The Restorative Power of a Really Hard Screwby Robert Lewis

An unrelated pair of family medical emergencies hijacked my plans for my inaugural column; I had neither the time nor the erotic inspiration to cover what I had originally intended. Instead I’d like to tell you – or, for the sexually savvy reader, remind you — about the restorative power of a good, hard screw.

It had been a truly terrible week, with news of death and disease and a sleep deprivation on such an order that I’m still catching up. And yet, I am not ashamed to tell you, the first thing my wife and I did when we finally had a few minutes alone was to fuck like a pair of horny octopuses. Then we did it again.

This was despite us being in a house full of sleeping babies and their groggy parents, and said parents’ in-laws. We had powerful orgasms — the hand-over-the-mouth-to-keep-from-screaming, sheets-balled-up-in-fists kind. And while my first instinct *was* to feel a bit of shame that I was focused on sex when so many more important things were going on, the more I thought about it, the more comfortable the idea became. (Also, the more I thought about it and how great it had felt, the harder it was to resist wanting the second romp a couple days later.)

This is not a new situation. I suffered from a serious fear of flying in my twenties. When I did work up the nerve to fly somewhere with my future wife, I would be unbuckling my belt practically before the hotel room door swung shut. Lately, as the flight anxiety has drifted away, I have noticed that the immediate post-touchdown lust has gone with it. But there’s little doubt in my mind that the Urge was borne out of a need for physical punctuation to the relief of a safe landing.

I suspect this is more of a male reaction than a female one, even though my wife seemed as eager as I was that first time last week on the guest bed, and as sated by the experience afterward. But I have certainly observed when, in the face of stress and tension, I have tried to run a finger inside the waistband of her pants, only to have it quickly ejected, whether forcibly by hand or with an icy Not-Now look. And I think it also deserves a more nuanced description than simply falling under the umbrella of “Guys Always, *Always* Want to Have Sex”. The rest of last week was otherwise bereft of arousal; a series of (now that I look back) very cute nurses left me cold. Maybe it falls under a special sub-category of women wanting their surroundings to be relaxed and romantic before feeling sexy enough to make love, while men like sex as a route to relaxation. Whatever the psychological rationale, my body (or one particular part of it, to be specific) always manages to react to great stress with an undeniable horniness.

So when times are tough, even if you are a woman with no such natural inclination, and though it may be the furthest thing from your mind, I urge you to consider the benefit to your well-being of some hot and nasty sex.

So what *was* I originally going to write about this week? I will return to it in the next edition — you can expect a look back at an amusing, if scientifically suspect, study on the role of various aromas in sexual excitement. And I will continue to explore what turns us men on and why; what role our senses have in making up male sensuality.

Robert Lewis is pleased to offer a masculine perspective to Pink Nighties’ readers. He likes red Italian wine with dinner, coffee and the newspaper on Sunday mornings and hot, sweaty lovemaking just about anytime. Luckily for him, his wife likes those things, too.