The Reality of Sex

Attention non-18 year old, innocent readers of this blog:

Here is a baby unicorn. Please stare at that and read no further.

Okay, now that I’ve successfully thwarted the underage….

Do you know what I wish Hollywood would show?

I wish they would show the reality of sex.

I wish they would show one of those actresses with her perfect body trying to peel off her too-tight jeans before getting all jiggy with her lover.

Is there a sexy way to do this I don’t know about?

Hollywood always shows them sexily peeling off their shirt (I can do that):

Then they show them arching their backs and sliding their jeans slowly over their rear (I can do that, too)….

And then the camera cuts away to something else. When the camera pans back… voila! They are instantly depantsed and posing all sexy in their underwear.

I want to know what happens in between! How did they get their pants past their knees and completely off without looking like a moron? Did they have to do that weird one-legged hopping thing? I mean, if the pants are baggy that’s one thing, but has anyone else out there tried to be sexy when stripping out of their too-tight jeans?

You can only try to be sexy and slide them down so far before things start to go wrong.

They can get stuck around your big bum and then you have to do that side-to-side wriggle to get them off.

They can pool up around your ankles and trap you. This is always the worst.  When this happens, you really only have two options:

  1. If you are close enough to a chair/bed, then you can sit down and try to suck in your belly as you lean over to pull them off like thick, clunky, pantyhose.
  2. If there’s nowhere convenient to sit you can try to use one foot to step on the pants while pulling the other leg free. Sometimes this works.

Sometimes it doesn’t.

In fact, most of the time it doesn’t.

Even though it’s easy to do this when you’re by yourself, once someone is staring at you the pants leg INEVITABLY sticks to your foot.

Now, instead of sexily sliding your legs free and pretending you’re Salma Hayek, you’ve got an inside-out pant leg clamped tightly to your ankle. Good luck trying to be sexy while escaping from THAT prison. At this point it’s best to give up all pretense at being sexy/attractive and just do your best to free yourself.

No longer are you the romantic heroine in your own person fantasy— now you’re one of the Three Stooges.

Am I the only one that has problems with this?

Don’t even get me started on those Hollywood scenes where the two young lovers lie down fully clothed, start making out, gently tug at each other’s waistbands, AND THEN IN THE NEXT SCENE THEY’RE NAKED.

NO.

IT DOES NOT HAPPEN LIKE THAT.

HOLLYWOOD, YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED OF YOURSELF. YOU ARE SELLING LIES.

If I can’t even manage to escape from my big, baggy, plaid pajama pants without fumbling, there is NO WAY IN THE WORLD both movie stars managed to remove shoes, socks, belts, shirts, bra, tight jeans and underwear without losing their rhythm at least once.

Uh-uh.  Nope.

I’m not buying it.

Once, just ONCE, I would like to see the truth.

Guy kisses girl.

The kissing gets passionate, and pretty soon guy and girl start looking for a place to lay down for some Bow-Chicka-Wow-Wow time:

One thing leads to another, and the clothes start flying off. (Sorry, I know in the photo I chose James Bond already has his shirt off… but that’s because it’s James Bond. He’s not ever allowed to wear a shirt.)

The girl laughs as she struggles with her pants, and the button of his dress shirt gets caught on his ear as he tries to pull it off.

Things are at a fever pitch and the passion is hot.

Bow-Chicka—- SCREEEECH! (The soundtrack stops).

“Hold on. My underwear’s caught on my ankles.”

Mrs. Girl looks sheepish, but that’s the honest truth. She wasn’t wiggling because she was so into it.  Well, she was, but mostly she was just trying to free herself from her cottony ankle trap.

“Oh, sure. No problem.” Mr. Guy leans back, and does his best to pick at this remaining sock with his free toe. After all, one sock off, one sock on? That’s not sexy. But then again, his feet are kind of cold. Hmm. Dilemmas. Oh, well. No time for that! After a few moments of embarrassed wriggling, Mrs. Girl is free.

Bow-ChickaWo—- SCREEECH! (The music comes to a halt again.)

“Wait… where’s the condom? It was just right here. Crap. It’s hiding. Where is it?” Search, search, search…. Blankets are thrown back, pillows are moved around. “Huh. Well, I’ve got extras in the medicine cabinet.” They both stare at each other, willing the other to get up and go get them. Finally one of them capitulates. Anti-baby device is installed.

Bow-Chicka-Wow-Wo —- SCREEECH!

“OW! My eye! You just hit my eye with your elbow!”

“SORRY! I don’t have my glasses on! I’ve got bad depth perception without my glasses!”

