Many of you have probably, at some point, played this adolescent psychoanalysis game with your friends wherein you describe your favorite (animal / color / place / season / what have you) and it’s supposed to belie a deeper meaning about how you see yourself, how others see you, your worldview, etc. The last question in the version I learned asks participants to describe the ocean – and it’s meant to be interpreted as the way in which the participant views sex.
Wet (hardy har).
One of my favorite films opens on two lovers entwined in the ocean underneath a full moon; they writhe and twist as they kiss, splash, and grind against each other with the assistance of salt water to keep them buoyant. From the first time I saw this movie, it’s been a fantasy of mine to act this scene out – which mainly involves finding water that’s warm enough and isolated enough to fuck in.
While I don’t eroticize the sea itself, I have a lot of wonderful memories interweaving it with sex and romance. From making out in a secret water cave during a travel affair in the Philippines to sitting next to a bonfire on Ocean Beach and telling my girlfriend I loved her for the first time to running naked into the sea to wash the cum off of me while beach camping with the Texan, the ocean has always held a special place in my… heart.
I made plans with a partner once to have sex in the ocean while beach camping; we left our tent behind and walked to the shore to shed our clothes. I dove headfirst into the water so the shock of the cold would wear off; he was not so eager to freeze. He didn’t even get in up to his knees before backing out, saying maaaaybe we should fuck in the tent instead. To say I was disappointed would be a major understatement.
Until last summer, I had always loathed the beach; I refused to go with my friends despite living in a city full of beaches. It wasn’t until I experienced topless / nude beaches for the first time that I finally felt comfortable lying in the sun, sweat dripping down the sides of my breasts, listening to music and inhaling the delightfully coconutty scent of sunscreen. The first time I got in the sea to swim naked I remember feeling distinctly animated and fluid – and completely unsexualized. It seems a bit ironic to me that people are more sexualized on beaches that require clothing than beaches that don’t.
Someday I’ll advance my sex-in-the-ocean mission. The Engineer and I are planning a fun trip next year to a region with lots of tropical beaches, and I think he might be amenable to the idea of wrapping my legs around his hips and plunging himself into me while our soaked bodies smack tightly together, his long fingers entwined in my brine-tangled hair. Might be.