2) Sleepy Water-Colored Memories: I don't mean suddenly remembering that you left the iron on, although that could be an issue. I mean that some people say that the tactile senses (touch, smell, taste) are most linked with individual memories. Sometimes they're good memories gone bad, "Oh, this feels just like how I used to do it with… my ex. Why am I thinking about him/her now? Oh God, just concentrate. But that trip we took to Rio was so great and then I get dumped when we got home," and theeeeeeeeeeeeew (that's the sound of blood rushing from your genitals). Obviously, memories about trauma are even worse. It's probably a good idea to call a timeout and explain yourself. "You know what we were just doing? It was identical to a scene from Sliver and my dad sort of left us for a Billy Baldwin lookalike. So, uh, weird for me." You owe your partner a rain check. Let's move on before we get into any really scary territory.
1) Spoken Word Poetry: Sometimes the right word at the right time can really crank things up to 9. But the wrong word is even more powerful. It's probably a good idea to bring dirty talk up incrementally and don't overdo, Shakespeare. The other verbal turn-offs are what I'll call the book of revelations. Imagine that things are going on nice and well and good and you hear the words, "Oh, my condom just broke. Sorry." Not even an atom bomb being ridden by Marvin Gaye dropped into an oil refinery in a dry California forest could restoke those flames. Along the same lines are, "I can't seem to find the handcuff keys," "Oh sh*t, I forgot to take my pill today," "I assume I told you I had the drip, right?" and "My husband is going to be so mad when he finds out." Save your drama for the Dalai Lama but do give the other person a heads up when their health or parental status is in danger. Follow the camping rule and you're all good. Watch: Love and (Safe) Sex: How Do You Have The STD Talk?
Any other serious mood-killers that I may have missed?
*I do my absolute best to not use the word "fart," but you can't call James Joyce a passed gas sniffer, can you?