Elucidation and inquisition

A wonderful Christian friend of mine has a habit of asking me questions which knock my socks off, I love her for them, not least because I wonder how her church, her youth leader, parents, school, whatever haven't answered them for her.  This is not a criticism of any of these people or places, merely a curiosity.  It may also be because she knows that she can ask me anything and I'll answer her honestly and practically.

I've never considered how many myths are propagated about sex, not just sex but its motivations and the intimacy that goes alongside it.  I just seem to trip over them on occasion, usually laugh out loud and then try to untangle them for whoever brought me the latest treasure.

This, by way of example is what I mean; "women will only have sex with someone that there's an emotional involvement with" now this may well be true for some women but its a choice, not a biological fact and this is where my darling friend had been misled; whilst its true that women release a hormone, or endorphin that results in emotional attachment, this happens as a result of sex, not before it.  This could well be why women foolishly think that after a one night stand he's going to call, since surely 'he feels it too' once again, trying not to be cruel or cynical on that biological level; NO he doesn't.

The thing that I marvel at is not the assumption, which in and of itself can be dismissed by a wealth of anecdotal evidence and the existence of one night stands but the fact that the myth is out there at all.  In my humble opinion this has probably got more to do with the way women feel that they ought to feel about sex than anything else.  Now I do not suggest for one minute that sex can be its most intense and incredible when shared between two people with a deep emotional investment and I can back that up from personal experience.  However, I can also tell you that from personal experience its possible to have sex with someone that causes you to not only loose count of orgasms but also blackout without a whisper of an 'I love you' in sight and in the particular instance I refer to I was unaware of the guys middle name or the fact that he had a child.  Now before you write me off as a raging harlot, which you're entitled to do, its worth a moment of personal introspection.  Have you never wanted to kiss a stranger, or sleep with someone you met in a club?  Lets be honest now, there's no emotional investment there.  So I'm left to come back to why the myth exists at all?

The rationale

It's been a year and a half or so since I committed to not having sex, and if you're wondering; no I'm not a bright eyed teen, I've not been brainwashed and yes I know intimately what I'm choosing to not have.  It wasn't because of peer pressure, religion or a 'dry spell'.  I gave it up because I was a mess and sex didn't make it better.  I also shall not pretend that its an easy road, or that I've not had my hiccups along the way.  But nothing is achieved by dwelling on shortcomings, save to demoralise oneself and increase the chance of repeating them.  But for the curious among you, yes the hiccups went as far as sex, no it didn't change my mind.  If anything it strengthened my resolve.  This is not to say it was bad or unsafe sex, simply that it didn't result in my feeling good about myself.  This may seem an obvious statement to the wise among you, but sexual fulfillment does not equal happiness, sexual confidence cannot substitute self worth and sexual desire does not equal emotional investment.  This was the maths that I had been trying to make my life work with and probably goes a long way to explaining why I was in such a pickle.

Chocolat

Whilst an abhorrent cliche it is none the less accurate and will therefore serve as illustration. I can long for, crave, desire, lust over chocolate, arguably to obscene proportions. A part of myself delights in the delicate torture of denial, but upon eventually succumbing I find it hollow and disappointing; its texture grates on my teeth, its mastication, be it carnal crunching or the sensual sucking results in an unpleasant film on my teeth and its aftertaste is simply vile. I wonder if this is how it is with sex?

Italian lace topped stockings with seams up the back, black satin bra, matching french knickers, black silk slip, red lips and abstinence.

There are times when giving something up focuses ones mind on it so absolutely that you'd believe it were forbidden, not free choice. Fascination with the forbidden goes all the way back to the garden and is completely understandable; for desires to remain longed for they have to be illusive, almost unobtainable, once one gets what they've desired it swiftly becomes mundane, and is subsequently cultivated or supplanted by a new 'want'. What eludes me is how this principle has applied itself so rigidly to a matter of choice, of self control?