by Ruby West
(04/01/01)

Sex is fun.

Whether it's a solo stimulation or a frenzied fuck-fest, everyone reading this will agree that sex is fun. Let's face it: if it weren't fun, we wouldn't be doing it.

Sex is funny. (I saw that. You, there, hiding behind that embarrassed blush, cringing at the idea -- yeah, you!)

Maybe you'd rather I say sex can be funny. I'll accept that restriction, but I want you to consider something: why the initial knee-jerk reaction against sex being funny?

Sex can't be serious. Oh, sure, there are times when you have hot, steamy sex, the kind that makes your eyeballs roll into the same socket and you know you're gonna walk funny for a week. But it's been my experience that those are the exceptions rather than the rule.

There are too many unexplainable oddities related to sex for it to be serious all the time. For instance, consider the humble (or not so humble) penis. This body part routinely swells to twice its size, erupts, and retreats back into the body, only to return again when you're trying to persuade the loan officer to use your van for collateral.

Then there are the frustrations of reliability. Who knew it was deep breathing that caused that incredible, incomparable roller-coaster ride that one time, and that it would take a year and a half to figure out how to do it again?

And personally, I want to know what engineering genius decided that our body parts needed to match up in such a way that I risk my hip going out of joint at an inopportune moment.

I admit, I wasn't always convinced that sex should be funny. When I finally got around to figuring out what sex was all about, I attacked it with the single-minded determination of General Sherman's march on Atlanta, resolute in my conviction that this was a skill I needed to master. Remember how hard you studied and crammed for exams? Yeah, it was about that much fun, too. Talk about your turn-offs.

Then someone told me that someday I'd laugh during sex.

Laugh during sex? Were they out of their flippin' mind? I could hardly figure out what got my engine started, and I was supposed to laugh about it? What utter lunacy! What a destructive way to break a fragile mood! Laugh???

Yeah, laugh. Why not? Laughter is healthy. Sex is healthy. Why not combine the best of both worlds, and enjoy the two of them together?

To that end, I propose that April be dedicated to Fooling Around.

Play! Don't have sex -- play with sex. Fool around on the furniture, in the shower, under the hood of the car -- anywhere and everywhere the spirit moves you, including the hallway at the airport, and the handicapped port-john.

Play with your food! Beefcake takes on a whole new meaning when you serve your meatloaf in the shape of a cock and balls. Smother it with gravy, and don't forget to lick the plate.

Fool around with your body! Use washable markers, and draw a roadmap on your body for your lover. Make sure to include recreation areas and note the significant local geography. Or maybe write a menu, with the specials of the day.

Be a kid again. Camp out in the house, making a tent with your blankets, and go exploring with (or without) a flashlight. Doodle dirty pictures and hang them on your refrigerator. Write notes for the boss about why Little Johnny was late to work.

Have fabulous, mind-blowing sex, if you're so inclined, but make sure you include silliness, too. Frivolity! Gaiety! Laughter!

Diddle and dawdle and fool around for all of April, at least!

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