Let’s Dry Hump…and see how things go from there.

dry hump

I find that my relationships tended to always be one-sided. Either my ex-girlfriends, any of them, would be hormonal, raging lunatics with paranoid schizophrenia and multiple personality disorders ranging from “delightful” to “get me strawberries in winter”.

Or, controversially, very good people that required I look up now and again from my phone.

Thankfully, I’ve grown up now and in the loving embrace of a partner that, a. takes delight in seeing me venture into a debris of silliness and b. encourages myself in all my cheer and melancholy to welcome her along with me.

We’re a fun bunch, especially and specifically with each other, and less importantly with other people who take heart in knowing that we will leave the room a little lighter but vexing in uninformaty. 

“What, you’ve only fought once in a year?” That’s right, yes we have.

This may take you into a mind ethic you didn’t need, but sex between us is not a chore. Not for me, at least. I was expected, even required, to perform both in the art of sex but even in it’s preparation. Foreplay, as you no doubt are aware, is not an addendum in the dating contract, but a requirement blaring at you with sirens and bells. 

And before, it was as extrenuous a duty as putting the kettle on in the morning.

But now, it’s as fun an activity to pursue as hiking. Yes, in both I’m climbing and someone’s grunting, but now you get to stay put and watching Star Trek together in the doggy-style position, a feat no human should die without trying.

And the art of dry humping is so lost today. We take it for granted because it doesn’t sound as romantic or enticing as candles in a bath and aromatherapy pulsating through the air. No, dry humping starts the show and gets the fireworks going, right before the crescendo and the throngs exit left.

I have strived to remain neutral in this world of men and women, my body slowly decompressing into a fested mush of chocolate and coffee (the two staple diets of a procrastinator), unfit to join those that think that visiting Rocque Gym is as important as using a toilet to pee. But now, instead of complying with the multitudes, I’ve found my ideal partner.

A woman that makes sense of the insular world I live in, a companion with her own subtle quirks that make me fall in love with her again, over and over. She’s a blessed angel, a perfect hegemony of form and flavour. Without her, chocolate and coffee might as well be the MTV music channel…with no music.

About the author

Nelson De Gouveia

Nelson has been writing since he can remember, and even won a diploma for public speaking, albeit 20 years ago.
He works full time, loves his girlfriend and plays Batman on his Xbox a lot, even when it's finished.

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