Sex is one of the most important things in life (or at least my life) and I’ve written about it only two or three times in these pages.
The last time I did, describing in vague detail making love to Shelley, a man (who had been a fan) wrote to Unsubscribe.
So I knew I must have been onto something.
Which brings me to orgasm. (Wait, that didn’t come out right).
Back in my hippie days, the woman who insisted on de-flowering me believed that the lack of good orgasms (especially when shared with another) was why we had so much war and violence in the world. I’m not sure of this, but the fact that modern day terrorists are mostly young men who are deprived of sex and then told they’ll get all those virgins in heaven if they’ll just fly that plane into that building…yeah, I can see how that happens.
These days, I find two things happen when I come. One is I somehow, like a sense memory, get connected back to all the climaxes I’ve ever had with all the women I’ve ever been with. Like connecting the dots all the way right back to that first time (when Judi Greenberg came to my house – with dad and brother out at the movies — and whispered when I entered her, “Doesn’t it feel strange?” She was right). Connected to all those women by way of this series of explosive, heavenly moments glimpsing eternity together.
The other thing that happens in that instant (and I’m hardly the first to notice this) is the temporary obliteration of body and ego boundaries. All my thoughts disappear (which for me is saying something), all my senses are heightened, and the first letter in Me, along with my world, gets temporarily turned upside down. Where did I go? No wonder the French call it “the little death”.
Sometimes, afterwards, I lie on my back and allow the afterglow energy to migrate up my body. On a good night, it streams out my crown chakra, and I’m left completely refreshed.
Something else I notice. As a teenage boy, I thought orgasm was something limited to the tip of my cock. I later discovered to my delight this was a silly myth. Learning that I could greatly expand the area of ecstasy was a revelation to me, like seeing with new eyes.
Then there are the times I got high and experienced a full-body orgasm. And well, after you’ve known something like that, it’s hard to think of your body, or look at life, the same way again. My thought was – what else is possible?
But I do find myself suffering at times from Venus envy, especially when it comes to multiple orgasms. To use many women’s favorite phrase, it’s not fair!
Of course the torpid truth for many of us guys (and many women too, I’m sure) is that our best orgasms are self-induced. And this fact taught me long ago that having the best orgasms isn’t the same as having the best sex. Coming alone is qualitatively different than being with someone else. Moreover, for guys, it’s a test of their true feelings for that person.
I call this the “jac test”.
Right after a guy ejaculates with someone, and the energy fades, he’s spent and vulnerable. It’s a moment of truth about what he really feels about the person he’s with. If it’s the wrong person, it’s then he might flood with regret.
Conversely, if he’s with the right person, he’s grateful to himself for his choice. For me, one of the continuous payoffs of commitment and monogamy is this moment.
Orgasm also has another benefit. I once went on a first date with a woman who told me how she didn’t drink or get high…ever. “Except every now and then, I’ll allow myself one glass of red wine.” I just looked at her. “I don’t like to lose control,” she explained.
I thought, this poor woman. I also thought –- Waiter! Check Please! Because for me, sex — when it’s good — is all about losing control. Finally, a time I can remove the mask, and drop the sword and shield. For one who keeps it all together (and packed pretty tight) sex is one of my favorite ways of letting it all go. It’s right up there with dancing and emotional catharsis, though good sex is kind of like all of these.
Sex for me means a full body letting go, and let me tell you, I don’t trust anyone (male or female) who comes silently. It’s like someone who always suppresses their sneezes. Where does that energy go? No place good I assure you.
In my sixties, sex has morphed into something less driven, and more sensual. And leisurely. And more about the whole experience, my whole body, and her’s. And that’s a welcome relief from that constant hormonal cocktail that had had me drunk and dick-driven for decades. These days, then, to spend precious time looking deeply into my wife’s beautiful eyes and communing with her, head to toe, while bathing in exotic music, this is so much better. It’s like we’re floating together in some deep, red, plush and velvety pool.
And orgasm – that God-given gift, or lift of aliveness, at the end of the act, like a peaceful beach at the edge of the land, or the sun climaxing with the clouds at the close of day — is perhaps really His way of showing us previews of what follows. Or, as I like to think of them, coming attractions.