Making Love (A Lesson in Syntax and Semantics)

As I am writing the latest installment of “The Rental”, I find Julianna, my heroine, educating the band about the difference between making love and fucking. I thought it would be a good essay, a fun writing opportunity, and an excellent illustration to the differences between syntax and semantics.

Keep in mind that these are just my opinions, and you’re free to disagree. In fact, please add your own examples and definitions. Perhaps my syntax is correct, but not the semantics?

First, let’s get down a couple of definitions. Syntax is the pattern or formation of sentences or phrases in a language. Semantics is the meaning or the interpretation of a word, sentence, or other language form. To put it more simply, syntax is the meaning of the word; semantics is how you interpret it. As a writer (for though I am not formally published, I do consider myself a writer) I choose words not only for their definition, but for the impact they will have on my reader. This is why my chapters are sometimes separated by a long span of time; I need to get the feeling just right for me.

In any case, let’s consider this example: the difference between making love and fucking. Both are syntactically the same. They both refer to a sexual act between partners. The semantics, however, distinguish the two phrases quite succinctly, and you instinctively know what I’m talking about. I know you do.

Making love brings to mind something beautiful and fulfilling for both partners (for in my world, any more than two people involved makes it fucking). The olde-time definition of this term is to court someone, or to engage in amorous caressing. Modern wordsmiths define it simply as sexual intercourse.

For the reader who is missing her lover, making love is the gentle joining of bodies and souls, hearts and mouths, at that last coupling before parting. For she who is about to take that first plunge with a new lover, making love is the whole experience, from that first tentative, shy kiss, to the cuddling together and soft caresses exchanged after that last earth-shattering orgasm.

In both of the previous examples, the semantics are essentially the same: a slow, satisfying journey you take with your partner through the realms of pleasure. Quite different, I think you would agree, from fucking.

Fucking can be something beautiful or something awful. It can be that excitingly rough encounter when you’re in the janitor’s closet or the airplane bathroom, and you need a quick release. It can be jumping the bones of your lover when you’ve not seen him for some time. The desperate need for sexual release, driving you to tear at each others clothes until you can be flesh to flesh; not being able to breathe until your lover is buried to the hilt inside you, and then the breathing is so labored you can hardly stand it. That’s good, old-fashioned fucking.

On the other hand, fucking can be ugly. I’d be remiss if I didn’t include this, even in passing. It can be that scary encounter when you’re drunk at a party, or walking alone, and someone assaults you. I won’t dwell on that, but suffice it to say, this is perhaps the most glaring difference between fucking and making love. In no stretch of the imagination can the latter be described as making love – not unless you need psychiatric help.

Making love involves your heart and mind, body and soul. Fucking is strictly animal coupling, a rush for release to ease the building tension you feel.

When I write, I try to include both types of sexual activity. The chapters where the characters are making love are tender and sweet, and usually happen when there’s been some sort of struggle or hard time one or both parties have gone through. It is a re-affirmation of their love for one another. The other chapters, the ones where you, gentle reader, reply with a *T*H*U*D* or a Holy Shit, those are the fucking ones. The ones where the characters are so wound up that they feel as if they will burst into flames if they cannot join with their mates. When there are those smoldering looks, the panty-dampening touches, the pants-tightening kisses.

Including both kinds of sexual activity, I think, make the characters more real. For those of us fortunate to have partners, you know what I’m talking about. You’ve been there. On your anniversary or birthday, or after a romantic dinner, when you retire to the bedroom, there’s the gentle kisses, the slow loving of comfortable partners. When you go to a club together, or watch a steamy movie, or just plain have the itch, well, you get the point.