Sex As Love

“Sex without love is an empty experience, but, as empty experiences go, it’s one of the best.” -Woody Allen

“I want to show you I love you…to show you that I appreciate you. I can think of few better ways than make love to you as often as possible.”

I don’t know who runs the To My Husband Tumblr, but she addresses this issue better than I do.

The best way to keep me from making love to you is to refer to the act of fucking as “making love.”

Making love is a terrible term, unless you have the ill-conceived* notion that fucking should be in the dark, facing each other, for the purposes of making a baby. I don’t see sex as an indication of love.  So I’m damn sure not making love.

I’ve had plenty of sex with people I loved and plenty of sex with people I didn’t. I’ve had great sex with people I love, great sex with people I like, and great sex with people whose names I didn’t know. Hell, I’ve had great sex with people I hated. I’ve also had terrible sex with people I love, like, don’t know, and hate. “Making a pleasurable experience for all” would be a much more apt term – when the sex is good,  anyway.

While sex is certainly a great way to show your appreciation for, say, baking your favorite cookies or finally cleaning out the attic, it’s not a great way to show someone you love them. Demonstrating love shouldn’t be an act that you could engage in with a random person from Craigslist. I can fuck just about any dude in the bar on Friday night. I want a demonstration of love to be something a little more special; getting flowers for no occasion, buying a piece of art I’d enjoy, cooking my favorite meal, or taking care of me when I’m sick. Those things mean love. Putting your penis in my vagina does not.

*Pun intended.

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