clean sex like you see in the movies. Like you see on billboards. Sex without the scent of flesh and juice. Sex without the premature ejaculation or the errection issues. Sex without the sudden cramping in one foot or the click of teeth or the wrong thing whispered in the dark. Imaginary sex without stretchmarks or breasts weighted down by the trudge of years, all soft focus and muted lighting, all temperature controlled and perfect pitch.
But I do not want clean sex.
Give me the little complications. Give me your inability to finish, your phone-ring interruptions, my insecurities, our mismatched timing. Give me all of this and I will treasure it as the messy meeting between two people a consumation of love and friendship. A hand-made keepsake. I will keep it. It is mine.