Just like a Devil’s Triangle is a now drinking game, Sex on the Beach isn’t really a suggestion to go have sex on a beach. It’s a really drink, right? (Total aside, I think I was depressed last week about Kavanaugh getting confirmed, although it was inevitable. I was watching The Handmaid’s Tale at the same time, and it just seemed so….possible? Kavanaugh today, total control of women’s reproduction tomorrow. But that’s a whole other ball of wax.)
Today I saw the Far-Away-Boy, the man who entered my life just about a year ago and is teaching me what it is to really, deeply love someone. We tried to climb this weekend, because that’s what we do together. He was tired on Saturday, so I found us something more relaxed to do for Sunday. It was a shorter climb that finishes on a grassy knoll, which I would have called something else if there wasn’t a shooting range nearby, meaning that we climbed to the sound of guns going off all morning.
We arrived on top of the cliff. It was sunny and warm. No one else was around, and no one else was climbing on the cliff. I teased him about how nice it would be to make love on the top of the cliff and….we did. It was glorious and fun and I don’t think I’ve felt so alive in ages. It’s not exactly the mile high club, but it’s the 600 meters off the ground on top of a cliff club.
So it could be a new drink: Sex on a Grassy Knoll.