Warning: This one's a little explicit.
First of all, y’all don’t even have that many holes. Or genital appendages, for that matter. There are so many species throughout existence that have waaaaaaaaaaay better sex, and yet they are nowhere near as hung up about it as you are. “It’s a sin!” “I’m addicted!” “Somebody’s about to get raped up in here!”
I know, that last one is touchy, but while this article is intended to be humorous, it’s also intended to have a point, so please know the conceptual insertion of rape in the opening paragraph wasn’t simply buffoonery. Yet, I would argue the extent to which we often pine for, obsess over, and ultimately are willing to inflict pain (both emotional and physical) to see our carnal desires fulfilled is abject buffoonery and or cruelty.
To be frank, I’ve had plenty of sex while trapped in this human body. Both lusty, superhot sex and lame ass sex. At the end of the day, as numerous comedians and psychotherapists have explained, the end result is almost always the same, at least for a man. Pleasing chemical dump, sploot, pleasing chemical dump. Rinse. Repeat. Ladies, I understand the sploot and post-sploot pleasing chemical dump is a much more tenuous opportunity for you, based on your lovers’ abilities and your own. Yes, your own. I’ve known one woman in my life that openly took responsibility for a lack of ability to sploot. And she knew damn well if she couldn’t figure it out, she couldn’t expect a man to suddenly discover Valhalla for her.
Anyway, let’s not belabor the point any longer. I’m here to tell you that sex ain’t that big of a deal. It’s not one that churches should be condemning folks over, or that these poor incel people should be freaking out about, or that you should cheat on your spouse to obtain, or that anyone should get raped over. It’s just…not…that…big…of…a…deal. It feels nice and offers you weird sensations of validation and confidence but so does alcohol. So does MDMA. I’m not personally sure about heroin but I hear it’s the bee’s knees.
I don’t mean to negate the positive side of healthy, mutual, explorative, evolving, sexual coupling. It’s nice. Partnering up with someone you dig and juicing each other is fun, but again, at the end of the day, it’s just not that big of a fucking deal. You aren’t saving the world, or even raising money for a charity (okay, okay, maybe every once in a while you’re raising money for a charity). It’s not some blessed union of souls, I promise. No matter what those pleasing chemicals tell you.
What you’re dealing with is a base desire. Animal instinct. Period. Once you’ve had it and felt the sploot, that pull is more powerful, but in the end, it’s still just base desire. Animal instinct. And we’re better than that. I’m not advocating not having sex. That’s not my point. I’m advocating that the next time you’re considering doing something shitty to obtain sexual gratification, even something so small as dipping your toe in the cold waters of infidelity, think twice. It’s just sex. It’s fleeting, and those positive chemicals it dumps on you? They’re fleeting too, and they won’t solve your problems. Just smack your own dick or clit around for a while and be done with. It’s simpler, and doesn’t require another person’s emotions be affected.
So there you have it, a resident alien’s guide to realizing sex isn’t that big of a fucking deal to help you stop being hung up about it. I close with one of my favorite new one-liners that I’m taking credit for until someone tells me that somebody else said it first. A buddy asked me the other day how I go without sex. I said, “Man, I know how good cocaine feels too, and I don’t do that anymore either.”
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