But the beauty of distracted sex is that it’s so unself-conscious. Couples often have less sex than they want to; a 2011 study of 4,290 men (3,240 of them in opposite-sex relationships) and 4,366 women (3,304 of them in opposite-sex relationships) in Australia found that a majority of the men wished they were having more sex, while some 30% of the women did. Experts, meanwhile, opine that women in relationships would have sex more often if they weren’t so stressed, tired, or insecure about their bodies, and offer tips to overcome these inconvenient feelings. I’m not saying that these aren’t mood-killers, but another possible (and related) culprit is our insistence that each sexual experience we have constitute Great Sex™, the “movie-theater lovemaking” my partner cited, which can seem daunting to execute if we are in fact a little sleepy or bloated or not 110% chomping at the bit to rip off our partner’s clothes and bang the living daylights out of them with the seamless continuity of a single-take movie sequence. (And let’s not forget that in movies, "lovemaking" is a plot device to move a story along, not, you know, actual sex — but we normalize and emulate what we see.)I love that my partner and I are comfortable with a variety of modes of getting it on. Some of our hookups are superbly lazy. We’ll have a conversation about something as banal as our days at work while we have sex, take a break and put on 30 Rock, and then start fooling around again 20 minutes later, or not. Playing with distraction, through phone use for example, lightens the mood, and lightheartedness takes the pressure off performance. My partner doesn’t feel expected to come in a certain amount of time, or do much of anything other than enjoy my body. That can be hot for us both.