On Sex and Desire

There is not only need for tenderness, there is also need to be tender for the other: ask me anything that can put your body to sleep, but also do not forget that I desire you - a little, lightly, without trying to seize anything right away.(P.224, A Lover’s discourse)

Sex unsettles us. Why do we repulse at the idea of public sex? Why is it inappropriate in polite conversation? Why do we scoff at illuminating it if it’s so beautiful and natural? Does it cut so deep into our core that we want to hide our reaction? We don't want others to see how our breath picks up and our eyes wander as the tall guy with the cute hair and ripped six pack enters the room. Or when the slim woman with legs for days wears a low-cut shirt. Surely, we only care about character. Not how somebody looks like naked. Or are we unsettled because we realise our lack of control?

Sex is acknowledging that you’re an animal while knowing you'll still be loved. That is why it’s so vulnerable, so delicate, so at the center of everything while being subtly not stated. Everything is about sex, except for sex. That’s about power. Even dirty jokes only imply it. Like we expose ourselves too much if we say it, come off as creepy, a little too obsessed, even though everybody is thinking it. We use flowery language and substitute words. We refer to it as intimate, romantic, sometimes spiritual. At the same time, the physicality of it assaults us. That is a paradox. Sex is sacred and the fulfilment of our most base instincts. Sex is beautiful and a gross exchange of bodily fluids. Sex creates life and we kill for it.

Sex is always relational. If you’ve seen them naked, if you’ve fucked them, if you were inside them you cannot just look them in the eyes and say that you’re strangers. The relationship can be purely sexual, very short, maybe even a one-night-stand but it is a relationship. You can still have hookups without further commitment but you have to remember that they’re a person. They’re human just like you.

The roles we play

Make me an object, make me a body, make me an animal. Give me a desperate, one in between, an almost love. Touch me tender like my skin might pierce your heart if you let it. I don't want to think. I don't want to know. I just want to be.

One of Sartre’s most well-known quotes is the following:

Hell is other people

It’s sometimes misunderstood to mean that humans are shitty and gives Sartre the appearance of being a lil anti-social chilling at home. That’s not the case.

We are always defined by the existence of others. If there would only be one human, we wouldn’t need a self to differentiate. The I only exists because you exist. So we are the subject of our consciousness and the object of another subject, which is the other. How they view us is the look. His famous quip appears in the last lines of his play “No Exit” in which three people wake up in a room they can’t escape. And that’s hell. The problem is that Garcin loves Inez, Inez likes Estella and Estella is crushing on Garcin. Yes, Sartre did the ultimate love triangle before all the YA-dystopias. Hell means we can’t control other people’s freedom. We can't control the look.

Sartre also commented on how we try to immerse fully into our roles in society. If we are free, we are responsible for our choices. We sometimes try to only be our roles so we can absolve ourselves from that obligation. His philosophy is still majorly influential in modern society. The male and female gaze is the look of the other. We have roles on how heterosexual relationships should work. We have expectations for how the man should act, lead, fuck and the woman should follow, submit, yield. Even in relationships where both are of the same sex, there are still roles we can flee into: Butch, femme, stem. Top, bottom, power bottom. We always desire some labels, some concepts we can grip.

There’s BDSM with explicit roles, rules and power exchanges. We seek play, adventure, novelty.  Sexuality is part of our identity but it's also a way to find and forget ourselves. To force us into our body, our life, reality. When you’re sweating and tasting your lover's salt on their skin, you simply are. BDSM gives us an opportunity to play with these different dynamics. It allows us to dip into our base desires and embrace our shadow in a safe context. Why is it so sweet to have power? Why do we so badly want to be ruled? Why do we yearn for that adrenaline rush?

I’m thoroughly against dating apps. Sometimes they work, so if you’re successful you go buddy. I instead disagree with the concept of modern dating apps. If the people you’re compatible with live far away, you’re into a niche hobby or you’re homosexual, using an app makes sense. You spend a lil time on it, meet a couple of people and delete the app once you get into a relationship. (If you only want casual dating, then you’d stay on it.) The problem is that these products are incentived to make a profit. They only raise more money if you stay on the app though. They must be bad enough so you don’t quit, and good enough so you don’t give up.

They’re structured as a market. You have to make a whole assessment of somebody based only on their probably edited physical appearance and a short twitter-esque bio. Then you meet up with a total stranger. Of course it’s gonna be a shitty date then. I've never used dating apps and promised myself I’ll never do. The best aproach is dating somebody from a shared context like school, work or friends. You're in a comfortable environment, you repeatedly see each other and asses somebody based on appearance, voice, body language, character and chemistry. Instead of viewing dating as a market search, you see it as the exploration of another person.

The stubbornness of love

So I accede, fitfully, to a language without adjectives. I love the other, not according to his qualities, but according to his existence; by a movement one might well call mystical, I love, not what he is, but that he is. (P. 222, A Lover’s discourse)

Falling in love is scary. It's also extremely beautiful. You meet somebody, and you wonder how there ever was a life before them. It feels like you finally arrived at where you were meant to be. I'm with you and my cheek muscles are sore because of how much I’m smiling. I light up when you text me. My worries about how I am perceived, my social standing, my status all fall away. I’m happy when you're happy. I am afraid. Of feeling too much to fast. Of not being good enough. I’m afraid that I will fuck up a good thing before it starts and afraid I’ll loose it once I have it.

Some prefer to explore different people. Totally fine. I just don’t get it. I can cognitively understand why somebody wants that. Emotionally, not at all. I only shrug at the idea of it. I want to settle down and explore this world with one person. I want to keep re-discovering my partner. I don't want to be waves crashing on the shores. I want to watch the waves touch the beach as the sun sets, a breeze flows, and my fingers are intertwined with yours. I want late night talks while laying in our bed, my hand in your hair, lips to your temple. I want to try new things with you, stuff I'd never do alone. I want to build a place filled with love. I want someone I can entangle my life with. I want to come home after work, cook a meal together, eat dinner with you, do the dishes. I want to read a good book while leaning on your shoulder. I want to cuddle and go on dates.

I want to be there for the bad times, when you're near tears and tired and don't know what you're doing, and I'll still be there, holding you. I want to be there for the good times, when the sun is shining eternally, everything's light and we’re just two silly people in love. I want to be there for the mundane, for the Sunday mornings and walks in the park while feeding the ducks some bread, and for the exceptional, once in a lifetime opportunities and promotions. I want to be there for everything, and that is what I ultimately desire.

Best wishes,

Somebody

This stubbornness is love’s protest: for all the wealth of “good reasons” for loving differently, loving better, loving without being in love, etc., a stubborn voice is raised which lasts a little longer: the voice of the Intractable lover. (P.22, A Lover’s Discourse)