Having Sex To Music Is Weird

When I was a teenager, I used to think having sex to music was really romantic and sexy. It turns out I was wrong, sexing to music is sort of the worst. I find, generally, that one of two things happens when you have sex to music. The first is that the moment takes on some sort of unnecessary import from the lyrics and depending on the cinematic dynamism of the particular track (which is why I want to dramatically screw someone to Miguel’s “Use Me” in a really sexy but bleak scenario where I’ve put up my wall against the advances of a really buff nice guy like Chris Evans, who I finally relent to, only to sneak out once he’s fallen asleep, self-sabotaging after a night of intense passion in which we “connected”). My high school boyfriend and I used to do it to Rui de Silva’s “Touch Me” because that was “our song” and it made everything very meaningful, but then we were teenagers and fucking while eating a cheeseburger would have somehow been wistfully deep (now it would just be TOTALLY RAD).

I was once sleeping with a gorgeous man who, to his credit, I think slept with a lot of women, on account of his being delicious-looking and European. One night, the summer of Nostalgia, Ultra, we stumbled back to his apartment in the early morning, and lay on the rug in his bedroom, shoulder to shoulder, looking up at the ceiling, sweating and talking absolute crap and giggling. He leaned across me to his laptop, and pressed play on “Songs For Women.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I laughed.

“I like to think of this as my theme song,” he joked, but I couldn’t help but feel that he might be half serious, given his reputation and his general air of satisfaction with himself and his way with the ladies.

“I’m not going to fuck you to this song,” I told him, and he pouted. As the song came to an end I crawled on top of him. There was a silent beat, and then “Songs For Women” began again.

“It’s on repeat,” he said, as if anticipating my annoyance. As it would turn out, the song would play on repeat for the next hour, until I’d finally had enough of him trying to do me to it so I’d slam the laptop shut and do him in the silence (well… not that silent). Laying there on his bedroom floor, even though I knew exactly what kind of relationship we were having, I wasn’t willing to acknowledge this guy’s song for women — especially because he was so aware of his studliness. I knew that he sang songs to get at women (by songs I mean whiskey shots and a European accent), and it wasn’t like I wanted to be reminded of that as I sat on his face. Even though I was part of something frivolous, I didn’t really want it sang at me while I was trying to get off.

On the flip side, I once slept with a guy who put on Frankie Rose before he threw me on his bed, and it worked because the lyrics weren’t as discernable. It also made me feel like he was a “really
nice guy” who was “really into me” and it turns out he was neither, or to be fair, at least not the latter. So here’s some free advice to dudes who are looking to trick girls into “having feelings”: play some Frankie Rose before you flip her onto her knees and she’ll be saying things like “I think he’s going to be my boyfriend soon!” to her friends within a week (I need to disclaimer that by saying I do not condone emotional trickery EVER, unless you’re trying to get your shoe guy to give you a discount when you’re trying to get your heels fixed on the cheap).

The second thing that happens when music is playing in a sexy scenario is that your movements sync to the beat, which is just as troubling as confronting lyrics and emotional illusions. I once met a guy at a bar and ended up going home with him because even though that’s not something I do a lot, he was easily the best looking guy that has ever wanted to take me home, also being tall and European (pattern?).

When we got back to his house, everything was going just swell until he moved it to the bedroom. Once he had me on the bed, topless, he decided it was a good time to play some XX. On top of me, he pecked my lips with his to the beat of “Crystalized” and as I pushed my hips up towards his, he pressed back down into me in time with his lips. That is so say, I was being dry humped to the tune of The XX, which made me very self-conscious, and also worried that this was how I would be fucked.

Unfortunately for rhythmic humpy dude, I decided I no longer wanted to have a sexy time with him and his mood-killing hip grind. I made my apologies, which were really weak (“I’m a little bit drunk, I should go home”; duh, the only reason I was there was because I was a little bit drunk), and got him to call me a car. Doing it in time to music just felt like calisthenics i.e. something I equate with grade school, not sexy.

Having sex to music is weird. As an adult, I’ve never managed to do it in a particularly sexy, non-distracting situation. That being said, I’ve never done it to Miguel (or with Miguel, hint), so I’m open to having my mind changed. Thought Catalog Logo Mark

image – Shutterstock

I am Kat George, Vagina Born. Mother of food babies. WHERE ARE MY BURRITOS?!?! Buy my book here.

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