Sex. As a word, it can be used to mean love, lust, desire, wants, perversions or obsession.
For me, sex isn’t as important like the other guys my generation say it is. This may be because I’ve only had sex once. Trust me, it wasn’t anything worth banging my head on the wall for.
I take the act of intercourse as a serious move. It’s not worth having sex if you don’t really love someone. Anything else is just lust. I can’t speak from personal experience when it deals with having multiple partners, but it doesn’t mean I haven’t heard stories.
So far, I’ve heard, so many scoring stories from guys that I could write a book. It could be one that belongs with the erotic fantasy and pleasure genre at any bookstore. Some stories involve sadomasochism and domination and bondage gear. Others include creeping in the bedroom of another while they’re asleep and vulnerable. It’s a crazy sick world out there. Anything that you can imagine is probably being done by someone in some apartment right now. Some stories I believe, others I don’t. It all depends on the source and the digging around that I do later on.
The old joke, if there is one, about virgins dying young isn’t true anymore. They aren’t the ones dying. They’re the ones living a little longer.
The stories sound made up or exaggerated when they don’t include what the other person was thinking or saying at the time. They say it was the best or sweetest. Fine, but is it worth it? What about the risk of AIDS? What about the real love? All it is, is a Russian roulette game ready to backfire.
Now the other stories, the “we made love” stories, the ones I rarely hear because they’re personal and kept private, I only hear them because the person that tells me trusts me enough to tell me. You see, if two people made love, it wouldn’t be the focus of the afternoon school gossip. The sex that comes out of love isn’t abused. It’s cherished.
People who say “we had sex” or “we were so in love that I made out with him or her (after a week or two)” isn’t really love. It’s lust. They are doing it for their own personal pleasure. But pleasure has its consequences.
I take sex seriously. I don’t abuse it like last week’s thrill. The one time I had sex, I had it because I was curious. I didn’t love it though. Not like the girl did. I think maybe because I was a little punk and I was too young to understand what I was doing. Since then I’ve had nothing but close calls. Sometimes, I think I want sex, but then I’m not sure that I could stop myself. I check myself and ask, is this what I really want to do? I think I’m lucky though because I haven’t fallen into committing sexual extremities.
But for me, sex isn’t everything. There is no sexual tension I have to gel rid of. There is nothing I have to prove to myself or someone else. I have the urges, but I don’t want to commit to anything unless it’s real.
Real intimacy and real love.
As the friend of many men and women, I’ve been the observer and not the doer. I only see the other person go from kissing in the back seat of a car to being the creator of muffled sounds coming from the other bedroom in the house. Believe me I know things about sex. I don’t mean pornography tapes stashed underneath Vijay’s bed or looking through Dev’s peeping binoculars. I’ve been in the same room with people as they make out.
As a guy, I do want to have sex. But I’m trapped between seeing someone else having sex and feeling indecisive when I do want to have sex. That’s why for me sex isn’t everything, not just yet. I prefer the romance and the adventure. The time and loyalty, the good times and trouble. Sex is good for something but it isn’t everything. It isn’t something you have to lean on or to support in a relationship.
Giving up your virginity is a serious sacrifice. It’s like painting blue in a white plaster wall or square chunk of chalk. Once you’ve had sex you can’t take it back. You can’t separate the thick colors. You can’t. Later on you feel horrible. Someone once told me that it was a horrible mistake for her. She felt a little hatred toward the guy after he had sex with her. And the reason she hated him was because he took something of hers that she wasn’t ready lo give up.
It’s a treasure. I’m serious. I’m not joking. Sex is the part of us where we know we have at anytime of our lives and we shouldn’t abuse it. I know people that think they are nymphomaniacs. But they’re not. I think they’re just curious and excited to know that there’s someone else there that shares their feeling of intimacy and someone they can freely have sex with.
I honestly have to say it personally hurts me to find out they’ve had sex too quickly. Too quick did they give themselves up. Something that important shouldn’t be abused. I think losing your virginity and having sex is like a sacred gift or a sacrifice you trade for something called love. It’s the complement to the relationship, not the relationship. You hear a lot about girls saying guys wear their brains downstairs (in the little apartment), but what about a guy stating girls wear theirs in the triangle between their legs.
It’s funny listening to women harass men about wanting only sex all the time. According to my personal experiences, and third person observation of relationships and dating, I’ve seen so much to dispel that myth that men are the only sex hounds. Nymphomaniacs who live for sex will have to face the damage waiting for them one day. It will be a destructive lesson they cannot escape. Everything in excess has its consequence.
How do I know? I really don’t. I’m not a nymphomaniac, and I don’t have friends that are nymphomaniacs, but you don’t have to be sick to know what a sick person looks like.
About the Author: This is a guest post by Arjun D. Arjun is a student at Jyothismathi Institute of Technological Sciences, Karimnagar, Andhra Pradesh.