Let's Talk About Sex.

I hated being a teenager, but not for reasons you might suspect. While I could revel in the physical superiority of a healthy metabolism and the comforts of having my entire existence financed by elders, I was bursting with an uncomfortably zesty libido that would keep me up at night, entertaining fantasies over which I had no control, and, at that point, no experience. The zenith of my sexual fever spiked around age fifteen. Thankfully, I had discovered masturbation's life-affirming techniques, and in true early-pubescent form, spent hours perfecting it.

Were guys my age getting into the game? Sure, they were, if locker room gossip be trusted. I was neither bold enough nor confident in my abilities to put my pants on correctly in the morning, much less be a lover of any commendable magnitude. Pictures of Kate Moss, Cameron Diaz and Drew Barrymore acted as surrogates for my one-way affections. No courtship, no flowers, no meetings with relatives...I wonder if they felt used.

In my early twenties, my desire for sexual misadventures led me into all manner of social dalliances, that my castrated self surely would have avoided. There was simply no 'off-switch' for a desire that, as I grew older, became more an annoyance than welcome personality trait. After I lost my virginity on Winnie the Pooh sheets shortly after my twenty-first birthday, my libido quieted a little. Imperceptibly at first, then significantly, to where it's a background lull as opposed to the glottal roar of my youth.

My contention is that, once you've had it a few times, and especially with someone you love, sex ceases to be an overarching consideration with every new acquaintance. I still notice women who are attractive, and that won't change. What I no longer think about is what they look like naked, or how they would be under the covers. In fact, the whole notion of cruising, or going out expressly to troll for sex is comical these days. This is because sex without love is depressing.

Which is another reason why I can't watch sitcoms. The level of sexual unreality borders on insanity. Somebody's feelings might get hurt, but the show ends in half-hour, and then it's on to Viva Viagra. Adds that sell products through sexual displays don't resonate with me, anymore, and I ache for those who fall under marketing's cheap spell. Currently I'm in Madison Avenue's crosshairs, and I anticipate the day when they don't need me anymore for their manipulations.

A friend of mine, in his forties, still had the libido of a teenager, and it cost him his marriage, damaged his reputation, and, thanks to his Catholic notions of contraception, bore him a brood of children from different women. Nothing's free. Those adds on Craigslist for NSA, or 'no strings attached' hookups are ridiculous. Sex cannot be separated from emotion, be it from a prostitute, masseuse, or a magazine picture on the wall, there's always some measurable level of emotional involvement.

I would love to be able to participate in track and field events without getting winded, or feel instantaneous connections to others like I did in High School, but without the burdens of boundless sexual frustration. Youth has many benefits, but growing older and gaining wisdom outshines them all.