Mark’s best impression of a jellyfish: arms flailing, wiggling on the bed like a lunatic nonstop, the making of squiggly-face. Usually then, too, as was the case last night, some series of one-liners or funny face-making comes into play, and it all only gets worse the more I laugh.
(At some point too, I always feel I should check in with Mark to be sure he absolutely didn’t want to have sex, because there comes a degree of silly which, while I quite enjoy it, goes past the point of no return when it comes to my getting turned on. I usually try and ask this when either in my head or outta my lips issues the first “Oy gavalt, we’re going to go HERE.”)
These episodes always, always end in some ginormous gigglefest where neither one of us can stop laughing and breathing becomes a serious issue.
Oddly enough, it ends up serving the same purposes sex does, just via a different route: it’s pretty darn intimate to make a total arse of yourself naked in front of someone else, and to have someone else feel free enough to do that with you. If you’re all stressed out, pent up, all that laughing is one helluva release. You get your ednorphins, you get your dopamine. And quite in spite of myself, I have to admit, it’s fun as all hell and always an unexpected surprise. Sure, you have your moment where you’re all “Oh damn, that orgasm I was looking forward to so isn’t happening.” On the other hand, there’s always another day, and while it’s pretty doable to plan to have sex, it’s nigh unto impossible to plan to be an all-out naked goofball. I mean, you can’t exactly say, “Hey sugar, you wanna get silly tomorrow night?” I mean, we all have our things we can do to get in the mood to have sex, especially when we’re with a partner we know and who knows us well, but there’s a pretty specific space you have to be in and can’t make happen to be a giant freaky spaz.
That said? Um. I’d like to cash in my raincheck for that orgasm now, please.