Birds do it, Bees do it....

What's the deal with sex? Men supposedly think about it once every three seconds and women, if Sex and the City is anything to go by, think about it all the time... atleast in New York. And it's idolised as the thing to do - the books and the movies that revolve around 'getting the girl' and 'getting laid' seem to abound - and everyone's working themselves up into a tizzy to 'do it'. But at the end of the day, what is it? It's usually two or more people who get naked with each other, and in about eleven minutes, lie panting next to each other, covered in sweat. Okay, i know the whole propaganda of sex being a manifestation of love, and emotional fulfillment, yada yada yada. But what about just the act? It's ridiculous.

These days i find myself thinking about this a lot. I'm currently involved with someone with whom there really are no pretentions - there's no 'love' in the picture, just two people who meet every weekend and go at it like rabbits... okay, lethargic rabbits. And it's hilarious, in the most pathetic kind of way. During the day, we speak to each other about twice, perhaps thrice. Most of these conversations are thinly veiled attempts at one-up-manship. Being a writer, and hence wielding words as the weapon of choice, i usually win these barbed discussions. The result is a temporary feeling of strength and victory and slight contempt. However, come weekend, and there i am naked with him, hoping for ... something.. that isn't there.

Don't get me wrong, the sex is great. But uninspired. And almost like clockwork - it starts with some kissing, and then some groping, then the frantic search for a condom, which is accompanied with a discussion, "forget the condom", "No way.." "Don't you trust me?" "Umm.. no.. and besides, i don't trust the 35 other people you've been with..", then the condom is dutifully handed over to me to do the needful, and then.. well, it's the same. We've all been there, so i'll spare you the details. Plus, i'm probably a prude.

Two positions and eleven minutes later (and no laughing, this is serious business), we're done. "Did you come?".. "Oh yeah... you?" "Yeah.." "Oh good.. that was good" "yeah.." And then, we're asleep. Now imagine this happening every week over the last two months. I'm bored.

The question that you would justifiably ask is, "Why not become innovative? There's a lot more that can be done." And finally, i get to the point of this particular piece - Innovation means experimenting, which means getting ready for disasters. And the only way one can do this is if there's trust between the two people naked in bed. And i find that without the essential ingredient of love and the trust implied therein, the motivation to experiment, particularly when the Big O is achieved anyway, is sadly lacking.

And i get to wondering, then what's the point? If reaching orgasm was it, i could do it solo. Then why am i tolerating the additions - the phonecalls that are actually boring, the 'hanging out together' because we belong to the same group of friends, the uninvolved flirting... And i reach the conclusion: I enjoy the additions, and use sex as a bartering tool - "i'll sleep with you if you're available to me for walks along the beach, for being a willing victim to my barbed comments, for being a voice at the other end of a phone when i'm feeling lonely."

So sex then becomes an increasingly effective tool of combatting loneliness and feelings of isolation that many city slickers like me are consumed with. Yet on the other hand, it brings the sense of isolation into stark relief as well... sex doesn't mean one is connecting with someone. It instead makes it terrible to know that despite the nakedness, and the inherrent intimacy, the emptiness still doesn't go away. I find myself still flying solo. But the question that keeps me awake sometimes is that: what if i find that with every non-intimate sexual contact, my ability to actually connect with someone gets eroded that much more?