Whilst enjoying an afternoon constitutional with a friend this weekend we noticed that the weather has becoming increasingly autumnal of late. We agreed that we’d gone from being subconsciously hoping for sun and being disappointed with rain to expecting rain and getting it. (I, personally, find the latter arrangement more agreeable, if, for no other reason, than to relieve the constant state of disappointment we have experienced over the summer.)
We reflected on the last 8 months, discussing various events and notable happenings of the year so far and my married friend, after mentioning briefly the shit weather, the Jubilee and the Olympics, highlighted the fact that, in the past year, she had had sex twice. That 2012 had been a year of tightening belts … literally.
More worrying perhaps than the arid conditions she found herself in was the ease in which she embraced them, and, whilst I pretended to find her breezy confession unremarkable, I struggled to maintain the pretence when she confessed to preferring ‘a nice glass of red and a hot bath’ to sex with her partner. Now, I’ll be the first to admit that I love a bit of Homelands on a Sunday night but anyone who tells me they’d take an ITV mini-series over a good fuck needs to get out more … or stay in, and I don’t care how long ago you stopped fancying your husband. They don’t market wine to middle-aged women for nothing.
Apparently, according to the great un-fucked, the less sex you have the less you want it. That one becomes accustomed to a total lack of arousal and quite content with a good book (and no, 50 Shades of Grey does not make it Ok) and the odd cuddle.
Oh dear … Oh dear, oh dear.
Now, I would hardly call this year one of the most promiscuous periods of my life, far from it, in fact, I’d say there were a good few months when I was going through enough batteries to power a small vehicle from Newcastle to St Ives, but surely to God, even by my comparatively arid standards, one needs to reassess one’s lifestyle situation when twice a year is considered an acceptable amount of sexual contact with one’s partner.
In a bid to understand said friend’s situation, and open acceptance of it, I carried out some research on the subject of celibacy. Apparently she’s not the only one at it.
No, indeed, there are whole websites dedicated to the art of keeping your knickers on, advising you on ways not to have sex.
- Get involved in different hobbies, avoid being avoid being around people you may be sexually attracted to.
- Avoid temptation, do not put yourself in situations that may lead to sexual activity.
- Do not spend time alone with individuals you are attracted to.
- Keep anything about sexual romance away from your vision.
- Tell everyone you are taking the vow of celibacy.
Other ‘tips’ included yoga, volunteer work and visiting parents/elderly relatives.
But the good news is, at the end of it all, you’ll be able to hold your head high and say, ‘Hey, you may have had a fantastic fun, great nights out and amazing sex, but I haven’t been laid in 12 months, hmmm … who’s the loser now eh!’
Life is hard enough, people, life is hard enough.
Celibacy may well be a lifestyle choice for some, it may teach them a lot about their inner strengths and levels of control. It may act as a way of introducing a person to other interests and ways of connecting, of maintaining an adult relationship without the complications of sex at every corner and eventually allow a romantic relationship to grow and develop genuine tenderness, maturity and self giving.
But, at the end of the day … there’s nothing quite like a good fuck.