Intimacy levels evolve. At first the simple noise of urine splashing in sanitary ware walls seems like a natural disaster that we try to avoid by filling it with toilet paper, experiencing dipsy dancing while trying to find that special spot where each toilet allows runoff without any noise or even trying to separate pee into tiny unsatisfactory little pees. Fortunately it doesn’t last much longer.

After the first pee comes the first waking up together, if you actually slept. For people like me, with very special needs when it comes to light and temperature, at the best you had hyperactive and disconnected dreams in which your body consciousness that you are in a strange bed never abandoned you. Then you “wake up” and if you are the lovely type you kiss each other. Terrible idea, considering the pestilential ecosystem that marinated overnight in every oral cavity you both have. If you’re fast enough you probably succeeded into slipping to rub your partner’s toothpaste and gargle, pretending that strong minty taste is your natural fragrance. Maybe even you both did it, predicting each other’s morning practices and beginning the kissing as if none of you would have noticed the oddity that is to have a fresh mouth under the sheets at 8 am.

But then you get more and more careless, like with that first time you farted so hard that it brought you from the depths of drowsiness to the harsh reality of the deafening silence that is to try to ascertain if everyone woke up or only the gas transmitter did. Every breathing change counts. The tension settles, you can expect recognition movements denunciating smelling emissions and then the brain screams an almost audible “Fuckkkkk! Why? “( I will get back here). With luck the person implicated will pretend not having noticed the occurrence and soon you’ll both get familiar with the available diversity of vocabulary to designate human flatulence – in Portuguese we say “pum”, “peido”, “bufinha” or any other cutsy name – adopting an expression that pleases you both or simply continuing to ignore such incidents.

And there is the top level, the ultimate one. Poo. There is no denying that this is an important aspect of life as a couple. Of everyone’s life, by the way, but for various reasons, until it’s recognized as a mundane activity, the couple goes through a process of systematic obliviousness (in which successive approximations to the act of excreting are made until it is finally accepted). The process can be very quick or very slow. Some more carefree people will attribute the act of defecating the exact banality status it deserves. Others will behave as if it were a sacred act that should be developed in complete privacy and with their partner’s total lack of knowledge, especially when it comes to a woman – everyone knows that women do not poop. Of course there is always the shock therapy, but I will refrain from describing to protect sensitive readers.

Now let’s face real sexuality. The frequency levels drop dramatically and morning oral practices are sacred to special occasions. VERY special. Since labor duties do matter again and the presentation of a hyper sexuality self-image is not a concern anymore. This adjustment of expectations occurs naturally and is concomitant with the development of other daily routines.

You return to your pajamas, which is a relief. I know that sleeping naked enables the production of something – I will not vouch for the accuracy of this information – which is very positive for the sensuality and even improves sleeping quality. So beautiful, especially if it is a summer hot nap, but the expectation of feeling human hairiness in the middle of the back moving to the rhythm of someone’s expiration is enough to give me insomnia already.

Having sex evolves to making love. It is even offensive designating the act as non-promising-eternal-vows thing. And you share and heal diseases side by side, including genital ones. Calling upon Gino-Canesten  (whose prefix may mislead you into believing that its topical use is processed only into vaginas), that lust loaded act, is elevated to bedside conversations, as if the coexistence of flu wasn’t  unpleasant enough.

 

This post was originally written in Portuguese. Click here for the original text.