One of my favorite bloggers, whom I read pretty much daily, posted this photo that he took of a lovely, muscled guy at the White Party. The message, "protect me from what I want", truly shocked me with its honesty, pathos, and relevance. Usually tattoos are designed to provide a reflection to the wearer of his (or her) own desires, values, or personality. This one, through its obvious message and scrupulous placement, was quite clearly designed to communicate a message that, when read, would capture the attention of even the most libidinous top.
Once we ripen into adulthood, we tend to find ourselves drawn toward constructs of sexual congress that, by and large, we will continue to prefer for the remainder of our actively erotic lives. Sure, we will try certain carnal flavors and cuisines, and some may be alluring enough to include in the list of staples in our sexual pantry... but there will always be those activities that represent the core of our sensual beings.
For some, it's anonymous hookups... those attachment-free experiences that are the sexual equivalent of stopping at the Wendy's drive-thru. It's serial monogamy for others, characterized by a steady parade of pleasant gentlemen who provide a brief respite from the torpor of our daily lives, each of whom will ultimately vanish into the mist like Brigadoon. Still others prefer the more freundlich, team-oriented erotic experiences such as sex parties or bathhouses (also known by the charming 1970s era nickname, "the tubs"). Baskin-Robbins, with its 31 flavors, in no way rivals the gay (and, I suppose, straight) smorgasbord.
None of these flavors of sexual fulfullment are any more worthy than the rest, in and of themselves. We choose the sexual pantry staples that suit our tastes, enhance our talents, and accommodate our skill gaps. And more often than not, we choose them early enough in our lives that by the time one reaches a certain age there can be a somewhat autonomic quality to the performance of these well-rehearsed acts.
Ultimately, we find that we have the ability to perform these familiar actions with a kind of muscle memory that doesn't require significant activation of the frontal lobes of our brains... the lobes responsible for planning, reasoning, and organization of sequential tasks. Much like the athlete who masters his event so completely that he no longer needs to consider the steps involved in performing it, our sexual congress in these instances can be regulated by a much lower part of the brain. We return to this intimate place of instinctive performance through the same process we use when we cook a well-loved family recipe... turning on the autopilot and reveling in the gauzy haze of familiarity in which we know exactly what the dish will ultimately taste like, but relish the process of creating it just the same.
Newton's first law of motion states that every object in a state of uniform motion tends to remain in that state of motion unless an external force is applied to it. The same law is applicable to this type of seasoned human behavior. The familiar script will remain the same until an external force is engaged... in the case of the gentleman pictured above, that force would be the plaintive message engraved on his back. I wonder how many men have hovered above what I'm certain is a spectacular derriere, only to be shaken from their well-rehearsed script? Were the frontal lobes slammed into neural activity, like the down-shifting of a Dodge Charger? Did he, in that moment, change the evening's menu to exclude the skin-to-skin action?
Is barebacking the sexual equivalent of a pan-seared foie gras in a port wine reduction that sounded delicious and decadent but proved too greasy and rich for the eating? What does this fleshly inscription say about its bearer, and about us? Can we ever truly be protected from anything, including ourselves? In the fullness of time, won't even the most well-defended fortress be compromised, regardless of any plea or protection or plan? Will we find that the most insidious and immovable threat to our survival is ourselves?
How do we fight for our survival if the enemy is us?
