” I dedicate this to all the pretty girls, All the pretty girls, in the world
And the ugly girls too, Cause to me your pretty anyways baby”
~The Old Dirty Bastard
I remember the first time I had sex.
It was in a hotel near Grand Central Station. My collaborator was beautiful beyond words. She was German from Munchen, blond hair, blue eyes and about 5’11. We had grown close over the last 3 months and it was finally going to happen. Fast forward a few awkward but tense moments later, and I’m there standing face to .. uhm… (face) ? with a Vagina, and in my heart all I could say was: oh my god, oh my god, I’ve seen all your movies… I loved you in Forced Entry! Not only was I going to have sex. No, no no! I was going have sex with a celebrity; a superstar in her own right as vagina is loved throughout the world.
Seriously, now when I was younger sex was like the ambrosia of Greek myth: it was enticing, mysterious and completely inaccessible.Ten to twelve years later after my first time much has changed about my relationship with sex. Did you know that doggy-style is a gender oppressive and hyper-masculine or heteronormative tool used for the oppression for women? I found that out the hard way, reading late one night when my internet connection wasn’t fast enough for me to get any, from myself of course because that’s what marriage is long stretches of rubbing one out with the occasional lackluster participation of a second party.
When I was young I thought sex was fun. It was for me an expression of love (or lust) shared between two people. Turns out sex is the reward in the operant conditioning used to make sure that the garbage gets taken out regularly, and the dishes are cleaned dried and put away right after every meal. Sex has fallen from the higher ranks of a pleasure to more plebeian standings. Sex is an ingratiating need. What I thought would stay a wild and untamed descent into hedonism has since become lobotomized and domesticated. The American bedroom is very much so the table in T. S. Eliot’s opening stanza of the Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock:
LET us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
Sex @ 32 theoretically, can be amazing still, in much the same way the Mets can be relevant in a discussion about the post-season. When sex is amazing, it’s because it’s happening more often than the return of the Hale-Bop comet and isn’t being used as a tool to crush someone’s soul or get them to pretend they want to be around you.
Now when I am allowed to have sex [and not just because someone has taken pity on me because I’ve been starved like those stray dogs you see on those adopt a pet infomercials late at night] it’s amazing ! (when it happens) Why you ask, because
- I lock away my self-respect in a mini-storage place
- I’ve Accumulated enough sick days at work so I can fuck without worrying about tomorrow
- I do a lot of dead-lifts in the gym
- I know my body has changed
Oh you didn’t know?
A man’s body goes through changes in his thirties while I still work out and am active I am not the same athlete I used to be in my early 20’s. I need to expend more energy to produce at the same rate as I used to before. Compare a veteran Kobe Bryant to rookie Kobe Bryant. For Kobe to play as a rookie now it would require him to expend more energy. But injuries and playing so hard so often has taken a toll, so he plays smarter. So with changes in body come changes in mind set. My current mind-set is to remove my mind from it completely, let biology do it’s thing
Human beings tend to think that because of our advanced technology we are not animals. We like to think that we have subjugated that animalistic part of ourselves. Until you throw in some drinks, a long weekend, and a long drive anywhere and all shit breaks loose figuratively ( or literally if that your fetish).
When I have sex I put all that reading, and political discourse aside, and let biology take its course which means I am trying to recreate with my lady friend the ambiance of sybaritic revelry and orifice plundering that got the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah destroyed. If I don’t feel a ting of shame, or embarrassment, or soreness, or the want to take a shower, eat a Steak burrito from Chipotle, and seek forgiveness then I wasn’t true to myself.
But it’s not all savagery, nature is compassionate too and completely indifferent at times. Sometimes the best part of sex is the talking afterwards. Other times the best part of sex is thinking about the next time you get it which will be on your bday 6 months away, while you really enjoy a sandwich.
So what’s sex like at @32?
Let me give you an analogy
In chemistry the more stable a compound becomes, the less reactive it is. Chlorine is very reactive it was used as a weapon in WW2. It can react with almost any other element out there and form something. You put it together with Sodium which isn’t so reactive unless it’s in pure H2O and you get table salt. And that sums up sex at 32 in a committed relationship. Sure I’m not as volatile, I am not running nude through the streets of Bensonhurt, or on the E train with my pants unbuckled looking for trouble (long fucking story, my date thought she could issue a dare that I would back down from that didn’t involve me losing my life). I’m table salt now, with the memory of what it used to be like as a chlorine.
I will never be as active as I once was but stability counts for something right? I have been table salt now longer than I was a chlorine looking to start some shit. And as much as I like it, it’s not my true nature. So finally sex is a metaphysical punishment: it feels great, but reminds of the freedom I used to have, while at the same time, making me realize how I couldn’t handle that much freedom if it was returned to me.
For no Reason