Craving the Craving

Let’s talk about one of the most controversial topics there is: sex.

I’ll be the first to admit that I have some weird reactions when the topic is broached.

Friends will randomly ask a question like, “Have you ever tried…” or launch into a play-by-play of either a moment they wish they could erase from their memory because he wouldn’t take his socks off, or a detailed retelling of a passionate night.

The act of talking about sex is not what makes me uncomfortable. It’s more about the abruptness with which it’s introduced that sends my palms sweating and has me awkwardly adjusting my clothes, a silent reminder to myself to make sure my ankle bone is adequately covered because the conversation happening around me would shock the town elders.

There is, for example, a very distinct difference in my reaction when I am confiding in a friend about what happens behind closed doors, sipping wine on a couch with the cover of darkness outside, versus when I’m innocently driving down 183, lost in a song, and the passenger suddenly interrupts with:

“How do you feel about light choking? Trevor and I gave it a whirl the other day and I don’t hate it.”

Ma’am. I am merging.

There is a time and a place for everything, and apparently that time and place is not while I’m trying to determine whether I can safely get into the HOV lane. It’s not that I don’t want to talk about sex. I absolutely do. All I’m saying is that it is too much to ask for a segue.

At the very least, let me finish my coffee before you casually drop the visual image of a naked Trevor partaking in rather limber extracurriculars.

Close friends know that I react this way, and they often do it now as a comedic party trick just to get a laugh. But it does make me think about the power sex wields.

I think it genuinely stems from the simple fact that sex was not a topic discussed in my house.

My mother, bless her, left me a copy of the American Girl The Care and Keeping of You on my bed one day to signal that it was time for me to learn about the inevitable changes approaching my body.

That was essentially our version of the talk.

As an adult, we have a much more open relationship. But growing up, boys and sex were never subjects I thought I could approach her about. On the rare occasion they were mentioned, everything surrounding them felt vaguely wrong.

Sex was almost like a scandalous secret that needed to remain outside, left behind the same way you leave your muddy shoes at the door.

Growing up, sex was synonymous with sin, shush, and scandal.

As an adult, I think the pressure we put on sex is directly attached to love and power.

Sex can end marriages, tempt the most honorable, destroy perfectly good friendships, start wars and express a level of love unlike almost anything else.

But what happens when we reduce it to its most basic form?

Not scientifically. I'm not writing a biology textbook.

I mean satisfaction. Pleasure. Sometimes, if we're being completely honest, a perfectly generous means to a much-needed end (if you catch my drift).

The question I want to ask is this:

Do people want to be in relationships, or do they simply want to be desired?

It’s a question I find myself asking from time to time, particularly when I begin picturing my life with the man I’m currently talking to.

Do I really want anything more? Or do I simply want to be craved in a physical form?

I don’t know.

I think my answer changes from week to week.

Of course, there are moments when life would be easier with a partner. More enjoyable at events and outings. It would be nice to have someone to bounce ideas off in a crisis or simply turn to at the end of a particularly long day.

But then there are other moments when my freedom tastes too good to trade for something new.

Moments when the urge to be desired has a very temporary, yet satisfying, solution without the expectation of anything more permanent.

Some may say that’s a hollow way to view sex, that sex is something inherently beautiful and romantic.

Well, of course it can be.

I’m not an idiot.

But sometimes, sex is also simply sex.

And I think it's okay to minimize its power.

Somewhere along the way, we attached enormous meaning to it. We turned it into a symbol of love, commitment, morality, validation. And sometimes, it can represent all of those things.

But sometimes, it doesn't.

And maybe that's okay, too.

So why is it frowned upon to admit that, occasionally, you don't want a relationship?

You don't want forever.

You don't necessarily want someone to meet your mother, share your Netflix password or ask where you see yourself in five years.

Sometimes, you simply want to feel wanted.

And perhaps that doesn't make you lonely.

Perhaps it doesn't make you emotionally unavailable.

Perhaps it simply makes you human.

The complicated part, I suppose, is figuring out whether you're genuinely craving the experience, or simply craving the feeling of being craved.

Even if the feeling is fleeting.