HappyComeLucky

The beautiful and wonderful Malin James wrote a post on the semantics of sex. I devoured her words as they were so closely matched to a thought that often wanders around my brain. Up until now, I haven’t properly analysed that thought or put the feelings around it into words. Today I am going to try to put it into coherent words and share it.

I don’t make love. Even when I say or write the words, ‘make love’, my brain puts a tone of expression on them which isn’t sexy, erotic or even very nice. To me ‘make love’ is a problematic phrase for several reasons. The first of those is that it sounds too nice, too domesticated and too benign. I make the bed. I make dinner. I make a list. I make tea and toast. All of those things are important parts of the day but even though a good cup of tea is a thing of wonder, they do not excite me or truly engage my soul or my passion. Any phrase that I can lump in with that selection, is not anything like the way I experience sex.

In addition to the perceived domesticity of the phrase, there is also the choice of verb in itself. I actually really enjoy making things. I enjoy the process and the product but, and here is the important bit, when I make something, it is external to me. In making something, my actions affect something else and hopefully change it for the better. I get satisfaction when it works, but it is at all times external to me. I do it. I make it the best that I can, but at all times, there is a distance between my soul and what I am making. Sometimes that distance might be very small but there isn’t the direct connection.

There is also the pedantic side of me that just argues with the meaning. Having sex or fucking does not make love. At the end of it, there isn’t suddenly love that wasn’t there beforehand. Having sex can involve love, it can be an expression of love but it doesn’t create love and love is certainly not necessary for it.

All of those factors turn the phrase into something that doesn’t work for me. In many ways, it triggers some of the same feelings that I had when I was told to be more delicate, to look and behave more like a little girl and be more peaceful, compliant and demure. It taps into those memories of when expectations of who I should be had a huge mismatch with the person I was and who I have become.

So, if I have all of those reasons for not making love, what do I do? I fuck. There have been times in my youth when I let people screw me, but now I fuck. Fuck is a word that has power and force. To me the word fuck demands attention. It can never be passive. It can never be vague.

When I fuck, I am passionate and totally engaged in the connection with the other person. It is physical and there is a primal connection. With my man, there is deep passionate love and also carnal lust. It isn’t that I choose the word fuck because we always have rough passionate sex – although I love that and will often cry out, “Oh fuck, I love you!” during that. Sometimes it is deeply sensual, loving and gentle. I still describe that as fucking because it involves my body and my soul. With other people, there isn’t the same love, but there is still a physical and primal connection that makes it powerful and most definitely a fuck.

I love the word fuck because it is so active and sums up my total engagement in the act. If you say, ‘make love’, not only does it imply something more passive and lacking in lust and primal levels of arousal, it also doesn’t suggest any set of circumstances that would include anything as powerful and raw as my orgasm.

I don’t judge anyone else for the choice of words that work for them. This is just me, my response to those words and how they affect me.

I would love to know what you think.