Sex - Katie Burke

Sex changes everything. I can be stuck in any given rut, going about my days at siren-blaring speed, trying to make dents in my endlessly indomitable task list. I do some writing, tie down the flying sails at the legal practice, return my emails, floss my teeth, and finish my Netflix DVD, mailing it out right afterward, so the next one will arrive soon.

And then, from out of nowhere, I can meet a man. A great man. A sexy man. A man with a voice so deep and male, I am instantly transported in imagination to the moment when our voices intertwine between the sheets, my deep, low moans remaining no match for his lower, masculine noises.

One day I’m dutifully pumicing my feet and doing a little reading before bed, and the next, the low talker and I are foregoing all duties and exploring and stroking each other’s bodies, smoothing away the other’s locks of hair, expressing our love for one another, however fleeting, premature, or manufactured that love may be.

Task list? What task list? I’m just hoping not to get sued for malpractice, and I’m vaguely aware that I must call a few friends, so they’ll get the word out that a search party is unnecessary. I’m still flossing my teeth, but now it’s for the sake of sexual desire, not obligation. And now I’m also shaving my legs, applying moisturizer all over, spritzing perfume in naked places before I clothe them, and blow-drying my hair in the morning, rather than running out of the house with Wet Dog Syndrome.

And I’m writing more than ever; though I have less time, creative energy is oozing from each pore and leaking out onto the page, almost faster than I can arrange it into something delightful and entertaining.

Sex is the answer, though I’ve forgotten the question. I look and feel alive. I’m beautiful, powerful, magnetic, and dynamic in the world. The increasingly rough spots at the bottom of my feet must wait for the next sexless era; duty is calling, and I’m turning the ringer off the phone.