It's Not That Easy

Having great sex is not easy.

Despite the lore we ingest along with our soap operas and cinematic fairy tales, our pop music and spy mystery thrillers, great sex is not easy.

And one of the greatest obstacles to it is the expectation that it can and should be.
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If you want to know what you are thinking when you are not thinking--especially when it comes to desire--look again at the ads you casually skim on your way to a story.

Take this week’s Time Magazine (May 19, 2008). The ad is for Shredded Wheat with Strawberries. A bed fills the frame. On the far side, a man is sleeping, head on a pillow, a touch of grey at his temple, turned toward the viewer. In the foreground, also on the bed, kneeling and facing the man, is a beautiful brunette. Her bright red lipstick matches the silky night shirt that is slipping from her exposed shoulder, revealing a white slip. She is looking over that bare skin to engage the viewer, smiling broadly, teeth gleaming. In the closer hand, she holds a bowl of cereal whose white rim nearly touches the swell of her white breast.

The caption reads: What satisfies a hungry woman?

The answer, of course, is a bowl of cereal! Those chunky squares of wheat studded with passion packed berries! We all laugh. Why?

The ad plays on our insecurities. The two seem to be partners—they are turned towards each other, both in bed, though tell-tale ring fingers are hidden. He is obviously spent—though whether he fell asleep before or after is unclear. It doesn’t look like her side of the bed has been disturbed. Those sheets are snugly tucked. She is obviously (still) hungry. She wants more. (It could be an ad for Viagra—but then it wouldn’t be funny.)

What does she do? Eat! Rather than go looking for another man, she goes looking for a box of cereal. She relies on food to fill the gap between her desire for sex and the reality of her situation. And the food is just as good. With words like luscious and tantalizing, a second side bar ad for the product, later in the magazine, promises "Outrageous Satisfaction."

The message reassures: if you are (still) hungry, that’s OK! So is this desirable woman! You are like her! So pour a bowl and enjoy it... all by yourself!

The implication: satisfaction is the goal. The goal is elusive. We want it, always more of it, and what we can’t get we from sex we can get from food.
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If that weren’t enough, there is another ad in the magazine, this time for a new “DiGiorno Pizza for One.” Here, the pizza takes up the foreground, with another lovely brunette close behind. We see her face from forehead to chin. A wave of hair cloaks her left eye—the one closest to us—and part of her closed smile. Her lips barely clear the pizza. Her uncovered eye twinkles invitingly.


The vocabulary in the text echoes the ad for Shredded Wheat. The pizza is similarly luscious and tantalizing. The line here: “Who wouldn’t want it all for themselves?”

Promises follow. It is made “for just one person: you.” It is “ready in less than five minutes.” And best yet, “It’s so good you’ll want to be alone!”

Satisfaction. It is mine not yours. It is for me and not for you. It is best when quick and easy, and all for me. And again, if this beautiful young starlet, who could snag any partner she chooses, prefers to be alone with her pizza, then it’s OK for you too. It only takes five minutes! It is what I desire. Or is she what I desire?

When you bend to listen, the subtext of these and many similar ads screams: it's not so easy! if you want a bottomless market, sell it as a substitute for sex.
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The dominant ideal in our culture is one of passionate life long love. For most people, it is why they commit to a relationship. It is what commitment is supposed to provide. It is what sex can be. Romance. Intimacy. Pleasure. Companionship. Sex plus love = bliss.

As suggested last week, however, this ideal is decidedly elusive. It slips from the grasp of the most dedicated pairs, or mellows with time into a picture of collegial friendship.

We blame desire. It is fickle and untrustworthy. It is ephemeral and inconstant. It wants to stray. We focus our attentions elsewhere—our jobs, our kids, our social networks. Or we find ways to the satisfaction we seek through virtual, vicarious, impersonal means—movies, songs, books, websites, or bowls of Shredded Wheat. It’s easy. We feast on stories of stars who marry and split; on tales of religious and political leaders whose practicing strays far from their preaching. At least some one is getting it.

We blame desire. Why? Because we know how. Because doing so confirms what we want to believe is true about ourselves: that we are minds operating in and over bodies. That we can get the pleasure we seek.

For if we really are mind over body selves, then great sex should simply be a matter of bodily mechanics—push this lever, pull this switch, bingo! Perfect function every time. Or it should be a matter of the right frame of mind—love will make it good. Forever.

But we are not minds living in and over bodies. We are bodies whose movement is making us who we are. We are bodies whose desires carry within them wisdom—a wisdom guiding us to unfold our potential for becoming who we are and for giving what we have to give. And we are bodies that do not and will not thrive without touch.

Sex is not an end. Our desire for it is a means. The wisdom in our desire is guiding us to create the conditions necessary for our ongoing health and well being. And we can learn to discern this wisdom, creating relationships in which we are free to give and receive a life-enabling touch.

Next Week: life enabling touch