Originally Posted January 28, 2015
Wow, was I clueless in my
youth. And I’m not just talking about
those crazy/scary teenage years when everyone is hopelessly clueless and the
ones who seemed to “know where it’s at” are just the ones who were best at
faking it. I was pretty damned clueless
through most of my twenties too – the time when most people are usually
solidifying their identities, finding their vocations and having more sex than
they’re likely to ever have the rest of their God-given lives.
You see, this column is going to
take more than a little courage on my part, because while I was ignorant about
a whole lot of things through my twenties, the thing I was simply the most
clueless about was sex. I’m coming clean
here folks. I’m going to reveal the full
scope and depth of my ignorance for all to see – my only saving grace may be
the fact that virtually no one bothers to visit my Facebook page to begin
with. But I feel compelled somehow,
because, blessedly, later in life, I came to terms with sex and what it’s all
about and it is only against that backdrop that I can meaningfully diagnose
just why and how I was so confused about the topic to begin with.
I realize that I am somewhat
lucky – some people never come to terms with sex and spend their entire lives
completely screwed up about the topic, and punishing themselves because of
it. Perhaps in disclosing just how
pathetically ignorant I was about it, it may help someone else out there who is
struggling with the same things I did.
Then again, maybe I’ll just be opening myself up to ridicule just
because I feel compelled to post something meaningful on my Facebook page. Fine.
Do your worst.
Fact is, I’m OK with where I’m at
with the big “S” word at this point in my life and nothing anyone is liable to
think or say is likely to mess that up for me.
Also, I think it’s somewhat cathartic for me to do this. I spent much of my youth beating myself up
because of just how screwed up I was on the topic and it feels healthy and
clean to look back at it now from a more informed position and see just why I
was so messed up to begin with.
First things first – my illusions
about sex had nothing to do with my sexual identity. If we’re all situated somewhere on a continuum
between heterosexual and homosexual (like many experts seem to agree), then I
was situated pretty far down the hetero end of the neighborhood. I really had no confusion on that score. I loved women and their bodies. I was quite infatuated with them. And while I admired all parts, I really was
(and remain) more of a boob man than anything.
I never had any confusing feelings about, say, my college roommate or my
best friend in high school or anyone I happened to share a locker room
with. When the hormones hit the blood
stream, and the hot steamy fantasies began, it was always about a woman. And her boobs. A woman and her boobs for sure.
But despite this clarity of
preference, I was so confused on the actual topic of sex, both intellectually
and emotionally, that I spent much of my youth actively avoiding situations
where I might, God forbid, be faced with the prospect of having sex with
someone. Now why the hell would that
be? Some of it was from the fact that,
quite frankly, I think I was emotionally behind many people my own age. This was exacerbated somewhat by the fact
that I was always one of the youngest people in my class – I was born in late
July, so I was always the better part of a year behind my classmates
age-wise. As a result, I was always a
little bit behind everyone else when it came to physical, mental and emotional
development. There were things my
classmates were getting into that I just wasn’t ready for. However, even when compared to people who
were exactly my own age, I think I just lagged a bit behind them. Which is OK, I realize now. Some people take a little longer, but we all
end up the same place eventually. I’d be
lying, however, if I claimed that this fact (which I was in denial about at the
time), didn’t bother me. Why in God’s
name did everyone seem so comfortable and casual about the idea of having sex
while it only seems to terrify me and eat away at my confidence? The answer to that question, besides my
relative immaturity in comparison to my peer group, was due to a basic misconception
I had about the nature of sex.
You see, I saw sex as being
inherently a selfish act. I was so
damned infatuated with the idea of it, and so very hyperaware of just how much
I would enjoy it, that it was completely lost upon me that it’s supposed to be
something the other person enjoys too. I
really thought that if a woman would deign to have sex with me, that it would
be something solely designed to please me, to bring me pleasure, and that if it
presented anything to her it would be a sacrifice, an inconvenience, quite
frankly a hassle. I mean she would have
to get all naked and then she’d have to see me naked, and then we’d have to get
all physical and then sweaty and then sticky and oh by God even though I know
I’d be enjoying it, my Lord, what an utterly distasteful pain-in-the-ass for
her!
Now I had no misconceptions about
the fact that I wasn’t exactly a “catch” for anyone. I mean, I didn’t think I was hideous but I
knew I wasn’t so damned handsome that girls would be compelled to throw
themselves at me. And, as a result, I
never felt I “deserved” sex from a girl.
I mean, what’s in it for her? She
won’t enjoy it. And I’m not so damned
attractive as to make up for that fact.
I was never the kind of person who felt entitled to the kindness of
others, or that I deserved to have other people be inconvenienced for my
sake. And this lead, inevitably, to me
being very uncomfortable about the idea of a woman deciding she would have sex
with me. When I sized myself up in my
own mind against the backdrop of how little I envisioned the woman being able
to enjoy it, the inevitable conclusion I came to was that I just wasn’t worth
it. I mean, Brad Pitt, I can see where
he’d be worth it. But not me. My honest-to-God emotional reaction to the
idea of a woman offering to have sex with me would be, “Oh shucks! You don’t have to do that for little old
me!”.
And you can see why, with that
attitude, I wasn’t exactly a sex magnet.
