Eat, Pray, Sex

“If I understand you correctly, this whole year is about your search for balance between devotion and pleasure. I can see where you’ve been doing a lot of devotional practices, but I’m not sure where the pleasure has come in so far.”

“I ate a lot of pasta in Italy, Felipe.”

“Pasta, Liz? Pasta?”

“Good point.”

Eat Pray Love, Elizabeth Gilbert

Unless you choose to live a life of asceticism, you are bound to come to a point when you have to attend to your body’s needs. There are so many ways to go about this, and we all probably have our own patterns for doing so.

There’s serial monogamy, adultery, the hands-on approach. There’s serial hooking up, prostitution, polyamory, and even the somewhat “normal” approach of having an intentional monogamous relationship.

In this age when sex outside of marriage is often par for the course, we really do have a buffet of options. And chances are that we'll eat from one tray or another at various times and emotional states in our lives.

There is no handbook for this. There really are no rules. As the saying goes, “You can do anything you want—as long as you’re willing to accept the consequences.” Sometimes, consequences of actions are marvelous; not all consequences are negative.

I remember the first time I had sex in adulthood sober. I honestly hadn’t had sober sex since I was in my teens, if then. God, it was awkward. I was so aware of everything: the way the room looked, the sound of our breathing, the exact touches. And also, very aware of the intimacy of the act.

That is something that drunken sex does not allow for. You might get off, but you are so far from present; this is not an intimate act. SURE, it can be and was fun; as Dr. Seuss puts it,

It is fun to have fun

But you have to know how.

And I’m not sure I ever really knew how. I mean, I lost my virginity while I was drunk. Which isn’t uncommon in many of the women I know.

So, to exist, sit, breathe, be in the intimacy of sex with another person – well, it really is no wonder I was celibate for so long! Though, I can admit, too, that distanced/detached sex is also very possible sober. Which is usually how it’s been for me. Like I told you earlier this week about the two-way mirror: I may offer you entrance, but I’m not giving you anything in return. Here’s part of another poem I wrote during that celibacy time:

every inch closer you come toward me is

every inch farther from myself that I am.

so by the time your cock is pressing against

the putty of my cervix,

i have found a home inside your wall.

(And that was with a boyfriend!)

I suppose part of my reason for sharing these poems with you recently is to normalize the experience for me, as I think I’m bringing these poems to my Writer’s Group today – my all male Writer’s Group. Though there’s absolutely a titillation factor to my work, the reality is, this is my writing, this is what I’m working on, was working on when I wrote them, and I guess, if there is feedback on how to improve my craft, I want it. But, I also know it may be hard (forgive me) for people to look past the word “cock” and get toward the structure and craft.

We’ll see. I haven’t decided yet if I’m bringing these poems there. It feels exposing, but then again, sharing any of my writing feels exposing.

And I guess that’s what I’m getting at – showing up without retreating. To know that I am safe and thereby be able to show up with vulnerable work, to show up physically and emotionally during sex. To let myself be present with the cacophonous heartbeat of it all.

I have little experience being present in flagrante delicto; but, by escaping it, I do think I’m missing out on some of the fun.