My new theory: Maybe having wild sex doesn’t require brains at all.
There are times when I just wish I was straight-up dumber than a coffee cup of squirrel crap. This mostly has to do with the fact that I’m starting to believe that the dumbest people are having the best sex. Seriously. Think about it.
Remember that show “Jersey Shore”? (You do, trust me.) Look at those people.
I’m not saying they weren’t street-smart or whatever, but c’mon, let’s be honest. Snooki and J-Wow and The Situation weren’t exactly tripping over each other’s barbells to listen to NPR in the afternoons, you know? But then again, they sure did seem to be having a lot of sex. And I’m guessing it had to be pretty good sex, too, since they usually went back down to the club and wrangled up more, like 14 hours later.
Then again, maybe I’m just trippin’.
Here’s the backstory: I’ve been separated from my wife for about 8 months now (separate homes and the works), and with that comes the splayed-out dry spell of chaste sexual desert where I currently hang. So yeah, there’s a distinct possibility that me and my idealized vision of “Jersey Shore”-style screwing is yet another sign that I’ve officially lost my mind.
Still, I tend to think these anti-intellectual types are having a hell of a lot more wild sex than people like me, people who try to read critically-acclaimed fiction and watch foreign films and try and keep their minds wide-open to new and progressive ideas. Don’t get me wrong, I love sex as much as the next fella, it’s just that sometimes I feel like the whole “emotional attachment” part of grown-up, intelligent sex sort of gums up the works.
Throughout my life, I’ve sometimes felt this pair of “good guy” arms holding me back from my rightful place in the sun, perched and balanced on the bedpost with a bottle of cheap tequila and a pair of electric handcuffs. There’s this gentleman’s creed that I’ve always tried to follow: Treat every sexual partner as if this tender moment might crack her fragile neck if she isn’t handled with boundless grace. But I don’t know if it’s made much difference. I’ve often wondered if the whole premise of “making love” actually crashes up against the very primal origins of “f*cking”? And that led me to wonder if the hot sex of my wildest imagination would be more of a reality if I just let my guard down and helped my partner do the same.
Ugh. It’s really confusing. Unless you’re really dumb, in which case you usually follow your inner horndog mountain gorilla and probably end up as the best lay she’s ever had.
Are your brains to blame for your lame sex life? Read more on YourTango.