Whether it was women just sensing how fundamentally uncomfortable I was
with the idea, or them getting the vibe that I wouldn’t be spending a lot of
time and energy attending to their needs, turning down women was never a big
problem for me. I was, or I would have
been, an extremely selfish lover. Not
because I’m inherently selfish by nature – just the opposite. But I just so fundamentally misunderstood
what sex was all about that it was completely inconceivable to me that the
other person would enjoy it. So when I
did steel myself up to go seek sex (which, after all, was the “normal” thing to
do at that age despite how woeful I was at it), I wasn’t looking to give
pleasure. I was looking to take pleasure. And thus, it’s not a surprise that I managed
to turn off women wherever I went.
Now through a lucky or miraculous
set of circumstances that occurred in my late twenties, I finally got my head
on straight, and got on a path where I learned, over time, that sex is at least
as much about pleasing the other person as it is about yourself. In fact, I would argue that some of the most
satisfying sexual experiences I’ve had in my life is when I know, I just know,
that I’ve rendered as much pleasure to the other person as I’m physically
capable of rendering - sometimes more than I’ve even received myself. And not only is that a boon to the other
person, but it turned out to be a huge relief to me. IT’S NOT ALL ABOUT ME! The fact that I was in a position to render pleasure
to somebody else completely changed the nature and scope of what sex was all
about for me. I was no longer
uncomfortable about seeking it or providing it because it was no longer an
essentially selfish act. I can’t begin
to effectively convey to someone what an absolute revelation that was for me! The whole “do unto others” thing we learned
in Sunday school actually had practical application in the bedroom! It was no longer about whether I deserved it
or not, it suddenly became about – “what can we do for each other”, and I was a
whole lot more comfortable getting undressed and physical with someone when
that was the endgame as opposed to it being limited to my own carnal
gratification.
Well, where does that leave me
all these years later? First off, it
thankfully leaves me in the right place when it comes to sex, and it occurs to
me that some people never get there.
However, it is undeniable that when I look over the sexual wasteland
that was my twenties, I can’t help but feel there was a lot of wasted time and
a lot of wasted opportunities. The
twenties are when we’re supposed to be at the height of our sexual
prowess. It’s when we’re our youngest
and most attractive and most energetic.
It’s when we are relatively unshackled by the burdens of life that
inevitably come later and can really branch out and experiment with all kinds
of people and partners. So in that
sense, I do feel regretful. Worse, I
feel like I put myself through a lot of unwarranted psychological pain and
consternation. The fact that I was so
uncomfortable about seeking sex lead me to believe that there was something
fundamentally wrong with me when, in reality, I was just fundamentally wrong on
how I was thinking about sex. A lot of
unnecessary pain and angst resulted.
But on the other hand, I realize
that in many ways I was lucky. I wasn’t
exposed to disease. I wasn’t at risk of
getting someone pregnant and becoming obligated, both emotionally and
financially, to someone I may have been ill-suited for. Also, for such an enjoyable act, sex can
bring a lot of emotional pain sometimes, and I was spared the additional angst
of having to jilt someone to whom the sex meant more than it did to me, or to
be jilted by someone to whom the sex meant less, and all the other various
incarnations of that painful little drama.
And in the end, I kind of have to
laugh at all the time, energy, angst and emotion we spend on this inexplicable little
act we call sex. I mean, when you come
right down to it, we’re talking about nothing more than humankind’s fascination
with mucus-covered orifices. I’ve seen
people wreck their lives, and their families, simply because they couldn’t make
good decisions about this banal act.
There’s no doubt, when our biological drives in this regard overrule our
minds and hearts, a lot of pain and tragedy can ensure. Hearts can be irrevocably scarred and
broken. Families can become irrevocably
split apart. Nothing, absolutely
nothing, is worth that.
But there’s a lot of beauty in
this carnal little act too, and I would challenge anyone out there who has been
confused about it, unlucky at it, tired of it, at their wits end about it, to
approach it instead as something they can do for somebody else. As a selfless act. As an act of generosity. As an act of contrition. As an act of grace. Pick up a book if you have to. Learn some pointers. Be so otherly-focused that the next time you
engage in this act that you’re not even thinking about yourself. Be so otherly-focused that your one burning
desire is to render pleasure to somebody else.
I guarantee it will change how you feel about the act. It will change your luck. It will change how other people react to you
about it. I’ve found it to be one of the
truisms in life that if you seek to be happy, you cease to be so, and that if
you seek to serve others, happiness takes care of itself. Who knew it would work for sex too? Not 25 year-old me, that’s for sure.
So I look back on my twenties now
kind of like I would watch an old Simpson’s episode. I watch the 20 year-old me of my memories
like I would one of those beloved characters – being stupid, but loveably so. Ultimately, I was a well-intentioned fool,
uncomfortable seeking what I ultimately saw as a selfish goal, and as a result,
no one ever really suffered but me. Who
else can look back at their wanton, misguided sex lives and make that claim?
And if by some miracle there is a
woman or two out there who may have been disappointed when, in my ignorance, I
rebuffed or ignored a sexual advance or two, know that I was ultimately looking
to spare you the trouble, and that I’m sorry that I failed to realize the pleasure
I could have provided you at the time.
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