Hotel Sex is the Best Kind of Sex

If there's anything not awesome about going on vacation, I don't know what it is. A couple of days, kid-free, in a hotel of my choosing is my own personal bliss. Hell, I don't care if I LEAVE the hotel -- just give me a few days off.

Even better than laying in bed, watching cartoons all day and night, is having a hotel room with my husband.

Why? Hotel sex.


Suffice to say, I don't get to do it very often, thanks to my exquisite taste in hotels, but whenever I do? It's ON.

The sex, I mean.

It's not surprising that someone like me, who writes a sex column, likes sex in any form, but what's better than sex at home? Sex that, immediately afterward, I can order a $40 cheeseburger, still butt-naked, from room service. I can then throw on a towel to sign for my overpriced cheeseburger and eat the damn thing butt-ass-naked. Honestly, there's nothing more luxurious (even if the cheeseburger tastes faintly of Denny's.).

It's not like hotel sex is a whole lot different than sex at home -- I don't grow special parts or suddenly begin to resemble a porn star, it's just that when I'm in a hotel? Locked doors STAY locked. There are no kids wandering in, asking for a sippy cup of juice just as I'm getting down and dirty. Although, after being a parent this long, I pretty much expect that one will wander in no matter WHAT I am doing and demand juice.

The best part of hotel sex is this: I don't have to make the bed. It's not like we make a gigantic mess or anything, but sex (or sleeping) on fresh sheets is up there next to Godliness. Knowing that I can leave the room for a bit and come back to a freshly made bed is pure heaven on Earth.

The whole trip is next to Godliness, in fact, until I go to check out and realize that I've inadvertently spent $600 on crappy hotel cheeseburgers. That would be why we go on vacation once every four or so years.

Really, is there any kind of sex better than hotel sex?


Image via ryanready/Flickr

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