I got to thinking that maybe there is no such thing as “casual” dating or “casual” sex. Can something as intimate as making love really be considered “casual?” When I think “casual” I think of a ripped pair of denim shorts or a lunch date with an old friend. The steamy moments spent between the sheets or in the shower don’t seem to be synonymous with “casual.”
Sure, a girl can kick off her leather boots, strip out of her ripped tights and slither out of her little black dress while jumping into bed with an attractive European all the while convincing herself that the next day it will be more than a simple act of “casual” circumstance.
She will begin reminiscing of the whiskey and waters that were poured, the toasts made to good friends and the very moment he grabbed her waist pulling her on top of him. She will stand in the mirror the next day examining her neck spotting the evidence of last nights rendezvous. And as she stares at her reflection in the mirror she may even begin to convince herself that these “casual” acts could amount to something not so “casual.”
But, while a lady might find that kind of penetrative aggression a sign of lust … or even love it’s always the gents that are a step behind looking for another notch in their belt, or another dent in their bedpost.
Long gone are the days of handwritten love letters to a man out to war. So long are the nights spent pining for the unattainable. Now, it’s an endless stream of one-night-stands and “casual” nothings.
Has love really turned into an undefinable “casual” outing?