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The mind is on auto-pilot as I zip down the road, my body reverbing as if I just spent all weekend at the OzzFest camped next to forty-five foot tall speakers. My companion rides shotgun with a big smile etched upon her face--looking like a female version of the Joker. Both of us are spent and I am quite positive I just registered more than a passing grade on the ole "jackhammer fuck." That's when she turns to me, like she’s just discovered a cure for AIDS, and exclaims: "Sex is a lot of work."

My jaw drops and I look at her dumbfounded for a few minutes. Finally, I laugh and counter with: "You think you’re worked over. How about me?" After all, I was the worker bee who was doing most of the strenuous stuff--for at least ten minutes.

It’s like trying to figure out who is getting more punishment, the nail that’s getting pounded or the board it’s going into. I say the nail every time, but maybe I'm a little biased.

Now, mind you, I hadn’t had a workout of this magnitude since that dumb-ass seventh-grade President’s Physical Fitness Exam and it makes me curious, so I pose this question to the lady who’s riding shotgun: "Why do so many women like to get pummeled?"

She guffaws (one of those after-good-sex guffaws), loves the adjective and what follows between us is an in-depth rap session on the topic--If only they could be so candid on the Dr. Phil Show.

Dr. Phil: So tell the studio audience: What's your problem?

Guest: Well, Dr. Phil, I'm just trying to figure out why women like to get fucked so hard? And why as men, we're willing to comply.

My partner-in-flesh starts by asking me if this is a common phenomenon with my shag partners. I smile in the affirmative and tell her that "harder" is one of the first words out of their mouths. (Actually it occurs several minutes after one of two phrases: "Make me your whore" or "wrong hole!"). I then ask her if that’s how she always likes it--rough-and-tumble. Her answer is "yes," the more aggressive the better.

A quick tour through past sexual escapades and something definitely sticks out in my mind: I have to guestimate that at least half of my sexual partners weren’t able to climax unless I was nailing away at them as if I were working on the railroad all the livelong day.

Is this you, ladies? Do you find that you love to hear the sound of the bed slamming against the wall like a 7.2 earthquake is shaking it? What about you, guys? How many times have you been there? Your tool helping to split San Andreas Fault apart at the seams?

Speaking for my anonymous self, I usually prefer the slow, deep thrust method, because that incredible sensation of warmth that you women make us feel once we’re inside your luscious love tunnel is quickly erased when we start frantically mining for oil like a twanging, 10-gallon-hat-wearing Texan tycoon.

Then all we do is worry: Are you OK? Jesus, am I killing her? Should I call 911? My mother? Help! They never taught us this in school. Maybe instead of the President’s Physical Fitness Exam, they should have ... oh yeah, it was called Sex-Ed … and a lot we learned in there: "This is the vagina and this is the penis...class dismissed."

For any of you perpetual members of H.A. who have an inkling to explore your sexuality beyond Men’s Health or Cosmo, I recommend Robin Baker’s compelling book, Sperm Wars. Here’s a quote:

Now you know why a favorite female fantasy is being role-play raped.

My only criticism is that everything Baker speaks of in his book points to our instinctual motives, focusing everything on the mammal in us and in the process, he neglects our human side and our supposedly higher power of reason, our ability to rise to a John Gray-kind of love. I think we all do believe we can fly...But in reality-

Maybe rough sex is just a thin veil disguising another truth: Men and women have become so confused with our roles that we have a difficult time being intimate with each other.

This is obviously a battle between two different camps. In this corner: “the serious screw” and in the other corner “making love.” The animal versus the human. “Me Tarzan, you Jane” versus “Me Romeo, you Juliet.” Wait, Romeo and Juliet committed suicide because they couldn’t have each other, maybe a bad example, but nevertheless I asketh of you: Why is it so hard for us to get past the primal screw?

Is it because our animal is stronger than our anima (soul) and power of reason combined?

True, there is a time and place for everything. And if a man were to make love to his woman like the oh-so sensitive Kenny G. everyday, and she countered with the daintiness of a prima ballerina, things might get a little stale. Indeed, the “me sweaty football jock, you slutty cheerleader” romp is not bad sometimes, even tumultuous, but when it becomes routine and a hump we can’t get over, what’s that saying about our capacity to love? Is love just a four-letter word for F-U-C-K?