They say it’s the fuck, the act, that makes life worthwhile, but no, friend, no. I do not mean to be contrarian but your thoughts on the matter are twisted and limited in scope. You are missing the story, the principal reason for living, which is detailed in acts 1 and 3: the before and after. The before is the flirtation, the anticipation, the pure need that both can feel and transmit to the other via pheromones. That’s the science, baby. We thrive on smells and touch in the right places. Have you felt the skin on the inside of woman’s elbow after kissing her neck and lipping her ear lobes? Then there’s breath, warm, and perhaps tinged with wine and weed.
The act itself, it is bestial, it is raw. It is skin, flesh I prefer to call it, on skin, moisture, the dew that drives the dearest purring and groans faintly resembling that coveted set: “I love you.” It may also come in the form of “I fucking love you so much.” It is oh and uhh and Oh My God. It is the fuck.
The after, now that’s the one. The after is the resolution, the culmination of both expectation and doing. It is the moments of reflection and intertwined limbs, no longer eager to act but ready to lie prone and vulnerable. It is true that if you want to see a man at his most emotional then you catch him after the act (but quickly, make haste!). It is also true that if a man wants to see a woman at her most beautiful and loving he should catch her in the after, when she smiles weakly, not much of a smile but better than any other smile he’ll see her with. It is what women, all women, of all types, give to men as a gift. It is sometimes a gift ignored, after skipping the opportunity to lie with woman, in the after, when all life is full of hope and the future is glistening.