Sex is like any art in that when it’s really great it breaks routine, reveals hidden beauty, and extends our sense of ourselves. Great art succeeds in creating something new, in a new way, from a new perspective. Great sex is the same. It needs variety, innovation, audacity, but it is sometimes difficult to find the will to inject those qualities into our daily lives. We need change, we need change in sex, we need other bodies with other predilections, but sometimes just changing the atmosphere will bring about some of that change we seek.

Long story short: my wife and I have been fucking our way across Europe. We’ve been keeping fellow hotel guests up late. We’ve been having fantasies in languages we hardly speak. We’ve been rutting around in strange neighborhoods.

Case in point: it’s 3 AM and we’re walking through the still lively streets of Barcelona, hand-in-hand, my cock still damp and sticky from a hand job under a table at a sexy discoteca. I’m also keeping an eye out for dark alleys to do dirty things in and have found a couple to drag her into, sliding her dress up over her hips to get at that pussy again. In the blackness we kiss, hands running everywhere. Again, we’re dizzy with lust.

Back in the hotel room she’s naked in a flash and begging for it on all fours. I’m naked too, our clothes in a heap, balcony doors open wide to a sleeping apartment building across the way and the honking street down below. Neither of us makes a move to turn off the light. She’s on the bed, on all fours, looking out the window. I’m behind her, hands on her hips, sliding up, again, into an unbelievable wetness, looking out the window. We’re like two rapt spectators waiting for something to happen out there. Dimly, a thought occurs to me: we’re into windows.

Later: still flirting with the Night, showing it our asses (which are particularly toned from afternoons spent wandering around museums, the Night will notice), with her limply folded over the edge of the bed, me crouched behind her in an endless fuck. Both of us moaning now. Somebody may have banged on the wall.

Later: me on my knees with my back still to the night, she laid out for me on her back, knees spread wide. She’s propped on her elbows and looking out over my shoulder towards whatever may be out there. I fuck her as if I’ve got competition. The Night’s another lover, and she’s entranced by it, quiet now, just biting her lip and whimpering like some starving animal as she stares off over my shoulder.

Later: the bathroom. I don’t know how we got here. There are no windows, but there’s a full-length mirror, and our backs are to it, but she’s bent over with her hands on the bidet, and I’m talking her from behind again, madly, uncontrollably. She looks out from between her legs, and in the mirror she must see my ass driving into her as she moans. The position is completely ridiculous, but it isn’t ridiculous at all. We’ve fucked ourselves into another dimension, where bodies float in all directions and are forever beautiful.

Later: I want her to watch me licking her pussy and for her to only watch me licking her pussy. She sits on the edge of the bidet and I kneel down in front of her and I lick. She watches herself over my head. One hand fingers her nipple and she seems to grow more excited at the sight of herself in the mirror. I am just a sensation, not another human body. She has locked eyes with herself in the sex mirror and is groaning.

I lick and I lick and I lick, and she comes. As I rise she runs her hand down over my chest to my cock, quickly. Then I’m standing before her, turning slightly, and we both watch her suck my cock in the sex mirror until I explode, in the sex mirror.

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