by Sophie
Sex is physical joy. Orgasm is an explosion of happiness and warmth and connection, the human experience distilled to mere moments of boundless ecstasy. There are few things in life as wondrous and magical as the act of lovemaking.
I would make the argument that music comes close.
It’s strange that I haven’t written about music here before now. Jamie and I originally fell for each other, I think, over conversations about music. The weekend we met I had been attending a music festival, and the skin Jamie uncovered for the first time had the sweat from dancing drying upon it. I remember this because I remember him telling me he loved my salt.
Jamie jokes that I am “the music expert” of the two of us. He loves words, as do I, but he is a poet and is more comfortable navigating that realm than I am. While I have always enjoyed writing, music was my first love. I played instruments growing up, always thought I would go to school to play professionally. My friends and family were unsurprised when I chose to make the Live Music Capital of the World my home. I have spent untold thousands on music festivals and concerts and smaller shows, have stayed up late on “school nights” to experience performances that moved my soul. Almost every genre holds my interest, from beautiful ambient soundscapes that Jamie calls “intelligent white noise” to grinding, relentless industrial rock. Hip hop, rap, folk, I love all of it almost as much as I love sex. No matter what I am doing, whether driving or working or cooking or cleaning or, yes, fucking, I have an appropriate soundtrack to accompany my efforts.
A couple of months ago I realized that most songs in the range of 80-100 beats per minute, no matter what the actual lyrical content, are actually about fucking. Well, maybe not about fucking, but definitely inspired by it. That tempo is the perfect range for dancing slowly against another person. Making out feels right at 85 beats per minute. Legs and crotches and arms and torsos tangle easily against one another at that slow burn speed. Almost every time I hear a song that makes me think “wow, this song would be amazing to fuck to,” I look up the bpm and find that it hovers in this magic range.
“Closer” by Nine Inch Nails? 90 beats per minute. “Let’s Get It On” by Marvin Gaye — 82. Madonna’s “Justify My Love” is 100 beats per minute. Donna Summer sang “Love to Love You Baby” over 96 beats per minute. “Viol” by Gesaffelstein is barely out of the range at 109 bpm, but we won’t hold it against him. There are plenty of songs that are faster and more explicit, but I promise — a playlist of songs that run at this languid range of speed will cause your mind to wander to lazy, sensual places. This is the tempo that soundtracks dark, hot, sticky encounters that leave rooms warm and scented with lovers and their activities.
That having been said, lately I have been listening to a lot more ambient music while enjoying Jamie’s ministrations. Sometimes it’s nice to have something dreamy going on behind the scenes as he pumps into me, something that I barely hear over the sounds of our hurried breath and softly slapping flesh. It’s nice to be sonically enveloped in something gorgeous as we lie in bed wondering how much better our already unbelievable sex can get. This “intelligent white noise” goes perfectly with both power play and romantic encounters and doesn’t get in our mental way. The melody flows, our hands move with it, our bodies connect. It just exists, just like we do in that moment, and it’s perfect just as we are.
Recently I was in the car with a friend and was playing a particular album that has become a favorite of mine for intimate times and my friend mentioned how pretty it was. “Yeah,” I said, “I actually really like fucking to this.”
She sat and considered for a moment and then said, “Yeah, actually, I can see that. I think I might try it.” This made me giddy. I love nothing more than introducing someone to something I love.
++
Last weekend I had the chance to enjoy a show with Jamie. I was actually somewhat nervous beforehand — I tend to let music flow through me and I have never really considered what I look like or how I conduct myself when I am in the middle of a concert high. What if I looked or acted like a crazy person in front of Jamie?
It was high-energy industrial rock in a somewhat rough crowd, and I loved every sweaty raw moment of it. When people began to push against each other to begin a mosh pit, Jamie grasped my waist with his strong hands and pulled me away from the madness. I sang along with every word of every song and felt every beat under my skin. Jamie stood behind me, our bodies close not just by choice but by necessity, the crowd pushing us into one another.
When the beginning chords of their most popular hit began, I could feel the crowd’s energy surge even more intensely as everyone pushed ever so slightly to be closer to the stage. Jamie’s hands tightened against my hips as the beat began to flow — 90 beats per minute, almost in line with his heartbeat pulse against my back. My hips involuntarily swung back and forth with the music as he rested his chin on the top of my head. All I wanted was to turn around and let him have his way with me in the middle of the crowd, but instead I watched the show, transfixed.
The next morning Jamie fucked me in our hotel bed with that same insistent rhythm, at that same speed. When we came together I felt the same as I had the evening before, focused on the movement of his body and the music of our shared moans. When I rested my head against his chest afterward his heartbeat pulsed at a steady 90 beats per minute and I could time a hundred songs in my head against his natural percussion. I think I am right about sex naturally being set to this tempo. Of course on this topic I need to do a little bit more research — that is to say, I need to listen to a whole, whole lot of music, potentially while having amazing sex. It will be grueling, difficult work, but I need to know if my theory is correct.
I am confident I will be.
amaranthine border 