sex as a social sacrament

It's amusing to think that my imagination may well be hindering my evolutionary procreative mandate.

M


y feelings about sex are probably not normal, but here they are. First of all, I enjoy my fantasy life, and as long as it occasionally touches base with the real world, I'm perfectly content with it all by itself. It's pleasant for me to have real-world validation as a sexual entity, but after that, masturbation is all I really need to be sexually satisfied. I like sleeping alone. I like not having to check in with anyone. I like freedom to do as I wish with anyone, without having to contend with jealousy, rivalry or conspiracy. My essential nature despises monogamy not only for its monotony, but mostly for the social and emotional baggage it carries.

And, for me, sexual validation doesn't take very much. A chance momentary connection with a complete stranger across a room is the sort of thing that can haunt me for days. It's not as tangible as a kiss or sex, but in my mind I can go through a hypothetical lifetime with anyone, without expending any effort, and I can switch people off or morph them into others at whim. It's amusing to think that my imagination may well be hindering my evolutionary procreative mandate.

That said, I have to admit that I very much enjoy sex and I do seek intimacy. It isn't necessary for my happiness, and I don't put forth much effort into "getting some," but it is a delicious treat when it's available. When it's fresh and new, it's always much better than when it becomes a chore. And in relationships, it invariably becomes a chore, even an ordeal. For this and the other reasons just mentioned, I have deliberately avoided falling into relationship mode with anyone in recent years. The sex I've had has retained, for the most part, the Christmas-morning quality of discovery. I haven't had sex with any one person very often. The usual pattern is that my new sexual partner expresses bitterness at my indifference and inattention, swears me off, and later goes on to become an important and loyal friend. And this loyalty is mutual. I've come to believe that for me, sex is a social sacrament, a rite of passage to social intimacy and loyalty. This accounts nicely for the fact that I'm invariably drawn to women who strike me as socially powerful.

The women who viewed sex with a casual attitude found themselves burdened with children they had difficulty raising and whose chances of survival were jeopardized.

As a heterosexual male, of course, I would naturally be drawn to women for sexual reasons. But quite beyond that, I actually prefer to socialize with women, to talk with women, to engage in conversations that women find interesting. I find the arrogance, bravado, competitiveness and conversational subject matter of most men boring, irritating, or both.

When a man has sex with a woman, he's been granted permission to invade her body, to take possession of her biology. It's not something a woman should do casually or with just anyone. Back in the day, the certain result of sex was pregnancy, and the woman wanted to be damn sure the man would be around to help out during many future years of child rearing. On a basic biological level, then, sex for a woman is a contract as well as an act. It creates an intense emotional bond and an expectation of future relations. These are evolutionary realities; the women who viewed sex with a casual attitude found themselves burdened with children they had difficulty raising and whose chances of survival were jeopardized. The genes of the survivors, the women who understood the social importance of the sex act, are present in all of us today.

Things are different between two people after they have sex. They can never go back.

Of course, the goals for men are very different. They need to be able to convince as many women as possible that they'll be there when the kids arrive so they will be permitted to perform the sexual act to begin with. But if they linger afterwards, they run the risk of not fathering as many children as they could if they wandered on. So men have divided loyalties, and any one offspring to them is far less of a genetic investment. Thus the "contractualness" of the sex act is less.

Of course, today we have things like contraception that can act, in our rational minds at least, to lessen the contractualness of sex for both parties. I'm sure, however, that on a deep subsconscious and emotional level, sex carries the same contractualness it always did.

For me, I've decided, sex is a means to a social intimacy that persists long after there is no more sex. With the act of sex, you see, the contract has been signed. Things are different between two people after they have sex. They can never go back. The connection they have can be made into a powerful link in a social network.

This is not to say that it's inconceivable that I might one day stop this social nonsense and settle into a life of monogamy. I have occasionally strong romantic inclinations (to this day) that work at cross-purposes to my polygamous pro-social behaviours. But it takes a truly remarkable person to turn me into a romantic.

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period piece drawn from within my short life

Leah looks small and unassuming, but she's not an easy victim.

W


hen I got out of bed this afternoon, Matthew Hart was on the phone talking to Leah. He called her because he was concerned about what happened to her the other night. Some stranger had tried to rob and rape her, and she'd kicked him in the balls and escaped. Leah looks small and unassuming, but she's not an easy victim.

The day was cold, the sort requiring a jacket. I wasn't out and about too much. I went to UVA's Cocke Hall at one point, mainly to fix some corrupted images in this website (the result of aborted FTP attempts with Fetch 3.01).

Deya had made a whole bunch of lasagna yesterday, and I was eating some when Kelly called inviting me out for dinner. I suggested we go out for drinks instead.

Matthew was watching the big baseball game, but of course I wanted to watch something else, and a videotape of the movie Donnie Brasco was lying around. Matthew arranged it so the movie would play on his big television and we'd hear its audio while the game would play silently from Monster Boy's television. It was sort of like having a split screen teevee, and about as distracting as trying to read your mail amidst the animated advertisements at Hotmail.com.

There's evidently a Thermodynamic compensation that cats must pay the universe in order to maintain their cuteness and cleanliness.

Sometime during the movie we were joined by Kelly. She and I ended up watching the movie and not going out at all, though I'm sure that's what she would have preferred to do.

The little kitten named Nicholas has become a stinky little monster: he/she appears to have developed a problem with gas. And nothing smells quite as foul as a cat with gas. There's evidently a Thermodynamic compensation that cats must pay the universe in order to maintain their cuteness and cleanliness, and that compensation comes out of their assholes in the form of the most disgusting feces of any kind on Planet Earth.

Luckily, I'd been smoking an enormous -if incompetently hand-rolled (by me)- American Spirit Pow-Wow blend cigarette, and its rich blend of herbs and tobacco had acted to mask the kitten's fumes before Kelly arrived.

But after the movie, it was a real shock to reflect on just how much things have changed stylistically within my short life.

Donnie Brasco was an enjoyable, even inspiring movie, especially for Matthew, who seemed to envy the lives, glamour and coolness of the career criminals portrayed. I was fascinated by psychological complexity of the conflict in which the chief protagonist, Donnie, found himself (an FBI agent infiltrating the mob as its lifestyle infiltrated him). This complexity wasn't mined as well as it might have been, but the overall impact was lush enough. Another thing that was interesting was the historical setting. The movie was set in the late 70s, when cars such as my Dodge Dart ruled the road, when girls feathered back their hair and when Blondie received far too much airplay. I was alive and well at the time and remember those years vividly. This was the first time I'd ever seen a movie deliberately made to look like it was taking place in a period of time so recent as to fall within my lifetime. While I was watching the movie, the subtle period details left me feeling strangely but not distractingly nostalgic. But after the movie, it was a real shock to reflect on just how much things have changed stylistically within my short life.

keep it casual

I want to live in a world without telephones, where chance encounters turn into casual friendships that are maintained by further chance encounters.

A


fter the movie, I went off to bed. I didn't have the energy or the ambition to do anything further with Kelly. I felt bad about it, especially when I had to decline making plans for tomorrow and the weekend. Jessika and Sara are coming to town tomorrow, and frankly, I think I owe them more of my time than I owe Kelly. But I hated myself for how sad she looked when I said, regarding the weekend, "I could call you." I'm not cut out for this dating stuff. I just want it all to go away. I want to live in a world without telephones, where chance encounters turn into casual friendships that are maintained by further chance encounters.

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Get a sense of what I was like exactly eight years ago and one year ago today.

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