Before you respond, I know what you’re thinking: “well, you must not be doing it right.”
Please understand, I’m not saying I don’t enjoy sex. Nor is this some sort of attempt to pit my own lack of sex (I’m actually dating someone right now, and she’s crazy wild in bed). And I am not trying to disparage a romantic, loving relationship, of which sex is an important aspect.
But I can’t get over the thought that sex just isn’t as great as we make it out to be. Everywhere you turn in modern society, you see this subtle reminder that sex is the be-all, end-all of human existence. Ours is a culture that is always selling sex: the need to be sexy, to “get some”, to buy that car or wear those clothes or smoke that cigarette, all because it will somehow make you more likely to get laid.
I just don’t get it. Even at its best, sex is just a few seconds of physical bliss (I’m referring to the orgasm, so I’ll thank you to keep your premature ejaculation jokes to yourself. If you insist, then I’ll concede the fun of foreplay and admit to about an hour of titillation and pleasure). Is this really worth all of the fuss?
Whenever I’ve gone through periods of celibacy, I’ve been so much more productive. I’ve read more books, worked harder at work, gotten more exercise. When I’m trying to have sex, I spend more money on useless pursuits and end up doing all sorts of things that are really just a waste of time: going on dates where I listen to music I don’t really like, eat food I’m not crazy about, and just find myself doing pointless things that I don’t care about, all so I can convince the girl to give up some physical contact.
The more sex I have, the more I think it just doesn’t live up to all of that wasted trouble. Sex? Fuck it, I say. Give me just a few minutes of “me time” once a week, and let me go about my productive life without a constant pursuit of this annoying physical predilection and all of the lifestyle demands it makes.