Sometimes the line between a healthy attitude about liberated sexuality and using one’s own sexuality as a habitual opiate to numb the pain in other area’s of one’s life can be blurred. Especially as women, who are told that the moment they open themselves to sexual possibilities that they become whores. It’s easy to entangle one’s sexual liberation with the idea of sexual addiction, ignoring warning signs about unhealthy attitudes and actions by chalking it up to feminism. But, much like that drug phase that most of us went through in our late teenage years and early twenties, the exploration of sexuality can be a dangerous endeavor. While the desire to engage in sexual activity is a natural phenomenon, At what point does the sexual impulse become unhealthy? For some people, the race to engage in sexual activities and explore one’s sexuality to the brink of normalcy can push certain individuals to engage in activities that might normally be considered taboo. Things such as anal sex, sex for money, BDSM, group sex and homosexuality – things that initially were not on the table – might become commonplace. While these activities in and of themselves are not perverse or unhealthy, and perhaps the exploration of these activities might help to further liberate an individual, it’s important to remember that one’s own boundaries are exactly the thing that define healthy and unhealthy. For one person, having had 600 partners over the course of a lifetime is something to shrug at. For others, having had 6 partners is a cause for crisis. While I certainly am an advocate of people exploring their sexuality, questioning their boundaries, pushing for better sex and better partners, I realize that at a certain point some of these impulses become compulsive and unhealthy. So while I encourage you to do whatever the fuck you want to do, I also encourage you to ask yourself, “Is this good for me?” Because, personally, I have reached my breaking point several times. A while ago, I was engaging in certain activities that proved to be quite unhealthy for me, and, on a sexual level, some of these activities proved to be somehow also unsatisfying. Sex had become like a drug to me – I had to have more and more and more of it in order to feel any sort of high. Having been into the depths of human sexuality, I realized that I could resurface and find satisfaction in what would be considered some of the more mundane aspects of human sexuality. Because I realize that I have been guilty of engaging in sexual conquests like it was a competition, seeing who could stoop down into the deepest, darkest corners of depravity and lust. It was a game that was fun for a while, but it later occurred to me that I was playing a game with no winner. Because after a certain point, the darker it got, the less fun it became. So, while I realize that this is a sex blog, and not sex addict’s recovery blog, I also realize that people have their breaking points. And breaking points aren’t about boundaries – boundaries are self-imposed limits of comfort, and breaking points are the points of no return. You can cross a boundary and come back, but if you cross a breaking point, you’ll be broken with no fix in sight. So, kiddies, in conclusion, please explore your sexuality to the fullest of your abilities, but, remember, sex is like drugs, and if you start shooting up heroin every day, then you’ll be one of those people who shoots up heroin every day, and no one really wants to be that.
“So&so thinks that you want to fuck him,” he tells me.
“Hah! He would.”
“Well, do you?”
“Um, you know, I just make him think that I want to fuck him. Just to keep it interesting.” I wonder if I’ll regret making that comment later, seeing as that statement could be applied to the friendship I’m cultivating with my friend right now, and also to a lot of other men. Actually, to be honest, I think about fucking pretty much every man I come across. And I wonder what his dick looks like, and how he uses it, and if he’d know how to choke me, or if he’s good at oral sex. These are the kind of things that wonder through my mind on a daily basis, which is why I like being bartender. It’s sensory overload, all these men that I interact with every day. And every single one. Every single, last, disgusting, old, decrepit man – what does his dick look like?
Although it’s not an impulse that I act on regularly. I can’t imagine what my life would be like if I did. There’s no way that I could fuck every single guy I encounter in my day to day life, but, my god, that would be thrilling. Sure, I’ve fucked enough of them to be able to give myself an approximate mental scenario of what it would be like to fuck any of these guys on any given day. It’s when I meet one whose sexuality eludes the pantheon of my imagination and the history of my sexual experiences that I find myself begging to solve the mystery. Which is a bad thing, really, because I’ve fucked enough of the chicken shit, white bread motherfuckers to know what the average Joe is like in bed. It’s the disgusting ones that elude me nowadays. It’s the broken, decrepit, emotionally shattered ones that entice me. And it’s the thought of, ‘exactly how fucked up are you, and does that translate sexually?’ that gets me into trouble.
So I stand there, and while, yeah, I guess I’m leading this guy on, and I’m leading that other guy on, and I’m leading on a whole host of male Oakland residents, my god. It’s the sick ones that really pique my curiosity. I want to be held in the arms of a man who knows what it’s like to kill another human being, and I want to relish in the tenderness of murder. I want to make a man weep when he comes, not because I’m good at what I do, but because he’s so unwhole on the inside that the tears come out at climax. I want to be the daughter of someone else’s perversion, and I want to break into pieces in the process.
I am a wild beast, and I am seeking out other wild beasts.
For me and all my peers, the introduction to sexuality via sexually explicit media content was akin to a grade school underground drug ring, where the drug was porn and the high was orgasms. It wasn’t easy back then, secretly snatching dirty magazines from your parent’s stash, or your cousin’s bedroom, or passed underneath school desks in the back of the classroom. Squirreling away those nudie pictures while silently sitting in the bathroom with the door locked and the shower running and that eerie sensation of fear and shame mixed in with some preternatural sexual arousal. It’s an experience that seems to pervade my generation, but, as with pretty much everything nowadays, that experience is changing.
Because even beyond the vintage Playboy magazines, perusing porn on a dial up connection was likewise risky business. Sneaking to the computer late at night, after parents had gone to bed, purportedly up to still do some homework, but checking out those XXX websites. Which could at any point result in the failure of a frozen computer and mom walking in on the horrible scene. Or the incontrovertible evidence of some porn site computer bug being downloaded to the hard drive during one of those millions of fap sessions. And, of course, there was always the tantalizing agony of waiting for the videos and the images to load, pixellated and barely recognizable as porn, but just pornographic enough to elicit some sort of sexual reaction in your bowels.
But it’s not like that anymore, which begs the question that no one really wants to ask: what happens to American sexuality when the youth is privy to high quality, on demand, fetishistic porn at any moment of the day? It’s anyone’s guess, really, because seeing as we are already steeped in a massively shame-filled culture of sexuality out here in America, will opening our eyes at a younger and younger age to the big titted, pubic hairless, ginormous cock porn be the cure for all that ails us? Or will we, as we always do, continue to spiral into a self loathing culture of secret hypersexuality and the public flagellation of anyone who is naive enough to express a penchant for sexual exploration beyond the traditional man and woman monogamous set up/sham? I can only hope that an unfettered exposure to human sexuality, even in its sometimes monstrous and garbled pornographic version, will help the future generations to better grapple with their sexuality, rather than falling into the trap of traditional American sexual shame.
And, on that note, I think I’m going to go watch some porn now.
The notion of purity is still something that persists to this day. After wading through the Puritanical roots of American society, and the self imposed, self loathing set of virtues that they inflicted upon themselves, here we are today, reveling in the melting pot of a million different religious, political and sexual dogmas that dictate a culture of confused sexuality. Yet, somehow, shame is still the predominant theme today.
This isn’t just a casual study of the fucking habits of wanton 20-somethings. This is a reflection of the caustic sexual frustration that seems to pervade our culture, as it is being blasted across the Internet through blog posts, as it is being spoken about in bars, and as it is being confided to me by friends.
Because somehow it seems that power in America is deeply divorced from any privilege to indulge one’s self sexually.