Sex in the Woods
By: Annie Mueller
Tags: Love And Sex, Self, Body, Sex, Sexuality

It feels weird to write about sex.

I avoided sex as a topic for a long time, until it occurred to me that it’s weird and limiting how weird it is to write about sex.

Anytime there’s something we “can’t talk about,” it’s a good sign that we probably need to talk about it.

Sex is something that we all have in common.

So why is it weird to talk about sex?

We joke about it, but we don’t talk about it.

In a typically American way, we are either obsessing about sex or awkwardly pretending like it doesn’t exist.

There’s no balance.

Sex is treated as a secret subversive thing or it’s a snort-laugh-nudge inappropriate joke thing. I’m all for inappropriate jokes. I just wonder: why are they inappropriate?

What is inappropriate about sex?

Almost all of us are having sex or have had sex or want to be having sex.

If you’re not having sex (are celibate, asexual, or find sex unappealing or whatever), it’s still sex that got you here, on this planet, so you could feel that way about sex.

Yay for sex! Sex got us all here.

No sex, no you.

So a couple of people have sex, you get conceived, a short gestational period later you are born, and then: you promptly undergo a decades-long indoctrination session in which you are taught all sorts of screwed-up things about sex. Or, by omission, you are taught that sex is so bad/dangerous/uncontrollable/etc. that we cannot even mention it.

When something is unmentionable, it gains certain powers by default.

Mystery, the appeal of the forbidden, taboos and shame, guilt and fascination, secrets and shadows and assumptions and hopes and desires: all of these cling to sex, become part of it, unknown and generally unexamined (because we won’t fucking talk about fucking). These are left in our psyches and bodies to simmer and stew — along with a roaring, ever-changing river of hormones — to churn and create a whole mess of ideas and feelings about sex.

The ideas and feelings mix with our expectations and experiences and become our beliefs about sex.

We carry beliefs about sex with us.

We hardly ever look at them in the daylight. We hardly ever look at them at all.

But they influence us, they affect us, they hold us back or push us forward.

Our beliefs about sex are with us whether we recognize them or not. They skew our perspective for good or ill, they influence every single choice we make about sex and about a lot of other things. In fact, our beliefs define the options we allow ourselves to see; sometimes that’s great. Sometimes it is very, very limiting and destructive.

Because — it seems — more than anything, we humans love a good dichotomy. Not surprising, our beliefs about sex fall into dichotomies all the time.

Like these:

Sex will heal you or sex will hurt you.

Sex will destroy you or sex will free you.

Sex will make you happy or sex will ruin everything.

Sex will make you wanted or sex will make you dirty.

Sex will make you powerful or sex will make you vulnerable.

Sex will give you control or sex will make you lose control.

We also seem to love identities. We crave ways to define ourselves and others. Sex comes with a lot of these: having sex, not having sex, thinking about sex or not thinking about sex, sexual desire, sexual expression, all of these get thrown into labels that we put on ourselves or on others.

Depending on what you believe about sex, having sex (or wanting sex) might make you a slut, a player, a predator, an empowered person, or a free spirit.

The truth is, of course, that sex cannot and will not make you any different than you already are.

Sex does not define you.

Only you can define yourself, and you do so according to what you believe.

Sex cannot heal you or hurt you; but if you believe it can, and you come to sex with those expectations, you may end up getting what you expect. The question to ask is this: do you want sex to have that kind of power?

If you believe sex can hurt you or heal you, do you want to feel that way about sex? Do you want it to have that gravity in your life, always? Does coming to sex with such serious expectations keep you from a sense of lightness, freedom, and play?

Sex cannot transform you or define you or make you become (or un-become) anything unless you believe it can.

Our beliefs about sex are powerful.

Certainly seems worthwhile to figure out what those beliefs are. And maybe trade out a few of them for something better.

It’s tough to examine and release old beliefs about anything. It’s especially difficult with sex. My hunch is that it’s worth the effort.

Personally, I like the beliefs that let me see and experience sex as a game, an adventure, an exploration, a choice, a connection. Sex as play is more fun.

And it leads to moments that carry magic with them, like sex in the woods while the stars look down and the night breeze blows and there’s a little danger and there’s a little spice and it’s a moment you remember and maybe even write about.

Just remember to check under your blanket for rocks, first.