patchwork quilt

If sex was a colour, what colour would it be?
There have been times in my life when it was white. White for love, white for purity, that wonderful music-swelling-in-the-background, proper camera lighting, young-lovers-well-met, joyous, this-is-the-love-of-my-life kind of sex. Just like in the movies. Don’t let anyone tell you it doesn’t happen. It can. I was lucky enough to find out for myself. The kind of sex that can bring tears to your eyes.
There have been times in my life when it was yellow. Sunny yellow, all warm and wonderful. Morning sex, more than any other (in my life, anyway) tends to be yellow. Might be the sun streaming into the room. Don’t know. But yellow can be a warm and comfortable and altogether delightful colour of sex. The kind that once your body is sated you both pull yourselves out of bed and go have a nice, unhealthy, altogether greasy breakfast. Bad for the arteries, good for the soul.
There have been times in my life when it was red. Forget the flowers, forget the candy, red-hot, almost-more-stimulation-than-a-body-can-take, explosive sex. When so many sensations and visuals come at you from so many directions that you’re nearly on overload. The kind that leaves you shuddering in the aftermath.
There have been times in my life when it was purple. Fun purple, with laughter equal to the moans. Where the grappling-grasping struggle is at once exciting and hilarious. Finding lovers who like to laugh during sex isn’t always easy, but rewarding when it happens. More so than I’d ever dreamed. Taking a bit of a time out from the intensity to laugh and roll around can make things much more intense when the urgency suddenly returns.There have been times in my life when it was black. A bit of an edge, a bit of danger, something a little dark. It’s like putting a magnifying glass over your emotions and sensations. Everything comes into sharp focus. That heart-pounding endorphin-rushing feeling makes the ride feel not unlike a dark, scary roller coaster. You know you’ll be safe, ultimately, but what a journey you’ll take to get back on the ground…
There have been times in my life when it was neon orange. Oh, I wanted it. Wanted it so badly my teeth hurt. But I was so nervous. The neon orange intensity of nerves can be distracting. It’s hard to relax with it flashing in your face. Time was an issue, too, in my neon-orange moments; I had so little of it. With one lover, the best I managed was a slightly faded-out neon orange. Funny that it happened that way. Funny in a sad isn’t-it-ironic sort of way.
There have been times in my life when it was grey. Grey for sadness, or meaning lost in the ether. Goodbye sex is most often grey. Where movements are reduced to biological terms, and it’s just bodies moving together. Everything that would have been or could have been or should-have-been-dammit is so obvious, it smacks you in the face. Sex can be sad. And that’s not always a bad thing. But I try to have grey sex just as little as possible, all the same.
White, yellow, red, purple, black, neon orange, and grey. To name a few.
I am making a patchwork quilt for my life. I cuddle up under its memories.