Where has all the real sex gone?
If I told you I had sex last night would you judge? If I described it in detail would you squirm?
A lot of Americans are very uncomfortable with sex. I’m not just talking about the “family values” crowd who think that sex is dirty and wrong and depictions of it in movies will destroy the moral fabric of our nation. I’m talking about your average HBO subscriber, Cosmo or GQ reader, even people who are regular consumers of porn. It is surprisingly easy to make even these unsheltered, worldly individuals uncomfortable if you talk about sex with any real accuracy or detail. This is because what we see spicing up our television screens and seducing us in the hopes that we will buy a particular brand of vodka is a fiction, a fantasy, a mirage.
Real sex isn’t like that. Real sex is vulnerable and imperfect. Real sex is sloppy and unpredictable. Real sex has smells and tastes. Real sex doesn’t magically have a mood appropriate sound track. Real sex doesn’t come with an editor to cut around the awkward moment when you accidentally elbow your partner in the face. Real sex doesn’t fade out before the clean up. Real sex doesn’t come with flattering lighting. And that’s what makes it so glorious. It’s something genuine that you get to share with another human being.
Unfortunately, the fantasy is everywhere. When people say “sex sells,” they mean imaginary glamorized sex. And the more this carefully crafted fiction works its way into our everyday life and consciousness, the more we come to expect it to materialize in reality. This expectation makes us lose sight of what’s wonderful about real sex. And the more disconnected we become from the reality of sex, the harder it is for us to have a healthy relationship with it. If we are chasing a fantasy that never really existed, we will never be truly satisfied with ourselves or our partners.
Yet even people who manage to keep the fantasy in it’s place (and I would never deny that there is a place for fantasy in our sex lives) often have trouble openly discussing sex with their partners. It’s difficult to look someone in the eye and form the words to ask for what you really want, or explain your reasons for the things you don’t want. Because as soon as the fiction leaves the room and we are left to stare down the reality, the old notion that sex is dirty and wrong creeps back in to fill the void left between us and the real sex we face.
But if we can cast away the guilt and the shame, refuse to use the fictional sex as a crutch, and embrace that reality… just imagine the possibilities. And those possibilities you are imagining, my friend, they are an excellent use of fantasy.
Sex and the Single Feminist 
I always find it interesting that there is a sexual barrier erected (snicker) around the people we are closest to in life. Our friends don’t have sex. Our family members don’t have sex. they can’t, they couldn’t, because we can’t seem to handle the idea that Uncle Max gets it on with Aunt Ida, or that Payson, my friend from Accounting who runs the Fantasy Football league, get’s naked with his wife. Its like our friends and family aren’t allowed to be sexual beings. I’m not suggesting that family reunions should start becoming full on orgies. (Just lost my appetite for the lunch I have waiting at home…) Nor do I think that dinner parties with friends should go from drinks, to dinner, dessert, then a key exchange bowl placed on the coffee table–
Scratch that! I think that is a capital idea!
Sorry, drifted off for a second. Where was I? Right, everyone is a sexual creature. We should accept that, celebrate it! Once you lose your virginity, you see the world like Dorothy did in Oz. Everyone is strangely in a faux technicolor and a part of your reptilian brain thinks, “Wonder what she’s like in bed? Her hips kind of rock from side to side. Wonder if he’s huge or how strong his fingers are,” etc. I hate when I make an observation like, “I wonder if Payson and his wife prefer sex in the morning or at night,” and receive a punch in the shoulder and the hissed admonishment, “I don’t want to think about them like that!” Why the hell not? Is it so wrong to talk about this stuff? We all have likes and dislikes, fetishes (Princess Leia’s white dress) and phobias (more than one D scares me), and we all have questions. Birth control has to be legislated, but Viagra is almost available in Pez dispensers. AIDS is an epidemic internationally when it could easily have been controlled and contained had we been able to talk about the fact that it cannot be cured by raping a pre-teen virgin! Abortions are a much more difficult subject, but how to prevent pregnancy shouldn’t be. STDs/STIs are so scary because no one talks about them. Why is it that there is no cure for things that have been around as long as humans have been… human? And sex is a multi-million dollar industry. When Trekkie Monster can sum up the internet (“for porn”) so easily, why is it that the shame of such a small minority (the religious conservatives) has such sway? I like the BBC cause they swear and show nudity. Yet HBO can’t just let nudity happen, they have to recast historical figures and make them smoking hot, with perfect teeth and tight bodies having sex with equally hot servants. Did servants even have teeth, and the British HATED bathing! Hot water was believed to be a health risk, right?! And Henry 8 was a completely repulsive man, right? So how am I supposed to imagine him as sexy, getting sexual with hot serving wench #3, when the truth keeps popping in my head?! Can I please just think about Payson and his top heavy wife?
I will say it now, and I know my mother would not approve of a Facebook note like this:
My friends have sex. My family members have sex. I know this because eventually they all sprout offspring and sometimes, when they think I am not watching, they share a tiny grin that means, “we bump uglies when we’re alone,” and then I grin because I am happy for them. Someone should be getting some. Everyone’s reptilian brain stem needs to be stimulated on a regular basis.
I’ll be in my bunk.