This Is How We Have Sex Now
“What are you doing?”
“I’m horny. C’mere.’”
Newsflash: no one is coming anywhere tonight except, perhaps, you on your stomach alone in bed. Straight people sext, gay men use Grindr, Growlr, and Scruff. In 2013, our phones are getting to have all the fun. They’re getting laid constantly while we lay naked in the dark, rubbing our skin, trying pathetically to get turned on by the feel of our own touch. We’re exchanging dick pics in lieu of touching actual penises. We scroll through our camera and see a buffet of anonymous naked photos we’ve collected over the last few months for us to jack off to. Somehow, this has become enough for us. This is easier than getting dressed, wearing the pair of jeans that make our ass look spectacular, and trying our luck out at the bars or on an OKCupid date. Getting off has become like fast food. It’s accessible, cheap, and most likely going to make us feel like shit after.
Our sex lives are having less and less to do with actual sex. Intimacy has morphed into something entirely more narcissistic. What used to be about making each other feel good and connecting is now about validation. Personalities are mattering less and less. You are being judged by your appearance, by your luck in the genetic lottery, by your decision to stay in bed instead of going to the gym. Rejection is only an ignored message away.
We are actively participating in the things that keep us from what we want. Feel good now, feel bad forever later. Stomachache stomachache, junk food junk food.
When sex does happen, when we finally make it through the endless hoops of text messaging, planning a date and actually sticking to it and you discover that you like this person (or could like them for an evening), it feels like an old faded photograph that’s been sitting in a shoebox at the bottom of your closet. “This orgasm feels like a vintage ball gown! Is this how people used to do it in the olden days?!” It’s terrifying! You know you’re doing things right when you’re getting laid on the regular and your sex life becomes the least interesting thing about you. Sometimes I look at my friends who are in LTRs and I’m like, “Oh my god. You have sex at least once a week. With the same person! That’s insane! It’s probably so boring and sweet and routine. That sounds amazing!” When you remove the stress of having to acquire sex from your life, you’re left with so much more free time on your hands. You could join a book club or, like, start planting a garden!
Porn has killed our imaginations. We sit and try to fantasize. We shut our eyes tight and think, ‘Wait, what did I used to masturbate about before porn? What image is going to turn me on right now?” But your brain gets tired and your genitalia isn’t used to working this hard so you open your reliable go-to porno and get off in two minutes. Later, you have trouble maintaing an erection during actual sex because your partner doesn’t look like a blow up doll from the Valley.
You’re tired of consuming junk. You want a sex life that’s organic and locally-sourced and grass-fed. You want boring and predictable sex at 9:30pm before bed. A chore that’s like brushing your teeth. You want to get to know the ins and outs of somebody’s body and figure out how to make them come in five minutes. You want makeup sex, morning sex, afternoon sex, 4am drunk sex, I’d rather be shopping sex. You want “OMG, our sex life was getting so dull but now it’s exciting again!” You want to quit the porn and the apps and trade it all in for some kind of constant. Right?
Yes. Your dick just told me yes.
A | A | A
If you’ve been looking for a chance to say something then this very well could be it.
I wish to God I’d had a list like this when I was 23.
Answer phones better than anyone else has answered phones before. Relay messages so brilliant, they bring people to tears. Turn the coffee run into the choreography of Swan Lake. Become best friends with every intern and every underling and every taxi driver you encounter.
I remember taking the pen and notebook from that woman outside the courtroom, flipping to a clean page in the book, and writing, JESSICA IS SAD in big, bold, uncoordinated letters. “My sister is going to be a good writer someday! Look at how nice her lines are!”