Now the good stuff.

I wonder: is it really so bad to be a sex addict?  I mean, sure, it gets in the way of some essential things like, say, work or family, but you’ll never have to utter those despairing words “It’s been three months.”  Having such an “affliction” (rhymes with “addiction” but sounds less technical, I think) will certainly lead to some always-sought-after cred with your male friends (that goes for both guys and girls).

I certainly wish (occasionally) that I had such an issue (is there a term for the total opposite of sex addiction?).  Perhaps my (only momentary, of course) dopamine binge would actually help my relationships.  Now there’s a thought.  But, no, to add such a spell to my already filling catalog would be too much. Besides, I prefer things with greater emotional and spiritual value, things with substance, depth, relativity.  I’ll simply revel in my slightly-less-than-normality and continue to read of other peoples’ pleasure ultimately leading to displeasure and, occasionally, rehab (see! I save myself some money, also).  Yea, I guess being (somewhere around) normal isn’t so bad.

An aside question: I wonder what is more difficult to combat, having too much sex or having too little sex?

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About grasshopperstothemoon

“Two things awe me most, the starry sky above me and the moral law within me.”
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5 Responses to Now the good stuff.

  1. rebecca says:

    how many people really have to worry about too little sex? i mean, that isn’t a problem that most 21st century westerners face, unless of course they choose to do so. sex is in abundance as you know– just walk into a bar, a reading, or even your place of employment (!) and it finds you.

    the more interesting question is the one you implicitly raise in the first paragraph and that is how to find meaningful and memorable sex– interactions that are profoundly beautiful. sadly, i don’t think there is anything we can do about that. it has to find us, surprise us in the moment, envelop us.

  2. grasshopperstothemoon says:

    Actually, I think many people have to worry about too little sex. But then it comes down to just what constitutes “too little sex.” Do we hold it up against a general societal standard? And if so, what is that standard? Do we hold it up again the standards of our friends? Our significant other? A personal border?

    I agree, however, that not having sex is (mostly) a self-inflicted wound for indeed it can be found just about anywhere. (Now, what that says about others or in terms of a greater picture is a whole other thing). But then again, sometimes those things are often out of the immediate control of the individual. Say this person is in a committed relationship; say this person actually possesses ethics (today?? no way!) and it doesn’t interest him to just have sex for sex’s sake. Say he wants it to be with a person with whom he shares an intimate and deep connection with, even if that person is situated in another country or simply has not been found yet. (To note: I’m conscious of my use of the masculine pronoun…I’m too sick and too tired to fumble with sexist tinkering).

    Such meaningful sex cannot be found. For when we search for a thing, indeed we will find it in anything. I do not think there is anything “sad” about it. It is never any fun to wait, of course, but when it comes the sublimity and splendor of its harmony makes all else irrelevant.

  3. rebecca says:

    well, while waiting for the sublimity and splendor of intimate sex may result in less overall, the cost benefit analysis admits it’s worth it.

    I am confused about your last paragraph. you say when we “search for a thing, indeed we will find it in anything.” Do you mean that we can create meaning where it shouldn’t exist? Or do we create meaning where it doesn’t initially exist, but then does– maybe this creation can be labeled as a “relationship.”

    I wonder about these deep connections we long to physically cultivate. How much of it is created or hindered by the inevitable sexual relationship? One might actually find that physical distance makes it easier to nurture that deep connection, that in temporarily preventing the continuation of an encounter that seemed to steeped in meaning, emotion, and intimacy the relationship takes on a new and more complex meaning. So what would happen then?

  4. grasshopperstothemoon says:

    I think your two scenarios are relatively familial, yet intrinsically divergent. If we create meaning where it shouldn’t exist, that would automatically mean that it did not exist prior. But to say that it shouldn’t exist would automatically infuse a certain negative air to what we have created.

    And, again, what are the boundaries for what should and should not exist? I would think that would be judged by the outcome, and not entirely by any predisposed or antecedent circumstance. Take, to use your example, a relationship. If a relationship sparks ex nihilo, is gradually injected with, and indeed forms its own, meaning then we can surely look back and say that it “should.” However, given the same initial scenario but a conclusion of disaster, we can say it “should not.”

    If one were to factor in prior circumstance, it’s easy to use such objective variables to say, almost by equation, “well, this should not be.” But how often is it that things which “should not” be are the most beneficial?

    I was, however, referring to the former of your queries. But I wasn’t being so specific as to say “meaning.” It was a blanket statement. There is always something, somewhere, to be found if indeed one looks hard enough. This, of course, conjures the question of that thing’s validity. If we really want it, we create it, in a sense, and so if we create it, is it real?

    I now question what you mean by “sexual relationship.” What is such thing? A “relationship” based around sex, or a relationship with a healthy sex component? I also ponder whether your final paragraph is composite, or if the “sexual relationship” you speak of is separate from the distance question you raise.

    An older version of me would say that physical distance destroys deep connections for the physical then acquiesces out of convenience to the mental. However, the me that sits here in this chair right now believes that, while indeed steeped in uncomfortable physical longing, “temporarily preventing the continuation of an encounter” is beneficial depending on particular circumstance. In this way, while the body longs, the soul grows in the allure of connectivity that not only is but is to come.

  5. rebecca says:

    when i wrote sexual relationship, i meant a relationship that incorporates a sexual component– not a sex only relationship. however, i have felt in times past that i have mistaken feelings of sexual connectedness for falling in love.

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