There are a lot of decidedly confusing things about romance novels. For one, the astonishingly large subgenre of “inspirational romance,” geared towards religious readers and frequently (very, very frequently) involving a widower who needs a new baby-mama. See also: sheikhs, vampires, centaurs, NASCAR, and, as previously referenced, dinosaurs for other peculiar romance and erotica preoccupations. Still, one classic figure in this “literary” field that nobody would ever dare to question is that of the historical romance Highlander. Strong, rugged, masculine, and equipped with a dazzling Scottish brogue, he is possibly the most beloved archetype in the genre. However, as one 16-year-old shelver at the local library was quick to point out with nose thoroughly wrinkled, “think about how AWFUL they would have smelled.” Touché, pal. With this quick and thorough debunking of a “sexy” staple, I couldn’t help but look at all of the other theoretically arousing classics that generally bomb in practice. For example…
• Ahh, fun with food. We’ve all been exposed to the Human Sundae thanks to 17-A rated movies about teenagers and hijinks, most notably Ali Larter in a whipped-cream bikini. Be aware, using food for foreplay is a grade-A, bad fucking idea. It’s sticky and it’s gross, and you’ll end up smelling like sweat and chocolate sauce and warm milk. It will be disappointing and when you try and salvage the situation by suggesting a steamy shower, you will remember…
• Team showers are sort of the worst. In a standard, single shower-head setup, you spend the majority of the time awkwardly shuffling under the water in futile hopes that neither one of you will freeze to death. Additionally, all but the most resilient of lubricants are immediately annihilated by the water and so you can’t even have sex without risk of tearing delicate tissues. Oral? Try it. You’re liable to drown.
• I’m just going to come out and say this — 69ing is dumb. Unless you are by some miraculous coincidence of compatible proportions with your partner, you end up spending a great deal of time attempting to maneuver genital A to orifice B. Once you have achieved this feat of engineering, you realize that it is exceptionally difficult to deliver a decent performance when you’re also trying to focus on that mouth that feels very nice on your junk. Nobody wins. I have to believe that people only pretend to like this position. I just have to.
• Roleplaying can be super hot, if done correctly. The problem is that it pretty much never, ever is. It requires an equal level of commitment on the part of both performers. If one of you is all, “Ooh, teacher, I need to pass this test,” and the other starts anxiously preparing for Chris Hansen to stroll out of the closet, you’re going to have a bad time. I’m not saying it can’t work, just that it probably won’t. It’s the same reason sexting is often terrible. One person is all tenderly trailing fingers while the other just wants to talk about the places on your body he could shower his semen.
• And now, the mother of all sexy things that are not sexy. Car sex. Steamed-up windows, quaint fumbling at buttons and zippers in the back seat… it’s a lie. Think gearshift up the ass, muscle cramps, limited range of motion, and a hot, wet little box of bad smells. Next, a cop is knocking on your window and you’re suddenly reminded that you are far too old for this shit and you have a condo and a real bed frame and a full-time job. Shame ensues, and you sell your worldly possessions and join a convent. These are the consequences of car sex.
Now, I’m not saying you shouldn’t keep trying. I will never part with my misguided love of sexy showers, and you can keep lying to yourself about 69ing. No judgments here — just remember never to put sexual acts on a pedestal, because sex is fun and amazing and occasionally pretty fucking gross, and that’s alright.
By EZ BreezyAB, Alberta