Rightwing America is drunk with power right now. Sexual power. From overturning Roe v. Wade to banning mifepristone to going after in vitro fertilization and even setting their sights on the most basic vanilla forms of contraception, it seems these days for fascist prudes the sky’s the limit, and that includes banning the mile high club. All you have to do is come up with some ludicrous, toxic, Oedipal restriction on America’s favorite pastime and some batshit crazy red state legislature will codify it. Which begs an essential question—what is the final destiny of legal sex in America? Ladies and gentlemen, I think it will go a little something like this.
Strictly between a married couple—man and woman—of the same race in a missionary position on a king size mattress in a darkened bedroom with the shades down and the door locked. No foreplay. No post-play. No wordplay. No lube. Through a hole in a sheet and no eye contact. No mirrors, no toys, no touching below the belt. No protection, no foul language, no consent. No more than fifteen minutes total at a regularly scheduled weekly time but not less than three hours either before of after Bible study class.
As close to ovulation as possible with no post-coital feminine hygiene. No pill, diaphragm, IUD, prophylactic, spermicide or anything whatsoever that might impede the coming into the world of another human being who will one day be entitled to a love life no more exciting than ten frames of league bowling.
No loud male orgasm and no female orgasm whatsoever. No music—especially not Beyoncé, James Brown, or Marvin Gaye. No cologne, perfume, body wash or room fragrance that may trigger a pheromone. No grinding of the pelvis. No fantasizing about the other person. No fantasizing about any other person. No doing anything Governor Ron DeSantis wouldn’t do.
No open mouth kissing. No closed mouth kissing. No wandering lips. No wandering hands. No wandering minds. No wanderlust. No stationary lust. No middle-of-the night intercourse. No crack of dawn intercourse. No crack of anything intercourse. Really if you come right down to it only between the hours of 8 and 10 PM and with no one in an adjacent room or trailer. No rhythmic thrusting, especially if you are white.
No makeup sex. No breakup sex. No wakeup sex. No shakeup sex. Don’t do anything we wouldn’t do except with our interns. No threesomes. No one-somes. Twosomes if you insist, but frankly they are disgusting if you ask me.
No role playing other than man playing the role of God-fearing homophobic gunslinging breadwinner addicted to Newsmax and woman playing the role of airhead asexual baby vessel looking to add one more MAGA voter to a swing state.
No briefs. No thongs. Nothing edible. Boxer shorts for men. Baggy beige full cut plus-size undies for women. No pubic grooming. No pubic peeking. No pubic seeking.
Disrobing under the sheets only. Re-robing also under the sheets only. Intercourse under the sheets only. No purple sheets. No red sheets. No silk sheets. No waterbeds. No strobe lights. No lava lamps. No Kama. No Sutra. No 50 shades of grey. Just one, and we have to approve it first.
No food or alcohol. No phones unless you’re filming an instructional video for one of our yearly family retreats. No sexting unless you are Speaker of the House.