Maybe it was my early love of Sex and the City or all the raunchy books I read before I even rounded second base (sports reference? Who is she?!), but before actually *having* sex, I figured the hottest hookups were the impulsive ones. The back-me-against-a-wall-when-I-get-home-from-work-with-my-briefcase-still-in-hand type of thing. And then? Well, then I grew up and got things like a job and a car payment and an annoying chin hair that always sprouts a week before my period (while simultaneously never using a briefcase even ONCE), and I realized: Oh, wait, spontaneous sex is actually the worst.
Granted, it wasn’t always like this. In the early years of promiscuity (like, when you’d leave study hall to make out in your boyfriend’s car or skip an 8 a.m. lecture to stay in bed with your FWB), spontaneous hookups actually *did* happen, but that’s simply because that’s all there really was to do. You’d go to school. Copy someone’s homework. Clock in a few hours at whatever after-school job you had to afford Hollister polos, and then dry hump your future prom date until curfew. Youth, am I right?
But now, as an Actual Adult who is allowed to have Actual Sex (and basically urged to by every women’s mag still in circulation), the thought of randomly getting it on without so much as a minute of prep work sounds like some sort of hellish reality show Netflix would come up with. I realize my 9 p.m. bedtime is showing, but come on. When we look at the facts, I think we can alllllll agree spontaneous sex is out, and sex planned on the Google Cal with at least a week’s notice is in. Here’s why:
- In order to have spontaneous sex, you pretty much always have to be ready.
- And I don’t just mean ready in the sense that your vagine needs a “slippery when wet” sign.
- I mean, like, physically, emotionally, and mentally ready.
- You can’t get into the idea of someone’s hand snaking down your pants when your mind is still on the potentially passive-aggressive comment Stacey from accounting made when you left work at 4:58 p.m.
- Or when you have 3,987 unread emails flashing up from your home screen.
- Or with the fucking Duolingo owl threatening to harm your entire family because you haven’t done a Spanish lesson in a week.
- Also, uh. What about the swamp ass you instantly develop when temps reach anything above 74 degrees? Do we just ignore the fact that we’re all disgusting, sweaty messes or…?
- And nope. Say it with me: “Spontaneous shower sex is! never! the! answer!”
- Showers are the time for crying under the scalding water and thinking of different comebacks you could have used in response to an awkward conversation you had in 2013.
- I have to psych myself up to make small talk with my hairdresser, and I’m clothed for that interaction. Naked, post-sex pillow talk requires more mental gymnastics than I can handle on short notice.
- There’s truly nothing more disheartening than a before-bed boner pressed into your back when all you want to do is PTFO with your mouth guard and your melatonin.
- Same goes for morning wood.
- When I was younger, I was under the impression that I’d have a standing appointment with an esthetician to keep me completely hairless. Not the case!!!
- Turns out, it’s a hell of a lot cheaper to simply “forget” to shave for two weeks and then take gardening shears to your forest-like shins before ~date night.~
- At least the concept of date night means getting laid is an actual possibility. Otherwise, you have to suffer terrible razor burn because you hunched over the sink to give yourself a 30-second hack job when you thought your night would consist of a face mask and stalking your high school ex’s wife alone, but now someone’s breathing down your neck with “fuck me” eyes.
- Without any warning at all, there’s a zero percent chance I won’t be sporting a ‘70s porn bush and Sasquatch legs.
- What am I supposed to do with all the clean laundry I just threw on the bed with no real intention of ever putting away?
- Or all the takeout containers covering my counters and making the entire place smell vaguely of Thai food?
- I don’t mean to sound like an 8th-grade sex-ed class, but safe sex? What are we doing about that? Carrying condoms everywhere?
- I realize pulling out used to be The Cool Thing To Do, but in case you don’t want to accidentally get pregnant in a society where an embryo has more rights than the person carrying it, taking that chance isn’t exactly cute anymore.
- Not to be vain, but if I don’t know I’m having sex, I will absolutely be wearing the comfy-yet-hideous pair of full-coverage underwear I’ve had since the Obama era, complete with holes and period stains as God intended.
- Wearing cute, lacy, and highly uncomfortable panties all day on the off chance you’ll get it on is cruel and unusual.
- For those of us who have dried up thanks to birth control/anxiety medication/birthing a human from a hole in our groin, do we just need to keep lube with us at all times for the rest of our lives?
- ICYMI: Penetration on its own? Yeah, not that great. If momma doesn’t have herself a fully charged vibe to help move things along, momma’s not gonna have a good time.
- It’s me; I’m momma. Speaking of — I’m literally the only one who knows my infant’s feeding, napping, shitting, and screeching schedule. You’re deluded if you want to have ~spontaneous sex~ with me around the time my baby is supposed to eat or sleep.
- And there’s nothing less sexy than some dude (re: my husband) telling me to let my offspring cry it out so he can get it in.
- Because that’s the exact type of mood-setting ambiance I was thinking of! The devastating wailings of the little person I gave my body, career, and social life up for!
- Children aside, you’d looooove to at least have your sex playlist ready so you don’t have to pretend the sucking, squishing, thumping, and squelching sounds are hot.
- Also — and I can not stress this enough — taking a moment to set some mood lighting will actually save 9/10 relationships.
- Sure, that statistic is fake. But! Throughout the entire history of electricity, no one has ever had spontaneous sex under harsh fluorescent lighting without regretting it. That’s just a fact.
- If it’s before noon on the weekend or I’m WFH, I have absolutely not brushed my teeth, washed my face, or put on deodorant yet. Do with that what you will.
- You should not subject anyone’s naked body to the current status of your sheets without advanced, written notice.
- The lack of foreplay that goes with spontaneous sex genuinely makes my vaginal walls clench. At the absolute minimum, I need a nice bottle of wine, 30 full minutes of compliments, and a solid scalp massage before my legs even *start* to inch open.
- If I simply want to pop one off, it’s far easier to cue up Bridgerton and spit in my hand than stroke someone else’s
genitalsego. Call me old-fashioned, but I like my partner-induced orgasms with the promise of a nice steak dinner, TYVM.