Over my lifetime, sex has been more of a fantasy than a reality. A healthy attitude about, approach to, and development of, my human sexuality, was severely hampered from the beginning. As a young boy, when I first began to awaken sexually, it was within an excruciatingly oppressive environment. Being raised Roman Catholic, I mean, old country Roman Catholic, I had sin pounded into my brain since birth. I was taught that not only was Jesus and God watching me day and night, so were my dead relatives. I mean, what’s a boy to do with his newfound “toy” under such guilt-ridden circumstances?
In my mid-teens, my mother questioned whether I loved my sisters. Was she nuts? Of course, I loved my sisters. If I truly did, she would say, then I would treat other girls with the same dignity and respect that I would expect my buddies to afford my own sisters. Boy, was I ever screwed, and not in the good sense of the word. Through my teens and into young adulthood, I was constantly haunted by the double standard that existed in society. I refused to allow myself to be just another hypocritical, sex-driven young man. Condom? Or conundrum?
During my first marriage, the obvious fact that we had produced five sons, made most believe the wife and I were like rabbits when it came to sex. But truth be known, opportunities were few and far between. I liked to compare my married sex life to riding on a carousel. And I really, really, truly loved riding the carousel. But I didn’t get to ride it often, and when I did, I went hell bent for leather after that coveted brass ring. There is no denying that I managed to collect at least five.
Maslow placed sex on the first, primal rung of his infamous Hierarchy of Human Needs. My life experience was that it was at the last level of attainment, on its highest rung - something maybe, just maybe, attained only after every other human need. Bummer, right?
I also created my own obstacle to sex; in that I mistakenly equated it with love. I could never bring myself to have sex with someone I did not love and felt convinced they loved me as well. A critical flaw, don’t you think? Well, perhaps. What about you? Ever had sex on the beach? No, not the drink. Again, rhetorically speaking. Perhaps too much information, but regrettably, I have.
The fantasizing of it had always been so titillating. The reality of it, however, hmmm…not so much. Sand! Sand seems to find its way into places where no sand should ever be. Did you know that? And there is nothing romantic about getting bitten all over by sand fleas, mosquitos, horse flies, and no-see-ums. Bottom line: it was God awful. Some things are better left to fantasy.