I won't pretend that I banished my desire for sexual contact with women. I can no more do that than a gay person can become un-gay, or a trans person decide to ignore the inner being and conform to the outer plumbing. I am as attracted as I ever was.
This says nothing about whether I should be allowed it, or my odds of ever again getting an offer.
Regardless of my success ratio, I wanted to give as good as I got. Considering my darkest failures, that assertion seems laughable. Considering my best performances it inspires mirth as well. Both of those were in my thoughts as I guided my behavior starting in my 30s toward the most polished sexually neutral demeanor that I can bring myself to present, at all times and in all places. I started realizing years before the current wave of awareness that women needed relief from men's conscious and unconscious efforts to coerce or persuade. And I'm a dick. I can look back on years of unfounded arrogance.
Self denial takes conscious attention. If you happen to be young enough for your sexual behavior to matter, remember that the choice is always whether to indulge, not whether to want in the first place. If anyone were to ask, I would say that a man's regret will be stronger for times that he indulged than times that he didn't. It's not about being noble, or being canny enough to avoid some kind of entrapment. It's about the intrusive, invasive nature of men's apparatus, and the irrevocability of penetration. You can pull it out, but you can't un-enter.
Even in fantasy, it has become impossible to imagine a permissible scenario, nor does memory provide any comfort in the absence of any corroborating witnesses. As Meg Ryan taught us, don't believe what you want to believe just because you want to believe it. In addition, you might never know what motivated a woman to be with you in the first place. And if you're smart, you won't ask. You might not be flattered. Not only that, the past is untouchably gone. Your chances of flying to Pluto are way better than your chances of ever repeating something you can remember in vivid detail.
If you're a well brought up young man, or if -- without external intervention -- you've never had an improper thought, consider yourself very lucky. I had to cut my way through thickets of predatory impulses, often with companions who brought fertilizer instead of pruning shears. Most of the impulses were not overtly predatory, but objectifying women at all is fundamentally predatory, even if you believe that you love them and don't think that you could ever hurt one. Desire itself is the emotion of a consumer. Hunting urges bred down are what make border collies great herding dogs.
Sex can be fun. It can also be horrendous in a huge variety of ways. Sexual behavior connects to the most primal parts of our being while at the same time appealing to acquired tastes that are wholly intellectual. The primal urge intrudes like a pop-up ad in the middle of something unrelated. It arrives like an unsolicited dick pic.
No man can ever understand the full extent of a woman's experience of sex. I don't care what you shove how far into what opening, it isn't going to be the same. And I guarantee that you cannot realistically imagine it. Hanging over a woman all the time is the prospect of impregnation. Even if both parties in a consensual encounter have taken redundant steps to prevent fertilization, the anatomy itself was designed for it and the most basic prompting seeks it. Recreational genital stimulation works around this in a number of ways. Even there, consent is not the whole story. What you might consider the beginning of a beautiful phase of long term exploration she might consider an experiment best discarded and forgotten. Even if she was really good at it.
Alternative methods raise another whole flock of questions. Is there a simple answer under all of the layers of possible motives? When you finally peel back all of the persuasive pressures, is the answer to whether she really gets off on that thing you really like a simple and perpetual, "no?" The answer probably changes with age, at the very least. It also fluctuates from moment to moment in the flow of feelings emanating from that spot in the lower abdomen that seems to connect directly to the brain and create the crucial link to success or failure of a pleasurable impulse.
Age changes everything. Returning to the primal prototype, sexuality is a preoccupation of young adults. Unrestrained by other conventions, the interest begins early in the teen years and continues to a finish line that varies by individual. Some people are ready to walk or run from it within a few years. When life expectancy was under 50, your average person probably died still horny. Because inside of every old person is a young person wondering what the hell happened, people who may be well beyond attractive youth, perhaps even physically incapable of participating, may still be plagued by the memory of what used to be possible, that they would love to try again.
Age and a sense of personal mediocrity probably do a lot to bolster my ability to be deferential. I'm good at what I'm good at, but that's a pretty narrow band. I struggle at a lot of other things, and that makes up the bulk of my life. Be assured that I don't see myself as handing down wisdom from a mountain top. I'm just sharing what I've learned from trudging along one particular road of life. Maybe it will prove helpful to someone.
Showing posts with label sexuality. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sexuality. Show all posts
Monday, October 01, 2018
Sunday, October 05, 2014
Yes Means Yes Means No
It's easy for an old man with no power to speak sagely about sexual restraint, but I was not always that man. At one time I thought I was sexually attractive and a few women helped foster that misconception by exploring that potential further than with a cursory and dismissive glance. It was the 1970s. Men and women were figuring out a lot of things about themselves in a social setting that was pretty relaxed about taboos.
The backlash started in 1980. While parts of popular culture in the 1980s continued the movement toward social acceptance of various sexualities and other recreational habits, the conservatism of the Reagan administration rode the wave of reactionary repulsion. Where most media seemed to portray what was right about sex and drugs and rock and roll (and disco and whatever you're into) in the 1970s, the 1980s saw more portrayal of what was wrong with it as well. A buzz kill that may be, but it's also necessary to a truly complete discussion of the consequences of libertinism.
