There’s angry sex. There’s make up sex. And on the way from one polarized, but equally passionate point to the next is the less enjoyable, unavoidable, “There’s no way in HELL I’m going to have sex with you.”
My friend Mariah was in this horizontal mamboless limbo, last week. “Handle it yourself,” she denied her unfoundedly cranky boyfriend. “You’re pissin’ me off.”
Although I’ve not yet been in a relationship, her reticence is understandable. Snap at me, and you’d better not think about touching my arm – much less an erogenous zone. Not without a few hours of space and an artless apology.
Un – UH, boiz. Trust.