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The South is my adopted home but I don’t always get along with Southerners. Most of my friends here are other Northern transplants, but I know my fair share of people born and bred in the dirty dirty. Ian is one of those people. He has a mild twang in his voice, he is exceedingly polite, and he is a tall drink of water. He is also bisexual, has a very nice cock, and is one kinky bastard.

Jay and I have been fooling around with Ian lately and he has me thinking about how purely joyful and fun sex can be. See, Ian is hilarious, he likes to laugh and he likes to make his partners laugh and the fact that he may be fucking someone is immaterial to him deciding whether or not to tell a joke. In fact, he pointed out that my pussy gets extra tight when I laugh, this all might be very intentional!

The sex we have been having with Ian isn’t sensual, poetic sex. It also isn’t rough, aggressive sex. In short, it isn’t sex blogger sex. But I love laughing in bed, it is the most natural thing in the world for me. (Listeners of Bedroom Radio know that I giggle after most orgasms.) Something that falls by the wayside in erotica is just how hilarious sex is. Just by itself, inherently, it is prone to serious laughs. You have naked people, genitals, bodily fluids, and tricky maneuvering. When God is in the mood for some slapstick comedy, he peers down on everyone fucking. And smiles.

In many ways, Ian is the perfect third for Jay and I. He matches our silly and playful attitudes. I don’t have to affect some fort of sex kitten persona with him. I get to sarcastic, bold, and forthright. I ask for what I want unabashedly with no coy or seductive pretenses.

Last night when Jay filled his hand with lube and spilled most of it on the bed, we all laughed. When Ian pointed out that it looks like snot, we laugh some more. When I slip and nearly hit the floor stepping over the spot where Jay spilled the lube, we all completely lost it. And it is okay. Nothing is missing. The genitals all remain and the adventurous spirit keeps hold. I’ve never believed in the idea that a “moment” can be lost but even if that is true, a moment given over to laughter with friends hardly feels like a sacrifice.

The sweating and grunting? The screaming and whimpering? The pleasure that takes us over? They are important too, and they have their own moments. But they aren’t what make this sexy and fun - I don’t know if they are even the goal.

[Curious about that picture at the top? Well this is what happens when I hand Jay a marker and tell him that he can write on me. We later discovered that I left a stamped impression of fireworks on the bed sheets. What can I say, it was the 4th of July.]