Thoughts on Love and Sex

Love, for me, is more important than sex. But I think love is also inseparable from sex. Can good sex really be had without at least some measure of love being present? I personally do not think so. Then again, I know there are scores of people out there having all kinds of meaningless sex without any thought for love. But when I penetrate a woman, I am also penetrating her eyes, and beyond that her soul, and I love her in that moment. I’m simply incapable of anything else. When I have sex with a woman, it’s the woman, not the act of sex itself, that is speaking to me. It is not the orgasm, it is not the many positions we do, it’s the fact that this woman, selected by me because her particular beauty compelled me to do so, is bestowing on me the most precious and sacred gift she could give: herself. And I get so lost in the feminine wonders of her nude form, the subtle complexities of her female sexuality, and it is these things that force me to have more sex. I’m a man who has ventured to hell and back in life, and I’ve experienced heartbreaks on a level most people could never fathom, and as such, I’m the host to a very deep and strong and intense emotional and cerebral pain. When a woman makes love to me, her tenderness, her contours, and all she is as a woman, becomes for me what no pill or needle or drink could ever be. She heals me.

And in that moment, I truly do love her, more than anyone could love anyone. That’s because sex, for me, is all about connecting, being alive with another person in an intimate moment, a unique experience where two people share who they are in a sensual manner, and bring all their emotions to the surface. I think in our present age we have lost something beautiful about sex with all this emphasis on orgasms. Sure, orgasms are incredible. But that’s like saying life is about the destination and not the journey. This is untrue. Life is about the journey and so is sex. If you reach an orgasm, great. If you don’t, so what? It’s more important to just “be” with another person in a vulnerable way. That’s the kind of sex I’m about. After all, they call it “making love” for a reason, for that’s what you do when you have sex: you create a connection of love.

It’s not that men don’t desire love, it’s just that sometimes a man’s need for sex is more than something carnal. Sometimes, it’s because the ego or the id or whatever it is that lives in those deep, cavernous chambers of our minds just needs a woman’s sexuality more than they could know and we don’t always have the time to wait for love.

The Hollywood age, with its depraved celebrities and magazines screaming “SEX!” from the grocery store checkout line and its smutty movies and its Beyoncés and its interpretation of sex as a cheap, “throwaway” gift people give to whoever is geographically the closest with little or no standards has created a populace of humans viewing sex less like the magical act of connecting the participants in a deeply emotional and mental bond, and more like a “fashion trend” to be thrown at the nearest genitalia of the opposite sex.

If my sexual sentiments could be compared at all to anyone in Hollywood, then they’d be compared to the Hollywood of long ago, where the Cary Grants and the Barbara Stanwycks engaged in discreet love affairs, elegantly and craftily pulled off with class and style. Back then, you had what was called “a lover.” Now it’s all just “fuck buddies” and “friends with benefits.”

I find it all to be quite distasteful, actually.

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