Sex, Finally

I did promise in the description of this blog that sex would be among the topics discussed, didn't I? Haven't yet, though, outside of my story about Rhonda and her creepy friend Denny (which you can read here if you missed it), and that was about hypothetical sex rather than the real thing (about which, I'm sure, Denny is still disappointed).

Anyway, got thinking about sex because I was at the Union on Monday where a deep philosophical discussion was taking place. One of the bartenders was considering having sex with someone, but was concerned that his penis was...insufficiently large for her purposes, shall we say. So she started a sort of round table discussion. Morgan pointed out that, if you can get off on a finger, then probably even a small dick can do the job if used properly. One of the regular customers disagreed; his take was that having sex with a small-dicked man was the equivalent of sitting down to a sumptous dinner but only taking one bite. It's bound to leave you unsatisfied.

[On a related note, I remember hearing a lesbian once explaining why a woman would prefer sex with another woman to sex with a man. “How long can your dick stay hard?” she asked. “Because mine’s hard right now, and it’s at home in a box under my bed!”]

The discussion ended when Matt, who worked the door on Monday, was asked whether sex with small-dicked men could be good. "Hell yes it can," he replied immediately. "Believe me, I know!" Which sent everyone into peals of laughter.

Discussions of sex at the Union often turn on nice points like these, of course. And not much else ever gets discussed there, except sports and (rarely and in a very juvenile fashion) politics. But it hasn't only been the Union. Sex, it seems, is in the air. That's not unusual this time of year; the Spring Festival is more than anything a celebration of sex. The weather gets warm, we start taking off clothes, and once we get started undressing we don't wanna stop.

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Another discussion I’ve had this week involved the relationship between sex and love, which is a sticky subject for me. The young woman with whom I had this discussion wishes to remain anonymous, so I can’t tell you her real name. We’ll call her Ophelia, because I like that name, although in this case it could probably be more accurately applied to the young man in question. I suppose, though, for the sake of continuity we’ll call him Hamlet.

Hamlet and Ophelia have been friends for a long time, but Hamlet wants Ophelia to become his lover. She loves him but isn’t sure if she’s in love with him. So her brilliant plan is to have sex with him to find out. She asked if I thought this was terrible. I told her no, I thought she should definitely do it. I said this for two reasons: first, because the young should have sex at every opportunity; and second, because she desperately needs to get her ex-boyfriend out of her head, and this might shake him loose. There is, of course, the possibility that she’ll screw him, decide she isn’t interested, and break his heart. However, this young man is not my responsibility; I am looking out for Ophelia, and counseled her toward what I perceive as her best interests, regardless of what happens to Hamlet.

Upon reflection, though, I am not sure this was the best advice. Part of the problem is where we live. Huntington is a very backwards, conservative town. One way that this local mass-consciousness reveals itself is in sexual relations. Folks around here are very possessive sexually. They have sex with you once and think they own you.

Hamlet has already demonstrated an inclination towards this way of thinking. One night several weeks ago, he and I were sitting at opposite ends of the bar, and Ophelia was there. She spent time talking to both of us, which was fine with me.

I noticed, after a while, that every time she came down to talk to me, he would stare at us. Then, when she was talking to him, he kept looking at me and asking her questions about me (Hamlet and I know each other only vaguely). This was laughable. Was he jealous? If so, it was a particularly stupid jealousy. In the first place, of course, Ophelia and I have been friends for a while now, and if anything was going to happen it already would have.

But more important, it bothers me when someone’s worried that I might take from them something that they do not, in fact, possess (not that people should possess each other, anyway). Even if I had snatched up Ophelia, it wouldn’t be a theft. It would be more like I sat on his favorite bar stool before he got to it.

So, anyway, he was acting like a jealous teenager before she was even considering taking him as a lover. What’s he going to be like if she fucks him? Even if she decides to keep him, he’ll probably be one of those hovering losers who has to know where she is and who she’s with every second of every day. Having her sure isn’t gonna make him less jealous.

And if she rejects him after, that’s just worse. Then we enter stalker territory. I can see Hamlet, hanging out and mooning over her at the bar, calling her all hours, leaving pathetic notes on her car, calling her friends to find out why she doesn’t want to see him. He might possibly be the type who’s cool with going back to “just friends,” but I doubt it.

So, yeah, more to it than just sex. That’s unfortunate. I hate it when people talk disparagingly of “meaningless sex.” In my opinion sex is supposed to be meaningless, in the sense that it shouldn’t imply or symbolize anything outside of or larger than itself. It is an extremely enjoyable activity and should be regarded like anything else that’s fun (provided you’re clever enough to protect against disease and pregnancy). I don’t want all the other things attached to sex. No other human activity carries this kind of baggage. If I throw darts with you or have a drink with you or watch a Presidential debate with you, you don’t expect anything of me. If we have sex, though, I’m supposed to rearrange my life around you. It doesn’t make sense.

I think of having sex kinda the same way I think about shooting pool. If you shoot pool with me, it’s nice if you're fond of me, but frankly as long as it’s a good game I don’t really give a shit whether there’s any mutual affection. You have a good time, and then you check to see who has the next set of quarters up. Sex should be like that.

I’ve always felt that there needs to be a kind of crowbar separation between love and sex. For a while I believed this so strongly that I actually had a rule against having sex with anyone I cared about. I’m not quite so hard-core now, but it’s still a valid philosophy.

So, basically my advice to Ophelia should have been this: go find someone attractive and experienced who doesn’t give a shit about you; have a blast for a couple of weeks; move on. Simple as that (and it would be simple for her; she’s a lovely young woman, and could get guys lined up anytime she wanted). And Hamlet, well, he should probably do the same, but first he’s gonna need a serious attitude adjustment. Either that or he should save everyone some trouble and throw himself in a lake.

Incidentally, I should probably take my own advice, as well. Been a while. Anyone out there interested?

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Overheard at Hank's last night: a discussion between Allison and Christy about how drinks are named. Allison had just had a “pineapple upside-down cake” and was remarking on how it actually tastes like a pineapple upside-down cake. “Why,” she asked, “aren’t all shooters like that? Most of ‘em don’t taste at all like what they’re called. A blowjob sure doesn’t taste like a blowjob!” Everyone hearing this said, in unison, “GOOD!”

What would be the point of a drink that tasted like a blowjob anyway? I mean, most folks don’t really relish the flavor, do they? And even if you did, you don’t need a drink to taste a blowjob, right? The real thing is pretty easy to get. Walk into any bar and say, “I really want to taste a blowjob” and you’ll get more volunteers than you could…well, a whole lot of volunteers, basically. I know I'll be in line.

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This has nothing to do with sex, but it’s important news that I really should have put in the last post, so I’m including it now. Dawn has quit Hank's. Eden worked for her last week, and Sheila has now taken over as the regular Saturday bartender. I love Sheila, of course, and am very pleased to be working with her again, but I hate to see Dawn go. Dawn, I love you and I’ll miss you. Come see us now and then, will ya?