No question a lot of us could benefit from loosening up a little. But some of us could benefit from snugging it down a tad, too. But that's why you think and talk about things that may seem creepy and uncomfortable. It's why you draw out lines of speculation to explore possible results before you set them in motion.
California's recent enactment of the law requiring positive and ongoing consent before engaging in sexual activity, aimed at state funded universities to establish stronger safeguards against sexual assault, is misguided, unenforceable, doomed to failure and bound to lead to lots of litigation. But it's another step in the discussion about the general sexual relationship between people.
Sexuality is built into us. Some people have strong urges. Some people have no urges. Some people have urges for things that other people find incomprehensible. In most of us, admit it, when you see a stranger, isn't one of your questions, "would I want to shag that?" Come on. You know it's true. In polite society we don't act on it and usually don't even reveal that the thought flickered through our minds, but you know it did. If you think it didn't, start paying really close attention to every feeling, no matter how fleeting, that goes through you when encountering other people.
To think is not to act. It's merely the mind exploring possibilities, another trait that's built into us. It's why we live in constructed shelters, cook our food, bathe, treat illness and travel around in mechanical conveyances that go faster and farther than we could easily walk or run. It's what got us to the moon and makes us dream of traveling to the stars. It's how we invented the artificial heart and the motorized dildo. Ingenuity, baby.
If I could go back in time I would have less sex. I know, easy to say now after the fact. But the fact that I started believing this in my 30s, when I was still bursting with testosterone and foolish desires lends it more weight than simply the pendulous mass of an aged, reluctant phallus. It's mind over matter, because civilized society depends on it. Part of me regrets the opportunities missed to shag, but the wiser part realizes that in order to meet the standards of feminism with the strength of character they require, I should be able to witness the most piercingly erotic display without assuming an invitation. And certainly I should be able to walk among a throng of summer-clad lovelies and merely be happy for them that they can dress in comfortably scanty clothing that happens to reveal details I find sexually arousing. My arousal should not be their problem.
An impossibly high standard? Possibly. But people die all the time trying to climb the tallest peaks. Why not aspire? That's the thing about keeping your zipper locked: no one ever died of it. You can fall or freeze or have something fall on you and crush you as you assault the high mountains. The only thing that will harm you when you try to control your lust is whatever you brew up in your own mind.
In the 1970s I was immersed in a culture in which -- supposedly -- the cool guys got lots of chicks and the chicks loved it. More things reinforced stupid male conceit than challenged it. I sought partners because sex is fun and if I'm enjoying it everyone must enjoy it. It seemed like the thing to do. It paid off in orgasms. What could be wrong with that?
Sorry about that. Like I said, if I could go back I would play hard to get, knowing full well that this would mean that I went ungotten. But the universe in which I actually lived has to exist for me to know why the universe I imagine would be better.
I'm not formally joining the celibacy camp or promoting virginity pledges. I don't believe in declarations of that sort. But if consent is revocable at any time ( "Affirmative consent must be ongoing throughout a sexual activity and can be revoked at any time.") that includes retroactively when the only standard of verification may be the conflicting accounts of the only two people in the room at the time.
Once again it turns out to be true: the only truly safe sex is no sex at all. The only way to have your nobility untarnished is to avoid rubbing it up against anything. So not only does the cool dude never ask for sex, but waits to be asked instead; when asked, the answer is a polite "no, thank you."
In the spirit of full disclosure, I have to admit that from time to time I still have sex in the context of my ongoing relationship. It gives me a more informed understanding of the expression, "get lucky. " I do not initiate, but I don't say no when asked. I like to be asked. What can I say? I'm a horn dog. If I was young and virile and sought after I would face a terrific challenge combating a naturally lustful tendency. It's tough out there, guys.
Yes Means Yes reminds us all that nearly any sex can be considered a violation. Who with a scrap of decency wants to be a violator? I stand on the sidelines because I'm out of the game I was never very good at anyway, but I can still connect the dots. I can observe and point out what I see from up in the bleachers that may not be obvious in the confusion on the field. The ramifications of contact don't end when the impacting bodies separate. In some ways they last as long as either player is alive. I'm not talking about unintentional pregnancy or the transmission of disease. I'm talking about how an experience changes as the echoes Doppler down the tunnel of time and the light hits the image differently as long as the memory lasts. What seems okay at the time, and even shortly afterwards, may turn into a regret at some point. So what is the statute of limitation on perceived sexual violation? If a violation took place, its heinousness never diminishes. Look at how we continue to hunt down World War II concentration camp guards in their 90s. If the standard of violation is revocable consent "at any time" that means any sexual contact remains an open case forever. This was always true in a way. Yes Means Yes merely codifies it officially.
Don't be a filthy brute. Just walk away. It's the next stage in evolution.
