Seal Sex Revisited

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A famous racing driver apparently once said 'There are two things no man will admit he can't do well: drive and make love'

Well that's nice, Stirling. Don't know where it leaves me though. I'm not that good behind the wheel, either.

You almost certainly don't remember that stuff about Sex in the Orkneys, but just in case either of you do, I'm going to have to come clean, so to speak.

Not about being a seal, of course not. What do you take me for? No. About a degree of exaggeration back then as regards the amount of actual

I'm not claiming to be a virgin either, or anywhere close. It's just that sex never seems that big a deal. Let me try and explain what I mean, OK?

At least some of the people I know have Great Sex. They tell me about it. I sometimes think that the other people I know probably have Even Greater Sex, mainly because they don't tell me about it. But as for me, I don't even know what Great Sex is.

I think I know what Great Food is. And Great Music, or a Great Goal, or a Great Book. I have enough experience of all those things to set a
benchmark, and to rate new examples against it. When it comes to sex, I
don't get enough to rate a mention, let alone an absolute standard of
measurement. And as for variety, well, that would make a change.

Another thing. Talking about Great Sex is just a bit self-congratulatory, don't you reckon? I mean, the talker did presumably participate in the proceedings, so to proclaim greatness is like saying 'I'm immensely good at coitus, by the way'. This wouldn't worry me so much if it was just the blokes, because the blokes are always saying that sort of thing. But the majority of these Great Sexponents are the women.

What? No, it wasn't a typo. It was a sort of invented-word pun. But I know what you mean. My hands were trembling a bit as I typed that last
paragraph. That's another problem I have with this sex-thing. The more the other person conforms to your fantasy model, the more frightening that makes them, and the more the whole performance turns into some sort of fraught ordeal.

Sex is like hamburgers. There've been times when I've bolted down a Big Mac and fries with enthusiasm. I've quite enjoyed the dodgy rush you get from that narcotic substance they put in the pink sauce. That doesn't make it Haute Cuisine, though. Hey, sex is pretty compulsive too; even I can get fairly carried away doing it. But Great? Come off it. It's only what you do for a buzz. Greatness implies some kind of elevated experience.

That reminds me. I don't believe any of them have ever done it in an
aeroplane toilet either. Or on a motor bike, or in McDonalds, or under the covers during a break for rain against the Australians. Anyway, even if they have done it in weird places, or even in normal abnormal
places like the car or the lift or the stationery cupboard, they're all
still just tawdry quickies. They're never much fun, except in the same way that doing a runner from the restaurant is fun. And you can't do
that in McDonalds, either.

It's a completely contrary thing, is sex. You can have it with the same person all the time, like you're supposed to, and that's good and fine, but isn't it a bit samey, if we're going to be ruthless about this? Well, OK, maybe it isn't samey, because your partner is Great at it, but in that case I don't quite see why they're going to be satisfied with limiting their libido to you.

The alternative is to have sex with different people. For some reason, it always gets complicated when you do that. Either somebody starts feeling guilty, or gets over-involved, or goes for the cutlery drawer, or something of the kind. It should all be more fun, but instead it turns into doing a runner again. You suddenly realise that the only thing that's enjoyable about this is the thrill of cheating death.

And if you actually do get involved in something where you can spread it around and there really isn't any risk, like it's supposed to be with
swingers and stuff, then the whole deal suddenly turns utterly boring and degrading. Everybody instantly becomes disgustingly ugly and you wish they'd put their clothes back on and surely flesh didn't ought to be that colour and it just doesn't bear thinking about.

Now is that contrary or what?

You know what I really think? I think that sex with somebody you love is lovely. But so is having a nice meal (whether or not you get round to
paying for it). So is walking in the sunshine, and so is seeing a good
film and arguing about it afterwards. So is having to be apart, so is
crying a little bit in the night-time, so is bringing home a cheesy
present at the end of it all. There are a million lovely things to do with someone you love, and sex is one of them.

OK, for a while it's the best one of them. I'll give you that. Only for a while, though. Sex can't be the be-all and end-all of any long-term relationship. We aren't made that way, are we? I know I'm not.

Hmm. It could be getting to be time to stop this talk. Just for a moment back there, I felt myself getting serious.

Another famous racing driver apparently once said 'All I'm good for is going nowhere fast'.

No, you're right. He didn't really. I just made that up.

Pity, though. We could do with a bit more humility in this world. So if you're prepared to admit that you're not much good at sex, and that you can't really see what all the fuss is about, then we ought to do lunch sometime. You're paying, if anybody is.

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