Sex

It appears even sex has taken a hit as of late, with our libidos shrinking alongside our 401(k)s.

But even for those among us maintaining our pre-Bush/Cheney sex drives, we are at the whim of an evil force called Time, which has turned the marathon sex session into a full-on sprint.

I began to wonder about the intriguing solution to this and many unfavorable sexual circumstances: the quickie — a must-have tool in anyone’s coital arsenal, in my opinion. But the less flattering connotation of the term was brought to my attention by the bored musings of a married friend. “The faster he can get it over with, the better,” she stated. “These days, I prefer the quickie.” Suddenly, my romantic image of impassioned mid-afternoon trysts was sullied by the image of a painful pummeling.

So what is it that defines a “quickie”? Is it a function of inconvenient circumstances, or the product of disinterest? Or is it the ultimate acknowledgment of irresistibility? Is it simply any sex where at least one partner is attempting to climax in as little time as possible, regardless of the motivation? Or have you grown so accustomed to seven-minute stints in the missionary position that you have no idea what this “quickie” is that I speak of?

Hurried sex seems to occupy a curious niche in our collective sexual repertoire, encompassing on one hand the steamiest of opportunistic encounters, and on the other hand the most sterile and utilitarian of orgasmic pursuits. Personally, I don’t think the “I-have-to-pin-you-against-this-bathroom-stall-right-now” screw should ever be lumped in with the “let’s-just-get-this-over-with” kind of romp. One has to do with desire, the other with divorce.

But the boundaries of acceptability on the quickie seem to be debatable, highly circumstantial, and largely dependent upon who’s getting off. Some more goal-oriented lovers seem eager to accrue orgasms for themselves and their partners like lap tallies in the Daytona 500. Others adamantly defend the need for extended foreplay, viewing the quickie as wasteful or less meaningful — the sexual equivalent of drive-through fast food when you could be feasting off fine china. Most people I talk to, however, seem somewhat ambivalent on the topic, recognizing both the allure and the compromise of the quickie.

“It can be totally hot, and highly functional,” said one male friend. “But sometimes I feel guilty for skipping the foreplay. Should I have been sweeter?”

The answer is no. Quickies should come with an implicit understanding of the haste with which the act will take place. A less addressed aspect is that probably only one of you will be getting off. In my opinion, if you initiate the quickie, you should be the giver of the orgasm. If I’m going to be woken from a groggy slumber before my alarm goes off, I better not suffer through my day with a trapped orgasm while you wander about in your post-coital bliss.

But if you’re going to employ regular use of the quickie, make sure it’s just one of many tools in your sexual arsenal. Certain occasions are simply unacceptable for the quickie. These include time away from the kids, romantic getaways, or really any kind of vacation. But since most of us don’t get to indulge in these luxuries anymore, we’ll just have to get used to feeling like 10-minute tricks with our panties pulled to the side.