Malena Lott - Dating da Vinci

“Sex is emotion in motion.” -Mae West

“Is sex dirty? Only if it's done right.” -Woody Allen

One cannot write about the language of love without at least acknowledging the language of sex. Contrary to popular belief, the term “French kiss” did not originate in France, but entered the English language in 1923 as a slur on the French, who to this day are deemed highly sexualized. The French don't call it a French kiss at all, but a “tongue kiss,” or “soul kissing.”

The slang expression “petting” is an American word, originally meant “to stroke or caress.” The word was used worldwide during the twentieth century, but has now become old fashioned. In the UK, it is more common to use, “touching someone up,” “frigging someone,” “rubbing someone up,” “bringing someone off.” Petting is now often referred to as “foreplay.”

Once the sex act commences, lovers hope for climax, called “orgasm,” from Greek orgasmos, “to swell up, be excited,” tracing back to 1684.

My cell phone blared “Bootylicious,” but it took me a moment to get my head out of my research before I could answer. It wasn't often homework could turn me on. “What are you doing?” Cortland asked.

I closed my laptop. I hadn't heard from him in three days. Not that I was keeping track. With my own hormones activated from all those sex definitions, he couldn't have picked a worse time to call. I didn't want to think of him in that way. “Writing about sex. You?”

“Not writing about sex I'm afraid,” he said smoothly.

“And people think linguists are boring intellectuals.” I tried to calm the flirt in my tone. My voice was lilted, thick with lust.

“Depends on if they only write about it.”

“ Touché. ”

“French origin, I presume?”

“That pesky accent gives it away every time. Literally it means ‘you touched me, you got me.‘ Originally it came from fencing and sword fighting. A fencer says it when his opponent scores a point by making contact to alert his opponent he's got him. It's used as an insult or to devalue what the other person is saying.”

“So you're insulting me, then? Funny, I don't feel insulted. Turned on, perhaps.”

“Maybe I just don't want to talk about my sex life with you, not that it doesn't warrant it,” I said playfully.

“Well, you're the one that brought it up.”

“Not so. I brought up my dissertation,” I corrected.

“Most dissertations aren't this exciting to discuss. Tell me more.”

“Funny, I thought doctors knew everything.”

“ Touché. ”

“Fine, then. Speaking of the French, what do you know about the origin of the term 'French kiss'?”

“I know I'm strongly in favor of it. What about it?”

“Not French at all. American term. Seems the French/American wars have their linguistic side, too.”

“Interesting. So what do the French call it?”

“Soul kissing, for one.”

“Goldilocks, you're always full of information.”

“I'm always good for useless sex trivia,” I said, packing up my bag. I spotted one of da Vinci's friends at the checkout counter-the one who'd said “cool” when da Vinci had introduced me as his girlfriend. He wore Greek letters on his sweatshirt, from the same frat that da Vinci had joined. I slunk in my seat, hoping he wouldn't recognize me. I turned my attention back to Cortland, trying not to show that I cared he'd called. “So to what do I owe the pleasure, anyway?”

“Wanted to see how you liked your bed. Good enough for Goldilocks?”

“Quite,” I said, thinking how nice it was to not wake up without a backache and to have da Vinci's strong frame beside me all night long. I'd hated to admit to myself how much I'd missed a sleeping companion. The bed seemed just the thing to keep my frat boy at home, at least in the wee hours of the night, but there were some things I wouldn't share with Cortland, friend or not.

“Glad to hear it,” he said. “I also called to thank you for the recommendation on the comforter. My daughter loved it. Said it was her favorite birthday gift. And anytime I can one-up my ex-wife is a good day.”

“Glad to see you're not above tacky one-upping,” I said, turning back around to find da Vinci's friend standing in front of me, apparently waiting for me to get off of my call.

“I'm gonna have to let you go,” I said, really not wanting to. It wasn't fair that the one male I felt I could really talk to was my sister's beau.

“Before you do, what do you say we take Bellezza on her first jaunt at the dog park?”

Not a date, I told myself. Safe enough to tell my sister. A boring old dog park is all. In fact, my sister should come along. “Do you think she's ready? I mean, that's sort of like taking your daughter to the first day at kindergarten. What if the other doggies are mean to her?”

“That's why I thought we should go together. She'll have Liebe there to protect her.”

After we'd made plans to meet after da Vinci's taping at Rachel's studio, I instantly regretted it. Taping, dog park, double dating. It would be worse than water torture. I'd have to listen to my sister brag about herself all night and deal with da Vinci's jealousy of Cortland.

First things first, like getting rid of da Vinci's young, grungy playmate. “Todd, right?” I asked, nearly sticking my hand out before remembering what had happened the last time I'd made that mistake, my hand just hanging there in mid-air while his friends had looked at me like a weird old person.

“Wassup?” Todd asked. “I forgot Leo said you're a student here. English or something?”

“Linguistics.”

“Yeah. Same thing,” he said, but-not wanting to look like a superior, which I so clearly was-I didn't argue with him.

“So, you coming to the party with Leo tonight?”

I shook my head, pretending I knew what the hell he was talking about. It didn't matter. I had told da Vinci- Leo as the young 'uns called him-that I would not be partying with kids half my age, or even two-thirds my age. I really needed to get out with people my own age. Like the double date with Cortland and my sister. “I've got a thing,” I said, wanting to add, “a grownup thing, like two boys and a real life. ”

“Too bad. Gonna be rockin'. The Grey Pincers are gonna play.”

“Really?” I said, feigning being impressed, whoever they were. “Well, take good care of Leo for me.”

I stood and felt Todd give me the up down. “Oh, he doesn't flirt with the girls, if that's what you mean. Not that he couldn't jump on that if he wanted. He's the talk on campus. That's why we wanted to pledge him so bad. With Leo around, the rest of us can be his wing-man and get all the girls, you know? Of course, if I were him, I would probably stay in if I had you to keep me warm. You know what they say about older women lovers-experience and all that? No wonder Leo's hot for teacher.” He flashed a lopsided grin and turned on his heels, not bothering to say goodbye.

I resisted the urge to kick him in those saggy, overpriced jeans and pull him by the ear into the ladies' room, where I would wash his mouth out with dispenser soap.

On second thought, if da Vinci's friends believed he was with me because I was an incredible lover, I could live with that.

The next morning, da Vinci woke up with a hangover the size of Texas. I know because after we'd made love (which had begun feeling more like a booty call after his late-night partying at the frat house), he had thrown up, brushed his teeth, and passed out in the bed.

I'd lain there until 4 a.m. wondering how I'd arrived at this point. For all intents and purposes, da Vinci had moved in. Just as getting rid of my marital bed had marked another step forward in my journey to Normalhood, the new bed had lured da Vinci to my side like bait: comfortable, supportive, high-thread-count bed bait. Anything was better than his old pullout couch and Lumpy. We were both the winners, really. I got a warm bedmate who happened to still be a great lover (and strangely better at certain sex acts when inebriated) and we both got a good night's sleep.