Now that all is said, let's talk sex, then great sex

Ever wondered in the depths of long nights how sex started? How men figured out, ‘Boy, if I put my thing inside her thing, wiggle my hips a little, in and out the rabbit hole, in and out the rabbit hole, it’s the most wondrous thing in the world’?
Well, I have.
I always go back to Adam and Eve (because the Biblical theory makes the most sense to me), strolling naked and blissfully unaware, in the Garden of Eden. I imagine them contemplating their anatomy, attempting to figure out what everything does, where everything goes.
Adam will say, “Hey, Eve. What do you think this little balls near my pee-thing do?”
Eve will frown, in languid thought, then say, “I don’t know. Maybe they are a temperamental embellishment, something God thought would be funny because it’s awkward-looking.”
A few days later, they eat the forbidden fruit and Adam has a shocking epiphany.
“Do you realize, Eve that my penis is structurally aligned with your vagina? I am going to stick it in you, rock it back and forth, ejaculate sticky fluids from my balls into your body, and it’s how we will make a tribe.”
And behold, we all came forth.
But despite its necessity, it’s enduring dynamism and it’s centralism in perpetuation, sex after possibly more than millions of years is still taboo. Why? Because the physical act is crude. It’s not because of its sacredness or its intimacy; it’s because sex represents all savage, unsophisticated instincts humans attempt to repress.
When you think about it, sex is awkward. Sex is unrefined. Sex is demeaning. Sex is coarse and ugly and animalistic. Sex is people rubbing frantically their genitalia, making inchoate noises, grinding in their own slimy sweat, making strange faces, swapping fluids and bacteria(So says Sheldon Cooper) and then trembling and shuddering with little grace. Sex, from the outside looking in, is simply obscene.
Don’t get me wrong: it’s also the most glorious, most intense, most cathartic bodily experience in the human repertoire, I just don’t think we do ourselves any favors by having pretensions about it. Humans have spent thousands of years learning to be polite. We created operas and constructed literature. We spun elitism to elevate us and remove us from our basal urges. See how dainty we are, how delicately we glide, how softly we speak.
But then sex. It makes us howl. It makes us gnash. It makes us lose control and modesty and inhibitions. And because we cannot be rid of it, we make it arbitrary and unmentionable. Because we cannot punish it, the way we do violence, or frown upon it the way we do indelicacy, we make it taboo.
I have been out-rightly accused of depravity simply because of how easily I can talk about sex. In fact, a friend once questioned my femininity (he is a chauvinistic b*****d I forgive because I love) because I graphically, brazenly described a sex position I was intending on trying out for measure.
I’m not saying ‘Go rabid! Do it at every corner and wear it like a scent.’ I’m saying one needn’t apologize for sexual sophistication, for liking it, for doing it like bunnies or for being inventive. I’m saying that sex gets better when we acknowledge and own the fact that we are at core, animals. Sex gets electrifying when we strip ourselves of all our civility, all our hang-ups, all our notions of correctness and humanness.
I get really frustrated and foul-mouthed reading romance novels (it’s the reason I prefer historical novels and thrillers these days). Chemistry’s been building up, glances have lingered, words became suggestive and then it’s the moment of culmination. And this is all you get in way of describing the orgasm; ‘the center of her womanhood/ the bud of her rose rippled because of his sweet tickling and she blossomed.’
I always blink, shocked. Cheated. I reread the line. I reread the entire paragraph. I blink again. Then shout to no-one, “What the hell is the center of womanhood? What is happening? Why are we talking botany? Did they just have sex or breed farm produce?”
It’s for me a very confusing, very upsetting time of the year.
One day, we are all going to die. We control little else about our lives; certainly not what we are born into, what we have to overcome or when we die. But how we f**k? How freaky, how intense or how consummate sex is; it’s all us baby. Such bliss is to be found in careless savagery, so sweethearts, let loose and let great sex.
P.s If this article’s too abrasive or shocking for you tastes, leave your email and I’ll send you the pg-13 version. And a pacifier, because ‘who’s a coy baby? You are. Yees you are!”
Kisses. Thanks for stopping by.