Of all the things you’ll ever do in your life, sex is the most important. Yes, without a little assault with a friendly weapon every now and again, your life would be completely meaningless, or at least that’s what science tells us. It used to be Survival of the Fittest meant the strongest, cleverest, and/or bestest, beasties always came out on top. There was a nice, sweaty, only the strong’ll survive, Law of the jungle kind of romance about that. Nowadays though, we seem stuck with a gene-centric view of evolution which turns the creature that stalks the (concrete) jungles, trying to be the best, into merely a container that holds and/or ejaculates its selfish genes into the next generation. Those who squeeze out the most offspring are the fittest and most successful, and to do that, we’ve got to bump our uglies together over and over again until they’re a hot and sore, ruddy and slimy mess. Hooray for science!
So you can’t, or won’t, have children of your own? Well, that’s ok too, I guess. Just because cold, hard-science shoves you to the ground, calls you “useless,” and shouts, “adoption is for losers,” it doesn’t mean you still can’t contribute to the the human experience. You can still create beautiful works of art or architecture, conquer strange lands or strange sports, play beautiful music or games, compose grandiose symphonies or lies, invent new hypothesizes or devicesizes, write books, sonnets, or software, or win the next election to be America’s top astronauts, however that works. The possibilities are endless. The thing is though, if you ask flaccid, soft-sciences you’ll get a similar answer; it all comes down to you trying to get laid. Especially if you’re that most pathetic, and testosterone marionetted humanoid-desperate, male.
The theory is, in a world where everyone is trying to pick the best possible mates, we’re driven to be great at something (that’ll initiate some gland-to-gland combat). This, we are told, is why we build ginormous things, attain high social status, make gobs of money, risk our lives, and try to be good people. It all comes down to trying to impress others so they’ll let us get them all sticky with our love-gunk.
Now, believe it or not, I’m no expert, nor am I willing to do enough research to become one, so I guess I can’t really argue. Maybe we are all only defined by our obsession with our/other people’s junk. I’ve got to admit though, I don’t feel like a junkie, but I guess most don’t. Who knows; maybe the world is just a flash of skin, a suggestive look, and a drunken suggestion away from exploding into Carnival?
I’d thought that my occasionally volunteering with ‘troubled teens’ and ‘at risk youth’ was because I’d been one, way-back-when, (and still feel that way sometimes,) but apparently it’s because I want to look good enough to attract a mate. Anyway, we have a dress-code for exactly that reason, so the kids, drunk on hormones, don’t spontaneously devolve into a Fat Tuesdayesque orgy. To be totally honest though, instead of “we have,” I really should’ve said, “females have a dress code.” You know; no short-shorts, no midriffs showing, no bare shoulders, that sort of thing, all the usual stuff that makes perfect sense – if we don’t question it too much.
For instance, why do we put the responsibility for ‘the boys lack of self-command’ on the girls? Don’t people have the right to wear what they want without the onus being put on them for the actions of half the species? Isn’t blaming woman for ‘man’s inability to restrain himself’ just thinly veiled misogyny masquerading as ‘decency,’ and hinting at a Junior High School version of, “She was asking for it, look what she’s wearing”?
We seem to think that seeing a bit of ass has the same effect on young men that full moons do werewolves. They drool and howl, get hairy palms, rip out of their clothes, and tear into any and every potential victim they come across. Instead of trying to normalize sex, and teaching them self-possession we hide them from as much temptation as we can and make skin taboo, because creating a mystique around sexuality will make it less desirable, and infringing upon the rights of young women to express themselves through their clothes will make them want to dress more conservatively. Obviously.
Things have changed a lot since I was a kid, and thank fucking goodness. Back then it was common knowledge that sex was something boys were supposed to want and girls were supposed to withhold. The first shots in the war between the sexes were fired the first time someone wanted to play doctor. If, however, a young man could be the right mix of charming, handsome, clever, lucky, or whatever the magic ingredients of wooing were, and the young woman was sweet and generous, then she might lie back, close her eyes, and think of England, either out of a sense of duty or the goodness of her charitable heart. I was a virgin until college.
It seems almost impossible to believe but there was a time, not all that long ago, where it was seen as the woman’s role to say no to sex, and the man’s to convince her. Any girl who actually wanted or enjoyed making whoopee was obviously a freak of nature to be looked down on. I can still remember the first time I was watching TV and heard that women actually take pleasure in having their tummies tickled from the inside. It shattered my entire sexual paradigm. And again, thank fucking goodness.
Getting someone fucked up to lower their inhibitions, pressuring or coercing them, sexual harassment, marital rape – there’s not enough space or time to list all the things that have been normal as far back as recorded history, things that are finally now starting to go out of style. We don’t need to keep hammering home “No Means No” because it’s difficult message to get; we have to because the rest of the (rape) culture is sending a different one. In our favorite movies, damn catchy radio songs, and the punchlines of our comedy, they’re so ubiquitous they’re almost invisible. Things have changed a lot in the 30-something years I’ve been alive, and I think the frankness more and more people are having about sex is playing a crucial part.
In keeping with tradition, most people would prefer to do just about anything rather than have a candid discussion about intercourse, especially with children. I am lucky enough though to have a handful of friends who are raising their kids with healthy views of sex. The other day one was talking about putting her young teen on the pill and the man she was talking to said the old standard, “My daughter isn’t dating until she’s 30.” to which my friend stated that her daughter was in control of her own body. Yes, even her sexuality. The mother firmly believed that her daughter’s skin-encapsulated-spirit was no one’s but her daughter’s. She suggested that he was teaching his little girl that others could have more rights over her body than she did, and possibly setting her up for a lifetime of men telling her what she should(n’t) do with it.
I myself am a proud parent of none, but (in theory) I have to side with the crazy notion of treating littler ones as if they have their own minds and souls, guiding them but allowing them to make their own decisions. It’s always amazing to see my friends do this with their own human-larva, and raise them sex-positive. I can’t imagine what the world would look like if everyone did that. A sexual Mardi Gras? Maybe. But a safe and healthy one.