Sometimes it’s fun to get biblical outside of the bedroom. And while I live alone in a home and don’t have pesky parents breathing down my teenage neck, it’s still fun to occasionally get frisky in an automobile. Luckily, Craig’s automobile has a rather big back seat, so one summer night after we threw a football around the Washington Monument, we decided the next sensible thing to do was take our sweaty bods and mash them together in the car.
In high school, my boyfriend and I spent a lot of time locking lips in his car while it was parked in his driveway. We would tell his parents that we were going out and well, I guess technically we were out, but we were really just outside in the quiet of the great American ride. It makes me wish there were still drive-ins.
While flexing my muscles in Craig’s back seat on that hot July night, I thought about all the headaches Toyota has had during the last year with the Prius and the Camry etc. But here I was enjoying the Camry in a very 1950s “I just got pinned and it’s homecoming,” kind of way. I thought the carmakers would feel rather proud.
The Camry may have gotten recalled, but the backseat remains fabulous.
Friday night my unmentionable friend presented me with a challenge: “who can have sex in the historic Smithsonian castle with their boyfriend first.” We were both attending a Christmas party on the first floor of the National Historic Landmark, and the unmentionable gal thought it might make it a more memorable affair if we landed in prison for lewd and unlawful behavior. What’s wrong with making the front page of the Washington Post anyway or having your parents disown you?
So while I downed holiday cocktails trying to build the courage to get naked in a building with security cameras and alarms, the unmentionables casually sauntered into a stairwell with not a care in the world and went at it like wild gorillas in Holiday attire. Yes, their inspiration had me in the stairwell once it was all clear of copulating couples, but I was petrified that angry men with large guns would put an end to my fun.
I salute them for their no fear attitudes, sex-friendly evening wear, and ability to look picture perfect on the dance floor after a roll in the hay.
To some the Smithsonian castle might be a "look don't touch" institution. But to more creative folks, it doubles as a bedroom. How multifunctional!
Craig is from a Midwestern town with five streets, no traffic lights, roughly 400 people, and a prize-winning county fair. He grew up with football, fresh air, and good values, which is probably why he is wonderful and will even say yes to skirting the law and trying to get biblical on the Mall.
Despite his willingness to drop trou inches from the Lincoln Memorial, he is the most moral and well-intentioned person I have ever known. This makes me feel Satanic in comparison, but everyone needs a Ying to their Yang. The same night we tried to have multiple orgasms on the National Mall, he taught me a dance move called “the pretzel,” which he can do alarmingly well. If you are from a town with a stop sign and your neighbors didn’t have hogs named Porky McGee, you are probably unfamiliar with it.
Craig likes flavored seltzer water and keeping things shipshape. He has a nose so small I question his ability to take in enough oxygen, the body mass index of a racehorse, and kindly reminds me that life doesn’t have to be so complicated. Oh and when he lost his virginity, he had a mullet. I’m still trying to come to terms with that one.
I decided it would be wrong to have sex like monkeys close to sacred monuments like the Vietnam Wall or the Lincoln Memorial. How kind of me! So instead we attempted to get biblical on a fully exposed park bench coveted by curious tourists with an abundance of cameras. We tried, we failed, we will try again.
The Camry may have gotten recalled, but the backseat remains fabulous. ![[del.icio.us]](http://nakedthanks.com/wp-content/plugins/bookmarkify/delicious.png)
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