Sex is 90% Mental
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I’ve long been fond of misquoting Casey Stengel and saying sex is 90% mental and the other half is physical. I’m becoming a real believer in the mental.
Biologically I feel very little erotic pressure. My desire, need for an orgasm is minimal right now.
But my brain just won’t do the polite thing and just shut up.
Sex, even if performed in private, is a social role. But my favorite social space is invisibility: I’d rather think that most people don’t even see me as I walk down the street. And I suspect they don’t.
But in the most cherished private space it is a personal role, a way of relating to another.
My brain must still be seeking a way of recapturing intimacy. So it uses my libido to stick out its tongue at me, subject me to pratfalls: mocking me in my aloneless.
This just leaves me feeling peevish. Among that all too finite group of people who inspire dreams of closeness we’re talking about futile desire. And facing the unknown infinity of mankind what is there to feel but frigid indifference.
So to myself I can only say: shut up, be patient. Worry about this come the next year.