Sex Sux!

Warning: This post will absolutely contain graphic materials unsuitable for tender minds or uptight prudes. 'nuff said...

So, those few readers who know me fairly well know that I love sex. So, what the hell's with the title anyway? Well first, being a guy, I can safely say that the worst sex I ever had wasn't awful. We guys are really pretty simple that way. So, no. As an act or an experience or a hobby or an avocation, sex is pretty darn good. But as a currency of exchange? Not so good...

Let's back up a moment. You know, sometimes, a thought comes into our heads fully formed. Just, bam! There it is. A-Z. Spit it out, verbally or on paper or on the keyboard & screen, a few minutes edit and we're good to go. This one, though? More like a blind person in unfamiliar terrain encountering a large irregular unknown object. I bumped into it from three or four directions before I realized it was all one and the same. The first bump was a few weeks back, during some lightweight walking meditation. A thought suddenly came to me that I could kind of, sort of, almost maybe a little get my mind around this voluntary celibacy thing. Now for me, that's weird. Celibacy, I mean. And my thinking suddenly I get it? Too strange. But I do, at least in the spiritual contemplative sense...

Let's admit, first, that for the vast majority of people, the most intense natural pleasure one can feel, for however concentrated a time, and excluding drugs, is the orgasm. It is the escape from reality to beat all escapes from reality. Now, if it happens to be with someone you're in love with and hopelessly attracted to, and the setting is right, and the circumstances perfect, and the timing ideal, and everyone in the game has pushed all the right buttons in all the right sequences with all the right pressure for just the right intervals, we might swear we've "slipped the surly bonds of earth," to quote the Gipper, who borrowed it from aviator poet John Gillespie Magee, Jr. Of course we haven't, we've just suffered a temporary sensory meltdown, following the triggering of every single nerve and muscle in our body. Who knew toes could really curl that way? Wow!

Point is, most humans have certain habits and activities and experiences which bring them particular pleasure, and it is normal to seek to repeat or duplicate these. The addict isn't able to control this urge - it is a compulsion. But in a real sense, as relates to sex, for everyone but the sex addict (no, we're not going there in this post), that's just a matter of degree...

So, if you, like I, accept the Buddhist notion that desire is the root of all suffering, and if we admit that the perfect sexual encounter resulting in the most spectacular of orgasms and afterglows and fireworks and rainbows and bluebirds singing afterward is a very elusive goal with the most fleeting of rewards, then you must admit that life would simply be simpler without it, and foregoing it would free up so much psychic and spiritual energy to put toward more productive pursuits and achievable objectives.

Don't get me wrong. I have no plans of going there. I just get it, as much as one can "get" anything one hasn't experienced...

Which brings me to the second bump in the dark room, triggered by a post of a Facebook friend a awhile back, querying whether, given the chance, respondents would voluntarily change genders, if they knew that they could change back without any negative repercussions. I didn't just say yeah. I said, hell, yeah! Because you know what? I've been trying to understand how women work, sexually speaking, for more than 35 years now, and I still don't have it all worked out. I mean most of it, sure, and I like to think better than most guys because I'm just curious that way, and stubborn as hell. But still, there is absolutely no way for a male to understand what a female is feeling, much less understand what she's thinking, during that magic dance we call sex. And vice-versa. And that sucks. Doesn't it?

Which brought me to the third bump, which occurred when I was visiting with some gay friends, during which visits we do not discuss sex. Why? You know, I don't really know. I think I would be cool with it. The conversation, I mean. I'm so straight that gays, many of whom I dearly love, are as much a mystery to me as straight women, but I totally get lesbians. How weird is that? Dude, I love women, they love women. Hello? Oops, sidetrack. Anyway, coming out of my visit with these gay friends, I suddenly thought to myself, sort of like the celibate thing, that I could get, from a sexual standpoint, the attraction. Ok, maybe not the attraction, but the compatibility, if that makes sense. I mean, men are all plumbed the same way, and we are S-I-M-P-L-E. I mean, really. And we all feel pretty much the same thing, physiologically. And, because we know what feels good for us, and why, we should be able to, err, relate? Yeah, relate to what a same sex partner is feeling at any point, more than an other sex partner ever could. Ditto women, notwithstanding the fact that women are just way, way more complex, in every way possible.

