All nature seems at work… The bees
are stirring—birds are on the wing… and I the while, the sole unbusy
thing, not honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing. – Samuel Taylor Coleridge
They were there, the beautiful crowd, at Bob Fest on Sunday. And
subsequently, there were a lot of baseball caps and plastic cups full
of beer, as well as girls in clusters beaming up at the stage, where
Bret Bollinger and Kaleo Wassman of Pepper were rockin’ out, shirtless
“Does anybody like sex anymore?” Wassman asked the crowd, before
launching into the song, “Dirty Hot Sex.” “Why don’t you have dirty hot
sex with meeee? Oh yeah! I’m begging you darlin’ pleeeease. Oh yeah!”
As the sun set on the west side of the island, swirls of color
sprayed over clouds atop Iao Valley, creating a tangerine-guava glow
over the faces of the 2,500 or so in attendance at the MACC’s A&B
Amphitheater. And as the glowing masses raised their beers and roared
gleefully in a salute to sex and all its dirty hot glory while my
boyfriend remained impassive, it dawned on me.
I might like sex more than him.
Granted, it’s important to me. Having sex is my favorite way to
unwind, to release, to connect with my partner. It’s a pleasurable use
of all of my senses at once and it makes me feel beautiful. But more
than that, sex to me is a culmination of all life’s experiences in one
simple act, an expression of who I really am, and it never, ever feels
like a waste of time.
This shouldn’t be shocking news coming from a healthy, vibrant woman
in the 21st century. Since the late 1960’s, sexuality morphed from mere
biological imperative to recreational pastime, and dramatically
affected how society viewed women and morality, in general. Women, and
not just men, it seemed, liked sex for sex.
“Sex evolved as a way to deal with stress and its consequences,”
writes Aurora M. Nedelcu in the paper, “Sex as a response to oxidative
stress.” She was referring to Volvox carteri, a green algae that can
switch between sexual and asexual reproduction, depending on their
needs. But clearly, there is a fungus among us.
And yet, it seems there remains a lingering unease about women’s
sexuality. Celebrity sex tapes are a prime example. With Pamela and
Tommy, Paris and Rick—and now Paris’s BFF Kim and Ray-J—it’s the women
who are labeled “porn stars.” The guys get high-fives. Likewise,
civilian women who have sex with more than one partner are still
subject to being called “the town slut,” while guys are simply
Unfortunately, this attitude filters into relationships as well.
Most of my girlfriends and I can recall past lovers who’ve accused us
of being “oversexed,” implying that by wanting more than their
previously comfortable sexual status quo, that there is something
inherently wrong with us.
According to Melissa LaRicca on the website AskMen.com, women are
most likely to want to have sex on particular occasions—like, after an
argument, or when she’s happy, stressed or jealous, or when she’s
ovulating, dancing or drinking, or just saw a steamy sex scene with
Viggo Mortensen (or Johnny Depp, Scarlett Johansson or Sasha Baron
Cohen, depending), has been away or abstinent, has been single for
awhile, or is using her creativity in some context (writing a column,
So yeah… that means women are potentially in the mood—given the appropriate company—RIGHT NOW.
Not surprisingly, the most common complaint I hear from my committed
female friends is that they’re not getting enough sex. One friend
ditched her otherwise “perfect” boyfriend because of it.
“It’s part of our compatibility,” she said. “I think it signifies
that, on a deeper level, we’re both not willing to communicate
effectively, emotionally. And I think it’s a power issue.”
To be fair, men are faced with daily pressures that impede their
libido, often to their flaccid dismay. Stress, medication, fatigue, and
good ole performance anxiety can lead to the modern woman’s bete noire:
“Not tonight, honey.”
But one of my friends was certain she could help solve the problem.
She scoured websites and books, looking for any information that could
revive her once-thrilling-but-now-nonexistent sex life. She tried
seduction techniques and role-playing exercises, which somewhat killed
the spontaneity. She bought toys and fancy lingerie, which worked
tenuously but felt unnatural.
Finally, she went to her husband and asked what she could do to encourage his libido.
“Walk around in your wife beater and nothing else,” he said. “Just do more things naked. That’s all it takes.”
Samantha Campos is the ghostwriter for the Cisco Adler memoir entitled, Great Big, Humongous Balls of Fire. MTW