Friday, September 26, 2008

Blindly falling faster

I’m always conflicted when I come across two people having sex in public.

On the one hand, I think it’s hot that two people care about each other so much that they’re willing to throw down where any passerby can see them and, on the other, I feel bad for taking so many pictures and masturbating while they’re trying to share a tender moment.

Of course, public fuckers can’t get mad for drawing a crowd, because part of having sex in public is the implied consent to watch what they’re doing. With the exception of teenagers and the homeless, who often have no other place to fuck, most adults have at least a car or apartment to which they can take their carnal pastimes. Even if you’re one of those unfortunate people who have neither, there are always mostly empty dumpsters, public toilets, and the roof of your local Wal-Mart.

If someone stumbles upon you plowing your wife, girlfriend, or wife’s girlfriend, in public, then you can, by all logic, run away in embarrassment, but certainly you shouldn’t get mad, or violent, at the person who caught you.

So, I was nursing a black eye the other night when I started to think about why people would have sex in public even if they didn’t want anyone to watch them fucking. I’m still drawing a blank, but it might be that only one of the people involved wanted to publically fuck and they convinced the other person to do it because the other person is head over heels in love, hard up for sex, or deluding themselves into thinking that giving in to their partner’s crazy sexual fantasies will make that person forget their earlier statement that they weren’t looking for a relationship but an understanding genitalia set.

Passion gets people to do crazy things which they would otherwise never try.

All too often, people discover one or two things they like, or that society tells them they should like, and they settle into a decent rut, sucking all the pleasure out of that particular practice until it loses all its original flavor and, suddenly, something that should be fun, like masturbating with your off-hand, becomes as mundane and pedestrian as whipping it out on a crowded subway.

You can’t be afraid to try something new. If it wasn’t for experimentation, you would never have discovered the pleasant musk in your grandmother’s recently worn underpants, or whatever sexual perversion you practice and, for which, you should be judged and castigated by your friends and bridge partners.

The easiest way to convince someone to broaden their horizons is to put them into a situation where they’re suddenly out of their league; that is why all attractive men and women should sacrifice their own personal happiness and contribute to the greater good by coupling with society’s most homely and troglodytic castaways, which is what I tell hotties when I’m convincing them to slum it with me for a while.

I know there are a lot of folks out there with hang-ups, but you don’t learn except by trying and there’s nothing worse than missing out on a whole lot of fun just because you don’t think you’ll like something.

Most of the time, if you don’t think you’ll like a particular activity, then, when you experience it, you probably won’t, because our expectations do as much to flavor our experiences as the experience itself. When we expect too much, then nothing will whet our appetites, no matter what it delivers, and if we close ourselves off from pleasure by anticipating a bad time, then that’s exactly what you’re going to get; that’s why it was so disappointing to see Meg Ryan get naked in the movie In the Cut because it had been built up for so long that her once nubile body couldn’t suffice and why you didn’t like human feces the first time you ate it because you expected that it would taste bad.

Fecal consumption and Jane Campion films aside, it shouldn’t take a human being with whom we are so enamored, or deluded, to open up our minds to new experiences, but that’s part of the human condition. Most of us have such a hard time finding our way around in the dark that only another human being can tell us that we have our eyes closed. There are people in our lives who, for one reason or another, act as catalysts for our self-awareness’s expansion and it is from our interaction with these teachers that folks get ridiculous hooey like soul mates and true love.

The truth is that a good number of us use these inamorati as excuses to explore areas of our sexuality, or personality, in which we fear to tread, the same way that many of us won’t go to a bar unless we can convince a friend to lend their company, even though drinking alone in a bar is much more fun than most recovering alcoholics admit.

The trick is in letting go of any and all inhibitions. Now, when I say this, most people assume that I’m talking about things that feel good like anal sex and stealing other people’s newspapers, but you shouldn’t be afraid to try things that are intentionally harmful like eating thirty, or more, White Castle hamburgers in one sitting or trying to fit your balls into someone else’s asshole.

Most of all, we have to stop assuming that sexual contact with a person of your sex is homosexual. You can’t fault with this women because they are more open to this kind of thing as evidenced by 78% of the myspace profile pictures in which a teenaged or twenty-something girl kisses, fondles or fingers one of her BFFs; but guys, you have to stop getting so offended when another man has sex with you. Wanting to exclusively couple with members of your sex makes you gay; letting another man put his tongue in your mouth is just a fun way to share bacteria and mouth sores.

Enjoy these teachers when they come along, these people who are kind enough to push our boundaries by being so desirable that it’s much easier to talk us into experimentation. Think of them like Boy Scouts helping little old ladies cross the street, where your conservative and frightened thinking is what keeps you stranded on the curb until a strapping young Boy Scout comes along to help you to the other side. There’s nothing inherently wrong with that analogy unless you’re a grandmother who gets sexually aroused by little boys in neckerchiefs.

That’s right, letting your partner convince you to fuck in public is like helping an old lady cross the street; the only difference being that I have no desire to watch old women cross streets, unless they’re wearing skirts and directly pass over the sewer grating, air condition vent, or shrubbery under which I’m hiding with my camera.

Think about that the next time you want to get freaky in the library.

Sex Mahoney for President

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by Guster
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