So, now that we have some background, sex as a currency of exchange, sucks. And yes it is, and everyone knows it is. This was brought triply home the other evening when a friend and I were at a local festival, sans dates or spouses, and were being hit on shamelessly by semi-soused, apparently well-off married women who seemed to have trouble keeping their boobs covered or their hands to themselves. Dudettes, you're married. What is it you're looking for that you don't have at home? Aha, now we're talking sexual market economics - something we can all understand, if we're brave enough. So, are you coming with me?

So, let's say you're walking down the street and somebody walks up and offers you a fistful of rupees or shekels or dinars or won or yen or... You get the drift. You have no clue what its worth. Fortunately, there is a global currency market for global currency. Now let's say that you find yourself nekkid (or not yet, take your time. Enjoy yourself. No hurry...) and you're handed the mission of making your partner feel as good as you possibly can. Yeah, call me crazy if you want, but I've always found the best sex is about giving. But still, we are totally clueless. Effective communication can only occur when there is a point of shared understanding. Now, I know I'm not offering a bunch of answers tonight - you know I much prefer questions. But I will spill a few beans about guys in hope that my lady reader friends might be compelled to reciprocate, thus enlightening the male readership and making the world a happier place for everyone...

First, guys don't want anything for sex. They/we just want sex. And we're really simple that way. This is pretty much always true. Okay, I'm making an assumption regarding my gay friends, but am guessing its not that different. (Damn, I really do need to talk with them about sex, now. Am suddenly curious...hmmm) Anyway, we don't want anything but sex, and we don't think while we're having sex. About anything. Except sex. And sometimes, not even that. Okay, now that I think of it, that's probably an oversimplification. I'm saying sex but am meaning intercourse. If we're doing anything else, we're thinking. A lot. Like, how the hell does this thing work? Like, does she like this? Really like it? Or is she just trying to make me feel good? Does it feel good for her? Should I be going faster? Slower? Harder? Softer? Oh! My!! God!!!

Yes, its true that when partners are together long enough, and if they communicate really well, and if they care, and if they're giving and generous and honest, eventually they learn what works. Hopefully. Or do they? Or do they only learn what they think works, because their partner finally got tired of trying to communicate something that can't really effectively be communicated? No, I'm not the only one who wonders these things. Again, men being simple, women know. The converse is not true...

Is it fair that men are all built pretty much the same? Which, as I mentioned before, is simple. Basic. All out there. We have maybe ten erogenous zones if we're really self-aware, and only care about two or three. Usually the same two or three. Women have about a million, and every woman is different, likes something different, prefers more or less pressure, this or that position, one sequence versus another. And no, we know you're not trying to be difficult. Its just nature's little joke to counterbalance our disgusting simplicity...

Which wouldn't matter, much, really. Except that, as I mentioned before, women use sex as currency, at least much of the time. Sometimes, at rare points and in rare circumstances, they just want sex. More often, they may be trading for something simple like love, or security or a little peace and quiet- if I just give him what he wants maybe he'll go to sleep and let me work on the grocery list. Or it might be for a new car or a diamond ring or a trip to Aruba or marriage until death do us part. Which is generally about security and hopefully about love. The problem is, currency values fluctuate in the real world, and in the sexual world they fluctuate wildly. There's stress and outside pressure and phases of the moon and age-induced physiology changes and maybe you're already married and you've got the diamond ring and you've just gotten back from the trip to Aruba and that's paid for already dammit and leave me alone you clueless clumsy buffoon. And of course these aren't always conscious, so when your partner asks what wrong you may not know and you may tell him so and he may believe you and he may not. And, did I mention, that he's really, really very simple when it comes to sex?

Anyway, here's what I think goes on in the mind of half-soused married women who can't keep their boobs in or their hands to themselves, and in many cases in the minds of their male counterparts as well. I think that maybe, just maybe, they're foolishly hoping to recreate somehow that perfect experience they had once upon a time but haven't in a long time when with they were with someone they were in love with and hopelessly attracted to, and the setting was right, and the circumstances perfect, and the timing ideal, and everyone in the game pushed all the right buttons in all the right sequences with all the right pressure for just the right intervals, and they swore they'd "slipped the surly bonds of earth." The perfect sexual encounter resulting in the most spectacular of orgasms and afterglows and fireworks and rainbows and bluebirds singing afterward. And it took two days for that cramp in their toes to work itself out...

Alcohol, I'm afraid, does not make fantasies come true...

Disclaimer: I've been married for almost thirty years, probably have as good a sex life as any of the few couples I know who've made it as far as we have. So no, hon, this isn't about you. Now come back to bed, you silly thing...