The Yucky Act of Making Love

Engaging in coitus.
Bumping uglies.
Smushing.
Smashing.
Beating.

I’m all for people referring to the act of sex in any way they prefer. The only person exempt from this rule is the person I’m sleeping with because there is one term that gets under my skin:

Making love.

I don’t mind it some of the time but damn, can a girl get dicked down relentlessly without hearing about love? Sometimes women get pegged as wanting to cuddle and be affectionate creatures during and after sex. This woman doesn’t want that about 99.999999 percent of the time. I just don’t. When I’m in the mood, I’m not thinking about “oh, I love Billy Bob so much and he cares for me and he loves my family and blah blah blah”.. I’m thinking “When Billy Bob comes home I’m snatching his wood out of his pants and riding him until I’m satisfied”

Billy Bob better watch his back.

There was no love within that thought. Making love is almost to say that you’ll love every person you’ll sleep with, and that’s just not the truth. At least not for me. I’m sure that this statement isn’t applicable to many out there but who will admit it?

Having tender, sweet sex that doesn’t include ass slapping, hair pulling, extreme aggressiveness, and/or hot candle wax is nice. Just spare me the “love”. Please?

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