Ok that title was a cheap, cheap stunt to grab your attention. This isn’t really a post about sex, well only as a metaphorical allusion, but before you trudge off with a grumpy face having missed out on a bit of voyeuristic titillation stay with me a while and let me explain.
I was looking for an analogy to giving up the booze and surprise surprise- sex appeared. Those of a nervous disposition should turn away now.
Let’s begin by forgetting booze for a moment. Let’s suppose I’d become addicted to sex.
For a short, disturbed while imagine Jim as this over sexed, dog like human, always on the look out for his next sexual encounter,(Suffice it to say we are in the realms of both metaphor and fantasy here). Poor sex addicted Jim, sniffing the air for pheromones, flirting shamelessly, looking at his Tindr app every few minutes. Poor man; one shag a month used to satisfy him then it turned into needing sex once a week and soon his sexual hunger got out of control. Soon he found himself needing some form of sexual activity every day. And Jim tried them all; you name it he’d tried it. Friends noticed his haunted expression, his lack of interest in anything unconnected to sex. Things were getting desperate. His sexual addiction was affecting work, family, even his grocery shopping, where one day he found himself after a grocery shop with no basic provisions but several salamis, kilos of plums and the store’s supply of figs. Things were indeed getting out of control. Women would challenge him, “Why are you talking to my breasts Jim!?” His self esteem lay in tatters. Sad, pathetic old Jim was losing the little respect he had left. Guilt and shame followed him round like the shackles on a convict. He had reached the bottom (stop it!)
So Jim started a blog “standing tall- reclaiming my pride” but clearly was still being affected by sexual connotations. He went cold turkey, he knew he couldn’t moderate, he would have to give up the thing that for so long had given him such pleasure, he was going to have to give up sex!
At first it was easy, he found other like minded sex dependent people through his blog and shared their stories of how they were coping with a life without sex. Yoga was very popular but all that tight fitting lycra and body posturing just acted like triggers for poor old Jim. Then Jim was told about cross stitch and knitting. It was heaven. Jim would spend hours doing cross stitch and sex became the last thing on his mind. For months Jim stuck to his goal- no sex, no pursuit of sex. He thought he had cracked it.
And yet… As time wore on, Jim was surrounded by images and references to the thing he had given up. Everyone seemed to be having sex and enjoying it. Some appeared to be happy to have sex just now and Jim realised he could never be that way. Then Jim began to think fondly of his early adventures with sex, those innocent days of clumsy fondlings with Susan from the convent school when he was 17 but deep down Jim knew there was no going back.
Has anyone else written a post which they wish they hadn’t? This is mine I guess but I’m sure there’s a message in her somewhere and at least the psychoanalysts out there can have some fun dissecting this. Suffice it to say giving up something you enjoy is hard- but when it does you harm (hopefully unlike sex) it really is so much easier to say goodbye to it.