Lamenting Casual Sex

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Ever since I encountered the feminist movement, I lamented that it was destroying the very concept of a romantic relationship. Feminism, by way of bringing women up to the same level of men, implies that women can — and should — have the freedom to be just as promiscuous as men — and I don’t suggest that the male philanderer is an acceptable figure, any more than the female. Now I see that my blame is unfounded and absurd.

For me, a hopeless romantic former-Protestant boy, I gazed at a world of dwindling virtue, where not a single woman would ever want to fall in love with me, for she now has infinite access to the handful of physically attractive and resourceful alpha males and virtually no reasonable incentive to restrain her passions. I saw an apocalyptic world in which feminism raised her high-heeled boot and stomped on the sacred face of sex forever. My singeldom was sure to be eternal. My life was filled with despair.

Casual sex. Oh, what a paradox.

Sex is not merely a physical, mechanical action. If sex is simply mechanical, no one would fall in love and rape would not be traumatizing. I will never confess that sex is “good,” or even necessary, given humanity’s technology to artificially inseminate offspring, but sex is as powerful and destructive as a nuclear arsenal, and virtually every human being wields the potential to responsibly energize their lives with it or lay atomic waste to themselves and everyone else. If sex is to exist in this world, it must at least remain in its proper boundaries.

I’m old school. So kill me.

Ah, but I speak of things I do not fully know or have experienced, you say. A catch-22. How can I see into that world of carnal pleasure without coming away tainted? Or how can they return to my world of virginity without wiping their memories of their experience? Touche, touche, that’s all I say.

My despair flees now as I consider this future in a positive light. My former thinking was bleak and incorrect — feminism isn’t destroying anyone. Feminism is actually the filter, the seethe, the refining fire. There will be those who, given the freedom to partake of the trough of sluttery, will feast until their bellies and gonads erupt. But there will also be those who do not.

Someday, I’m going to discover that woman. She will be the one who, despite the propaganda the world perpetually barked into her ears — you’re sexy, you’re independent, you can have sex with whoever and as many people as you want, and you need not feel an inkling of guilt about it — chose to wait for love, not out of cultural pressure or religious code, but by her own commitment and virtue. Then our relationship will be that much more glorious.

Yes, as hedonism tramples the minds of the masses, those who respect the proper boundaries of sexual intercourse are dwindling fast. But that only means that the brave few who remain are stronger and nobler than anyone else in the history of copulation. Is that a bright future, or what?

“You idolize sex, Adam, get over yourself,” you must think, probably with an annoyed or amused eye-roll, especially if you are from “the other side.” “We’re tired of hearing you whine. Get laid, and you’ll find out why everyone is doing it, and why they don’t care about doing it, and why it’s also the only thing on their minds, even though they can’t see or admit it.”

You’re right.

When it finally happens, yes, the sex in my brain will fade back into my lower brain stem. It will resume its state as an unconscious force, a habit I give about as much thought to as my socks. I will finally see that carnal world, and after the moment of amazement, shrug, and move on with my business. I may shed this vow of celibacy forever and join the bar scene and the orgies. Or my sanity will be restored.

But consider this:

No human can live without water. The first organisms flourished and crawled onto the primordial shores from the water. Seventy percent of our bodies are composed of water. You can find drinkable water almost anywhere, cheap, and any restaurant will give you water for free. So when do we ever think or talk about our thirst with each other?

Only when we are in the desert.

I have lived my entire life in the desert. I will continue to live in the desert, dancing and cutting myself bloody with stones until those sweet sexual rains finally come down and drench me. I will die in the desert, if I must.

But I will never give in to the culture of casual sex.

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