"Wham, Bam, Thank You Ma'am!": Why You Should Have More Quickies
I’ll say it right up front: I love quickies.
Sure, I’d like to spend languid hours making implausible, mind-bending, wine-infused love on a gauze-draped bed in a fashionably modern South American boutique hotel overlooking the ocean—but you know, I’m busy.
Like most people, I have a laundry list of unglamorous crap to do—places to go, deadlines to meet. That said, a girl’s still gotta eat. And as far as I’m concerned, sex is as vital to life (in any worth-living scenario, anyway) as food. The good news? Unlike fast food, fast sex is healthy. It’s a quick burst of cardio amid your otherwise sedentary workday, a sultry endorphin injection that allows those pleasure-laden sensations to linger. Quickies generate an enduring buzz that renders one temporarily immune to the mundane and monotonous.
And while there are some people who believe quickies should be relegated to the realm of anonymous, lust-based encounters – and sadly, more than a few of my sisters dismiss them as male-driven dalliances wherein only the boys leave satisfied – my philosophy comes from an alternate universe. I believe the quickie is an absolute cornerstone for building intimacy, and one of the most valuable means of cultivating and preserving it as time rolls on.
Also, to be loquacious and literate, they’re way-hot.
“There are times when all you want is to be pushed up against the wall—or be the one doing the pushing,” says writer/editor Alison Tyler, whose Got A Minute? 60-Second Erotica (Cleis Press, 2010) is a 60-story romp through short-form literary heat. “Fuck the flowers. Screw the sweet nothings. Moments of total, unbridled lust are as important to a relationship as a freight-load of foreplay.”
Tyler, who’s been a master of the art for more than 15 years, likes her erotic fiction “… to the point, loaded with sexual tension and spice.” The stories in Got A Minute? range in length from less than 75 words to a max of 1,500, and reflect her attitude succinctly. “Readers who require a first date before a goodnight kiss probably won’t appreciate it,” she jokes, “but each maintains a unique flavor and impression in your brain.”
Erotica is a delicate matter, even if the actual tale is less than delicate. It’s a genre that can lend itself to ponderousness, but this book doesn’t give any of its gifted wordsmiths the time or space. “Is anything more arousing than giving in to a base, animalistic need?” Tyler asks. “[Those] who crave the heat of a quickie will find exactly the lover they’re looking for.”
Long Island psychologist and sex therapist Joel Block, Ph.D. says it’s unrealistic to expect to engage in full-on sex all the time, “which is why quickies are not optional, they’re damn necessary.” Block, author of The Art of the Quickie: Fast Sex, Fast Orgasm, Anytime, Anywhere (Quiver, 2006), is a clinician on the front line.
“What makes more sense when it comes to our sex lives: the infrequent feast or a frequent delicious snack that creates a hunger for more?” Therapists commonly suggest a massive infusion of romance for exsanguinating relationships. “Schedule, plan, make dates — blah,blah,blah. Lots of us have tried to follow the experts’ advice…but they have it wrong and, full disclosure, I have been among them. Not anymore. It doesn’t work!”
Block believes humans not only need faster, bolder sex — we were designed for it. “And at least on occasion,” he adds, “[we need] a bit of daring. Novelty is required. It’s likely we’ll be in a relationship longer than our ancestors lived.” Couples are prone to fall into patterns and what Block calls the biggest libido-killer of them all: monotony.
“That’s when creativity, openness and a sense of humor come in handy. Quickies, whether spontaneous or planned with mischief … are what’s needed to bring back the glow of the early days,” says Block, whose book makes for inspirational couples’ reading come bedtime. Those less enthused by prose — or too lazy to find their glasses — might find its alluring photography motivational.
Thank you, Ma’am (or Sir). May I have another?
It doesn’t take much to convince men of the merits of quickies, says Block. “It’s the ultimate guy thing.” But in his experience, women often report feeling left behind. Come on, Ladies, I beseech you: Do we really need to keep score all the time?
“A random lunch-hour lay in the parking garage is what jump-started our sex life,” says 43-year-old Jennifer, whose husband of 11 years works for the same company, in the same building — but on a different floor. “We don’t usually plan them, but if one of us is in the mood we might send a quick text, ‘Meet me in the car in ten minutes.’”
Having one of those vibrate into your pocket while the boss is droning on in the door of your cubicle, she says, is excruciating, “but ultimately makes it hotter.”
“We don’t worry about who comes when,” she says, adding that she’s thankful for the advent of window-tinting. “Who cares? It’s all fun.”
I agree; we can call it “good sex karma.” Let’s face it, simultaneous orgasm is stupefying precisely because for most couples it’s a fantastically rare occurrence. Don’t downplay the spirit of giving. It’s wonderful to bask in your partner’s afterglow. Give yourself a pat on the back for generosity and mad, mad skills — enjoy the knowledge that later, it’ll be your turn.
That said, Dr. Block points out that while women might have something of an anatomical hurdle to overcome where intercourse is concerned, “this doesn’t mean they’re incapable of reaching climax quickly.” In fact, he points out, citing a report by the famed Alfred Kinsey, “on average, both men and women can masturbate themselves to orgasm in about three minutes.”
Ergo, if the situation doesn’t allow for direct clitoral stimulation, women should feel free to take matters into their own hands. “I’ve found a little theatrics can even move things along,” says Hannah, 29, whose quickies with her longtime beau often begin with a mutually masturbatory peep show. “The faster I can get him off, the more time he can spend getting me off. For us, quickies don’t necessarily mean actual penetration, but sometimes we’ll cover three or four different sex acts, intercourse included, in less than 10 minutes, and both of us come. Not at the same time, but every time.”
Despite what preconceived notions you might have about the lives of sex writers, we don’t, generally speaking, get paid to don gilded togas and attend bacchanalias that culminate in an exhausted, oily heap of leather-beaten flesh. Or maybe my mailman’s been stealing my invitations. If so, I’m tipping him double this December.
“You see your partner. You want your partner. You fuck your partner. Beginning. Middle. And end,” says Tyler. “There’s no character development, no arch. Do you have a character arch every day? I don’t. But I do have a lot of hot sex.”
I’m not Sting. Tantric marathons are a luxury of time and rock stardom. But I can find ten minutes in my schedule, on any day of the week, for a wild ride on the edge of the bathroom sink or a hands-and-knees interlude in the walk-in closet. Even if my head does end up wedged in the laundry hamper.