Much like letter writing and fructose-free food, the art of seduction seems to be a scarce commodity these days. A recent date’s clumsy attempt to hasten the level of intimacy between us got me to thinking about the increasing gap between romance and sex.
As we were kissing, he pressed himself against me and murmured--
“Come on, just the tip.”
Though I tried not to, I couldn’t help laughing as I turned down his artless request.
Years ago, my college dormmate Eduardo was just as brazen, albeit with more finesse, in his equally unsuccessful attempt to seduce me.
We had spent a few hours in his room, mildly flirting and engaging in conversation that included a rather lengthy tangent about all of the women Eduardo had deflowered in his Spanish hometown. He spoke with pride about the notches on his belt, and I couldn’t help wondering if he thought I would be next.
That question was answered when I returned after a brief trip to the bathroom. In the five minutes that I had been gone, Eduardo had transformed his tiny dorm room into a love den, complete with candlelight and pulsating Julio Iglesias ballads playing on his stereo. Beckoning me toward him, he sat me down and asked--
“Me-lee-ssa…will you give me your virginity?”
Eduardo had clearly anticipated a welcoming response to bragging about his past conquests. I happily informed him this wasn’t exactly my idea of foreplay.
The antics of both Eduardo and my recent date reinforced my feeling that, even in the post-“Sex and the City” age, sex is a much more inviting prospect when there’s at least some romance attached to it. Maybe I’m a traditionalist but I think a little innuendo goes a long way, both in and out of the bedroom. After all, isn’t that why there’s a TBS version of SATC?