Julianne Roth is a journalism senior and Mustang Daily sex columnist. 

When I think of consensual sex in public, I imagine young people doing it in their parents’ Volvos, and people banging in the wilderness.

A “brothel on wheels” — that was one nickname for the automobile in the 1920s.

Only six years ago, I saw my car as freedom on wheels — just fill her up with that liquid liberty and the world was mine, at least until responsibility nagged me all the way home.

Despite this false sense of freedom, it wasn’t until recently that it crossed my mind to have sex in my car.

Maybe I would have if I dated in high school, but my general opinion of the boys — I stress boys — at my school was, “How do I aways find myself at the asshole convention every week?”

That pathetic trip down memory lane had a purpose: basically to illustrate that although I fancy myself as a fairly creative person, I don’t know what I would have done in high school if I’d miraculously tangled myself in a mistake — I mean, a relationship.

I guess that’s why people, sometimes those living with their parents, often choose to have sex in cars.

According to HistoryToday, “Some contemporaries saw ‘fast cars’ and ‘fast’ conduct as inextricably mixed” in the 1920s.

Natural in nature

For some people, I think the thrill of having sex in public doesn’t have to do with the risk involved with the frisk, but rather the effect of soulful serenity, which ensues man’s alignment with nature.

Simply put: I’m a nature lover.

Pun intended.

I love wandering off the beaten path, engulfed in trees, society out of sight.

Once in a while, the only thing that could really improve this scenario is backing into some thick wood of my own.

In my opinion, making love in the wilderness is like going 72 miles per hour in a 65-mile-per-hour zone.

You’re breaking the law, but if you’re careful, you’re probably not going to get caught.

Mind you, this is coming from an ultra paranoid person — I’m talking Richard Nixon paranoid.

And when I say you probably won’t get caught in the act, I mean the chances are comparable to those of getting pregnant while taking birth control pills correctly.

Scope out your surroundings beforehand — especially in scenarios such as this:

“The sun’s not the only thing that’s hot today,” you think to yourself as your partner hikes up toward the peak. And now you’re holding back the compulsion to reach a peak of your own.

“I am not an animal. I can wait until we get home. I am not an animal,”  you chant to yourself while attempting to unglue your eyes from his or her rear.

Now, some of my astute readers may have just smelled something fishy, and it wasn’t bacterial vaginosis … I hope, I pray (Yes, sex columnists can pray, too).

Au contraire, desperate hiker  — we are animals.

We’re animals with a somewhat impressive frontal cortex — that’s if we fire it up once in a while.

Therefore (most of us) analyze our options and consequences before taking an action, instead of letting our hindbrain take over.

So, we should all know that we can have sex and we can talk about sex, but we technically can’t do it in public — that’s illegal.

Public includes, but is not limited to, the woods, cemeteries, private places that can be viewed by the public, public restrooms and, of course, Robert E. Kennedy Library. If I need to explain to you what the definition of sex is for this law, you should just go play checkers.

The consequences for getting caught in the act of public sex can range from embarrassment to being charged with indecent exposure — but for some, it’s worth the risk of getting screwed to get screwed good.

I don’t advise anyone to have sex in public. But if you do decide to make love amongst the flowers and the squirrels, make sure you and your partner have clean hands and, at least, put a towel down (if you’re opposed to doggy style).

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