By day, I'm in the business of erotica. You may be familiar with my work if you've read Cheeky Spanking Stories or The Big Book of Orgasms. In the world of erotic fiction, nothing is too wild or weird, and no one ever gets a muscle cramp.

In real life, my boyfriend and I schedule sex, and we do only one position. That's not a proclivity; it's purely practical. The scheduling ensures we're both available and ready. The position staves off injury. My boyfriend is much heavier than I am, and many configurations we tried weren't workable. Reverse cowgirl wore out my knees, and missionary was just too much. Trial and error gave us our go-to: me on my back, him standing in front of me at the edge of the bed.

For some people, this predictability might be the definition of sexual hell, but the more we did it, the more subtle variety I found to enjoy: tilting my hips, widening or closing my legs. As for scheduling, Carly Simon was right: anticipation. Now that I know when and how sex will happen, I look forward to it all day and imagine new adjustments to try. While spontaneous on-the-floor craziness is fun in books, our sturdy sex gets me hot every time.


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