At The End Of The Day, Love Is Better

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René Magritte, Les Amants

You can only fool yourself for so long.

Spicy sexual escapades filled with erotic sensations and emptied of sentiment are like many other hobbies. You begin in a passionate frenzy that typically does not last very long. At first, you can imagine yourself, say, golfing, playing tennis, bridge, doing needle-point….with the same zeal for the rest of your time on this earth. And then one day, you realize that you feel less inclined to do so. After the newness wears off, a sort of tediousness takes over. There is a whole lot of predictable in the unpredictable.

Meeting new people, seeing their homes, how they live, learning about their sexual penchants, having unbridled intercourse with them, it’s still totally thrilling to me. I enjoy discovering them, finding common denominators between them. I have learned more about my own sexuality in this past year than in my whole life up until now, which is something I feel incredibly lucky to experience at this point because I am no longer a young woman. More or less, I’m flabbergasted to even be getting laid at all, much less to have the luxury of choice.

I would be lying if I said that my partners in crime meant nothing to me. They are often quite interesting, frequently incredibly warm and always very enthusiastic. Their ardor is contagious. I have seen some of them several times, some of them only once. One or two I now consider to be my friend. One lives in my neighborhood and we talk on the phone sometimes. He is a true libertin and I enjoy sharing my adventures with him because he is so genuinely interested in my sexual evolution. A few of my pals are cheating on their wives/girlfriends and I have mixed feelings about what we do together. As I am cheating on no one, I feel like I am a real, bona fide libertine. Cheating just means a person is bored/horny/whatever. It means that you are taking liberties that you are not supposed to be taking. I am a stickler for clear definitions. Life is confusing enough without throwing in nebulous terminology.

What prompted this post? Well, I was watching television with my husband the other night when a passionate love-making scene passed before my empty, hypnotic gaze. My eyes welled up and spilled over. I have been doing lots of things lately but love-making is no longer part of my repertoire. I really am so much happier in my new, highly sexual life than I was in the old, withering on the vine life I was living before. Having my husband’s approval to act on my desires makes me love him even more than I did before, but we don’t have sex at all. Ever.

My body purrs like a kitten but my heart knows a scam from miles away.

(Note to self.) You can take the love out of the sex or the sex out of the love, but probably, if you really thought you were worth it, you would strive to find a full-package deal.