“OW!”

“You’re the one that wanted to change positions!”

Bow-Chicka-Wow-Wow
! (Finally!)

And then comes the best part. Do you know what else Hollywood never shows? The awkward post Bow-Chicka-Wow-Wow moments.

You know what I’m talking about – those fun little moments after the cuddling is done but there’s still clean-up to be done?

It’s cold. Where’s my underwear? Here’s yours, where are mine? Do you want your pants? I have to pee, do you want me to get you a glass of water while I’m up? Ewww, you sleep in the wet spot. I had to last time.

These are the realities of sex, not that perfect lie sold to us by the camera panning back and forth and editing out all the weird parts. Let’s all unite, raise our fists, and holler out the truth! Sex can be kind of…well, awkward!

Oh, never mind.  That’s a terrible rallying cry, even if it’s the truth.  And the truth is… sex can be tons o’ fun (well, DUH), passionate, and a beautiful, emotionally-bonding experience… but it’s not exactly effortless. You can be the best dancer in the world, but even dancers have their off days and step on each other’s toes, or get out of breath, or they just plain can’t figure out what in the world their partner is asking them to do (“You want me to do WHAT? Are you kidding me? Do you have any idea how LATE it is?“)

And don’t EVEN get me started on the weird noises that sometimes happen. I double-DOG dare Hollywood to show some of that in one of their oh-so-perfect movies.

Somebody call Child Protection Services

The DragonMonkey tugs at my knees, whining.

“Meeeeh! MEEEhhhhhbwaaaat bwaaaaat MEEEH!” He doesn’t exactly say words yet, but the face and the tone say it all. Pick me up! Play with me! I’m bored!

Sighing, I push away from the computer desk, taking care not to trip over the Expensive Toy #37 that he never actually plays with, frowning at the explosion of torn paper, kitchen utensils and clean diapers that now coat my floor. Maybe I should just give up and buy diapers as toys? What’s the point of buying all the brightly-colored, bilingual, brain-building toys if he never actually touches them?

“Upsy-daisy!” I cry in a falsely cheerful voice as I swoop him into the air. I may be bored of playing toss-the-baby but he doesn’t need to know that.

The DragonMonkey immediately giggles.

“Upsy-daisy! Whoop! Up-Up! Arriba! Yip!” I throw him in the air time after time, smiling as his giggles turn into deep belly laughter. He could do this all day and never get tired of it.

Me? My arms are screaming at me to put him down, triceps doing their tell-tale tremble that lets me know I’ll pay for this tomorrow morning.

I try to lower him to the ground, and his good mood vanishes instantly. Laughter turns to a high-pitched squeal, and he draws his knees up to his chest, avoiding the ground.

I sigh, and lift him back up to my hip. I know I’m probably creating a whiny little brat, but it’s been a long day and I’m just too tired to deal with disciplining him at the moment.

I make a couple of faces at him, and he stares back at me blandly.

Tough crowd.

“DragonMonkey, Mama can’t toss you all day. She’s got flabby old lady arms. It hurts.”

He stares at me pointedly, lip trembling.

This is going south, fast.

On a whim I hold him close to my body and spin in a tight circle, stopping to watch his reaction.

He grins widely, then flaps his arms in excitement.

“Baaat! BWAAT!” Apparently “bwat” is toddler-ese for “Yes, mother, that was a very enjoyable experience. Please, shall we do it again? I would be ever so thankful.”

Obediently, I tuck him close to my body and spin in several circles. This time even I get a little dizzy. As soon as I stop I place him on his hands and knees to watch his reaction.

He’s grinning widely, eyes wide in wonder. I laugh out loud as I watch him swivel his head around in a vague circle as he does his best to follow the spinning room. When his own personal roller coaster stops he stands up slowly, waits to regain his balance, and then dashes to me as fast as his chubby legs will toddle him. “BWAT. BWAAAAT,” he orders imperiously, tugging at my pants again.

Ever obedient, I pick him up, tuck him in, and proceed to spin. I decide to push things a little further this time, spinning faster and longer, until I’m almost too dizzy to stand. Grinning in anticipation, I place him carefully on his hands and knees.

“MwaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAH!” He bursts into terrified tears, head spinning wildly on his scrawny neck.

Ooops. Too much. I’ve spun the baby too much.

Before I can reach down to grab him, he pushes himself into a standing position and (still howling) bolts straight into the corner of the fridge. He knocks himself so hard on his forehead that his feet fly out from underneath him and he hits the back of his head on the linoleum floor.

Oh yeah. It’s mine. Don’t even argue about this one.