As I stood at the kitchen sink, washing a few dishes that were leftover from last night, I was thinking about sex at the general level, from the warm and comfortable sex one can have with a wife or girlfriend, the kind of sex that’s not just about answering the call of nature but is all about demonstrating love, affection, and desire, to the kind of sex that is all about answering the call of lust, that need for release that can be delightfully impersonal and even the kind of sex that is morally illicit, you know, that thrill you get when you’re fucking someone that, morally, you have no business fucking, like another man’s wife or husband, a close friend, even maybe a distant relative – and all because it can be done and to hell with the consequences; I even thought about those private moments where the sex is a solo act, just you and your hands and fingers, sitting, standing, or lying somewhere you won’t be disturbed or interrupted until your release is achieved.
I thought about how we go out of our way to limit the sex we have, more often than not saving our lust for the right person at the right time and even under the right situation or circumstances, all the while believing what we’ve been told in our youth, that sex is such a special thing that instead of experiencing it in as many ways as possible, we must be a lot more reserved and, at all times, resist what our bodies might be telling us that run contrary to the mandate not to give up our bodies for sexual pleasure to just anyone who happens along. I thought about how this mindset makes us afraid of sex; it puts us in a position to not understand what sex is really supposed to be like – instead, we want to be that sex serves a single purpose and then only a purpose that is morally sanctioned: How many of us have been told that we should only have sex when we’re old enough to accept the responsibilities, or that we should remain virgin until we fall in love and to even remain celibate until we’re married?
How many of us find reason to deny ourselves sex? How many of us have looked at our sexual past and tremble in fear at all the times the sex went badly or not really to one’s liking and then allow those missteps to dictate how we have sex going forward? How many of us are so afraid of the power of sex that we set our standards as high as possible… and then so high as to make it nearly impossible for anyone to have sex with us; how many of us, out of frustration or some other preventable emotion, choose to give up the pursuit of sex even though they’re more than capable of engaging in such a pleasurable activity?
And all without really understanding that something could take place that can steal this joy from us and, ultimately, will take our ability and desire to have sex and drop into the unreachable abyss? As I washed Linda’s coffee cup (even though she doesn’t drink coffee anymore), I wondered how many of us will, at the moment we have our desire and ability to have sex taken away from us, find themselves filled with regret over all the things they could have done… but didn’t do… and all because they held themselves to a standard of behavior that’s designed to not really allow us to fully indulge in the pleasures of the flesh?
When I thought about what I know of human sexual behavior, I asked myself if we – on the whole – are deprived or depraved… and it occurred to me that we will go out of our way to deprive ourselves more than anything else… and that rather limited point of view makes it possible for someone to look at me as a bisexual man and decide that I’m depraved in the way I go about indulging myself in those pleasures of the flesh I mentioned. Hell, there was a time when I thought of myself as being depraved because I was willing to have sex with a man or a woman and find it all enjoyable if not educational. I thought about the fact that we love saying that we should live each day as if it’s gonna be our last and yet, when it comes to sex, eh, we’re not always so keen to approach it in that same mindset, are we? We choose to put limits on ourselves, letting the brass ring continually pass us by and then, at times, acting as if letting it pass doesn’t matter in the least bit and even adopt the cavalier attitude that if, for some reason, they could never have sex again, it’s not big deal because you can’t miss something you never had or, in this case, maybe never wanted.
We frown upon those who, by hook or by crook, engage in all the sex that they can; we call them sluts and dogs, the lowest of the low, and all because these folks refuse to have their sexual desires put on the choke chain we call morality; they understand and, perhaps, as we all should understand, that not only is sex a damned fun thing to get into, tomorrow isn’t promised to anyone so, let’s do all we can while we can because the only regrets shouldn’t ever be anything that you ve done but all those things that you didn’t allow yourself to do. And as we frown at those who are just going for what they know, we do so with an air or smugness, content in our “knowledged” that whatever sex we’re having – and if we’re having any at all – is all being done “the right way…” and whatever the fuck that really means but, yeah, one can reasonably assume that the right way is the one that we were told to do, you know, be monogamous, be heterosexual, be madly in love some with someone, all that right and proper stuff. Yes, we know that these rules work and we’ve all been bullied into adhering to them at every turn and at all costs…
Even though we’re also aware that, uh, playing by those rules will make us stay on the porch and watch every desirable opportunity to have sex go by… and then convince ourselves that we’re doing right by ourselves by keeping our desires in check and unrealized. I wondered about how many of us stay on the porch and knowing good and damned well that we’d rather not be chained to the porch of moral decency when, in the deepest parts of us, we want to suck cock and eat pussy even though we’re prohibited from doing this in, ah, certain settings; we want to know what it’s like to do these things and much more, like feeling a man’s erection in parts of our bodies that have been designated as unclean and unsafe; we want to know what it’s like to have someone who doesn’t belong to us via marriage or some other form of relationship and, really, what it’s like to take whatever sexual fantasies we have and turn them into a working reality because we feel the need to do these things… but we’re not really allowed to.
I thought about all of this and in the mere ten minutes it took for me to wash those dishes and wipe down the counters and stove. As I rinsed the sponge and turned my attention to making myself a second cup of coffee, I thought it was a damned shame that we have our sexual desires – and even our latent sexuality – put on lockdown, that there are people out there right now who, by their own choice, not experience a tenth of what I’ve experienced to date; they cannot and will not know that feeling of being sexually liberated, free to indulge themselves as they feel the need to, choosing to save themselves for that right time, that right person, that right and proper situation that doing things the right way calls for. They’ll never give into temptation because maybe they fear reprisal – who knows for sure? They’ll stay on the leash and feel safe in their imprisonment and, perhaps, not like being restricted one damned bit… but they’ll stay on lockdown because they’ve been told that they have to.
And all while accepting that life is really and truly too short not to do whatever can be done in the time that we have… and while we are able to do these things that we’re not supposed to do. In any of this, sure, there are lines that should never be crossed… but this isn’t about crossing those lines… it’s about being able to tip-toe as close to the line as you dare to and just for the thrill of it all, oh, like, not limiting yourself to just one love or one lover and believing that these things cannot and should not be negotiated for. Yeah, in a way, it’s all about being a “bad boy” or a “bad girl,” setting aside the imposed criteria for who you can have sex with, when you can, what they have to look like, and other such things that we believe have meaning… but those things that can also make us stay on the porch when we may not want to.
Given the choices, I’d rather be depraved than deprived… and because, well, it’s fun… and life is a hell of a lot shorter than we make think it is. I’ll take depraved over deprived any day because I know that there will come a time when I won’t be able to have sex in any way, that time will rob me of my desires, and fuck, no, I’m not going into that good night meekly or even willingly… and I’ve not yet been able to understand why there are so many people who are willing to just accept this. It’s life, yes, and there’s no escaping it but when my times comes when I can no longer have any kind of sex, shit, I’d rather spend the rest of the time I had thinking about the few things time didn’t give me a chance to do more than feeling shitty about all the shit I could have done… but didn’t do.
Time to see the dentist…