Is Sex That Great? Thanks to the Pandemic, I Can’t Remember
Fantasizing about sex is one thing. Recalling what makes it magical is another.
Like burning through your queue and recommendations on Netflix, uninterested in watching something you’ve seen before, I’m getting bored with my memories of sex.
Which is too bad, because minus a few I’d rather forget but can’t, I’m grateful for the video images on replay in my mind: picturing different women in different settings (and different positions) at different times of my life.
A lot of these memories remain hot to me.
Walking back together from a neighborhood party after ogling her for hours, standing, then more, behind her against a wall as soon as we locked the door.
The comfy, luxurious bed at a bread and breakfast, in which we made out for several hours prior to dinner, then one more after dinner before falling asleep watching TV, then a few more hours in the morning, then coffee together at sunrise on the deck.
A blowjob received in a hotel room during a conference session break.
These memories aren’t tainted. They’re just as erotic to me as ever. They do more than excite me, called upon when I need to set the phone down and recall something more…
