Honey Mag put a very short and sweet question to Wale and his answer was a complete opposite to that. He literally wrote a chapter. I was trying to find a few quotes but damn it, this should be read in its entirety.
Honey Mag: What’s the difference between making love and f*cking?
Wale: I’ve never considered myself a sex addict, though I do enjoy an occasional nut as much as the next guy. But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve learned to appreciate the value of the highest form of physical attraction/affection — making love. Most of us get the urge often; mine normally come after a night of weed and alcohol… or that morning stretch. Not sure how my ladies’ urges occurs or how often. You all tend to be quite sporadic and random with your hormones.
The art of making love seems like a pastime, whereas f*cking, has become this generation’s making-out. I think men pursue it a bit more aggressively then women — after clubs, after school, etc. I personally enjoy the occasional quickie but never OD. Too much sex can be counterproductive, and truthfully, I’m pursuing monogamy — even if it is pessimistically searching. Sexing, in my humble opinion, has nothing to do with feelings or physical attraction for that matter. I think a woman can be sexy but not cute or bun-able (aka “wifeable” in DC terminology). These women are the ones who get me thinking ‘bout pulling their hair back and moving some furniture, but nothing more then a 15-minute — 25 if there’s some VSOP nearby. There is no passion, no strings attached. There may be welts and bruises.
It’s essentially a sexual spar between two vigorous opponents — with no losers. Henney with no chase. No Jodeci. No kissing. Get your clothes and leave when it’s over. Please don’t sleep next to me. Please don’t call me for 24 hrs… and we can do this again.
But don’t assume I haven’t been on the receiving end. I’ve even mistaken a f*ck for a love session before. Not fun. Making love is simply put: poetry in motion. Stroke her to the beat of her favorite song. Strawberries, Champagne, a bubble bath, eye contact. Hearing her heart beat while slowly handling business.
The aftermath of lovemaking is almost as important as the actual act. Gazing at the ceiling until we doze off. Running fingers through hair. Her playing with the dreads, ears, or whatever she deems necessary after the act. Sometimes a female needs to be reminded that there are feelings behind the sex. And to never be confused with sexing.
Making love, in my opinion is what makes the world go round. The toughest dude, the most cold hearted gold-digger — they all have that thing. Even if it’s buried in a dark place. I believe the art of making love (when it ACTUALLY is LOVE… MUTUALLY) is like an exercise of the soul. It’s like massaging the deepest feeling you could have for someone. For fear of sounding like the turning point of a Tyler Perry flick, I’ll gracefully bow out of the in-depth description, but before I go, I want to remind everyone that the difference between sexing and making love should never be confused.