The backlash started in 1980. While parts of popular culture in the 1980s continued the movement toward social acceptance of various sexualities and other recreational habits, the conservatism of the Reagan administration rode the wave of reactionary repulsion. Where most media seemed to portray what was right about sex and drugs and rock and roll (and disco and whatever you're into) in the 1970s, the 1980s saw more portrayal of what was wrong with it as well. A buzz kill that may be, but it's also necessary to a truly complete discussion of the consequences of libertinism.
No question a lot of us could benefit from loosening up a little. But some of us could benefit from snugging it down a tad, too. But that's why you think and talk about things that may seem creepy and uncomfortable. It's why you draw out lines of speculation to explore possible results before you set them in motion.
California's recent enactment of the law requiring positive and ongoing consent before engaging in sexual activity, aimed at state funded universities to establish stronger safeguards against sexual assault, is misguided, unenforceable, doomed to failure and bound to lead to lots of litigation. But it's another step in the discussion about the general sexual relationship between people.
Sexuality is built into us. Some people have strong urges. Some people have no urges. Some people have urges for things that other people find incomprehensible. In most of us, admit it, when you see a stranger, isn't one of your questions, "would I want to shag that?" Come on. You know it's true. In polite society we don't act on it and usually don't even reveal that the thought flickered through our minds, but you know it did. If you think it didn't, start paying really close attention to every feeling, no matter how fleeting, that goes through you when encountering other people.
To think is not to act. It's merely the mind exploring possibilities, another trait that's built into us. It's why we live in constructed shelters, cook our food, bathe, treat illness and travel around in mechanical conveyances that go faster and farther than we could easily walk or run. It's what got us to the moon and makes us dream of traveling to the stars. It's how we invented the artificial heart and the motorized dildo. Ingenuity, baby.
If I could go back in time I would have less sex. I know, easy to say now after the fact. But the fact that I started believing this in my 30s, when I was still bursting with testosterone and foolish desires lends it more weight than simply the pendulous mass of an aged, reluctant phallus. It's mind over matter, because civilized society depends on it. Part of me regrets the opportunities missed to shag, but the wiser part realizes that in order to meet the standards of feminism with the strength of character they require, I should be able to witness the most piercingly erotic display without assuming an invitation. And certainly I should be able to walk among a throng of summer-clad lovelies and merely be happy for them that they can dress in comfortably scanty clothing that happens to reveal details I find sexually arousing. My arousal should not be their problem.
An impossibly high standard? Possibly. But people die all the time trying to climb the tallest peaks. Why not aspire? That's the thing about keeping your zipper locked: no one ever died of it. You can fall or freeze or have something fall on you and crush you as you assault the high mountains. The only thing that will harm you when you try to control your lust is whatever you brew up in your own mind.
In the 1970s I was immersed in a culture in which -- supposedly -- the cool guys got lots of chicks and the chicks loved it. More things reinforced stupid male conceit than challenged it. I sought partners because sex is fun and if I'm enjoying it everyone must enjoy it. It seemed like the thing to do. It paid off in orgasms. What could be wrong with that?
Sorry about that. Like I said, if I could go back I would play hard to get, knowing full well that this would mean that I went ungotten. But the universe in which I actually lived has to exist for me to know why the universe I imagine would be better.
I'm not formally joining the celibacy camp or promoting virginity pledges. I don't believe in declarations of that sort. But if consent is revocable at any time ( "Affirmative consent must be ongoing throughout a sexual activity and can be revoked at any time.") that includes retroactively when the only standard of verification may be the conflicting accounts of the only two people in the room at the time.
Once again it turns out to be true: the only truly safe sex is no sex at all. The only way to have your nobility untarnished is to avoid rubbing it up against anything. So not only does the cool dude never ask for sex, but waits to be asked instead; when asked, the answer is a polite "no, thank you."
In the spirit of full disclosure, I have to admit that from time to time I still have sex in the context of my ongoing relationship. It gives me a more informed understanding of the expression, "get lucky. " I do not initiate, but I don't say no when asked. I like to be asked. What can I say? I'm a horn dog. If I was young and virile and sought after I would face a terrific challenge combating a naturally lustful tendency. It's tough out there, guys.
Yes Means Yes reminds us all that nearly any sex can be considered a violation. Who with a scrap of decency wants to be a violator? I stand on the sidelines because I'm out of the game I was never very good at anyway, but I can still connect the dots. I can observe and point out what I see from up in the bleachers that may not be obvious in the confusion on the field. The ramifications of contact don't end when the impacting bodies separate. In some ways they last as long as either player is alive. I'm not talking about unintentional pregnancy or the transmission of disease. I'm talking about how an experience changes as the echoes Doppler down the tunnel of time and the light hits the image differently as long as the memory lasts. What seems okay at the time, and even shortly afterwards, may turn into a regret at some point. So what is the statute of limitation on perceived sexual violation? If a violation took place, its heinousness never diminishes. Look at how we continue to hunt down World War II concentration camp guards in their 90s. If the standard of violation is revocable consent "at any time" that means any sexual contact remains an open case forever. This was always true in a way. Yes Means Yes merely codifies it officially.
Don't be a filthy brute. Just walk away. It's the next stage in evolution.
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