Meaningless Sex? No Such Thing.

Everything from random hookups to self-pleasuring can improve you.

Freedom makes you horny. Before moving to a new city, I started dating someone. We met through friends, and it felt casual. I mentioned my plans to relocate on the first date, but he didn’t hear me.

Hey, I thought he didn’t care at the time.

So on the third date, he expressed dismay when I started talking about packing up my stuff for the movers. Just kidding. I didn’t have movers. Just me, jamming everything I owned into my 2-door and its cute, tiny trunk.

“You’re moving?” My date scoffed. “Well, I’m not even sure what we’re doing here,” he complained.

I shrugged. “Let’s see where things go.”

He didn’t like that.

“Are you just looking to hook up, like meaningless sex?”

That was our last date. Too bad for him. That weekend, I went drinking with an ex. Someone I liked, it just hadn’t worked out. We hooked up outside a bar. He did know I was moving, and didn’t care. No, we didn’t have sex. But we dry-humped on a bench outside for half an hour.

Yeah, we’re probably lucky we didn’t get arrested. Anyway… During a break, he said, “You’re different. What changed?”

Sitting up, I said, “When we dated, I think I was stressed.”

He laughed. “Yeah, I knew that much. What unstressed you?”

Moving, that’s what. Releasing all my baggage, and my expectations. I was about to begin a new chapter. It was a chance to become the person I always wanted. And in the end, I did become that person.

Like I said, freedom makes you horny.

Maybe meaningless sex exists, but I have doubts. I’m always surprised at how many people treat sex as all or nothing.

Sex either has to mean everything — love, marriage, and procreation. Or it must contain no value at all. Even nonsecular crowds regard non-monogamous sex as “recreational.” Aka, immoral.

There’s no such thing as meaningless sex. Only the most callous, immature fuck boys dream of using women purely for their bodies. There’s always a truth behind sex — even for dirt bags.

The most deplorable scum on the earth might benefit from realizing the truth behind their supposedly meaningless sex.

These fellas might one day hold the memory of their most recent conquest in their palm like like an orb from Harry Potter. Their face may light up as they breathe, “Oh, I’m a f*cking male c*nt!?”

One who doesn’t call girls back.

How enlightening. Even the most unflattering truth about yourself is beautiful. Because it’s real.

Mindless sex has plenty of meaning. It’s a mirror.

And so much more.

Truth: one of my biggest one night stands involved no sex at all. We met at a New Year’s Eve Party. Got drunk. Kissed. Told each other our darkest secrets. Kissed some more. Fondled each other.

Fell asleep on a couch.

Truth, I think we were too afraid to f*ck. If we had, it probably would’ve set the universe on fire. So we dry-humped.

Why was I always dry-humping? Because I was smart, and scared to death of becoming pregnant.

And I happened to date a lot of conservative dudes in high school and early college. They were also terrified of impregnating a girl. So, we pretended to cum. Nobody even unzipped.

Collective imagination.

Everyone thought we’d had sex at Party Z, New Year’s Eve.

I mean, they found us half-dressed under the sheets. Obvious conclusion: they f*cked. Someone call Jesus.

For a while, I even dated Mormons. Upstanding. Wholesome. Hot as hell. They dry humped all the time.

But it was so much more than that. Coming up on 20 years or so, in remembrance, my NYE romance and I have never seen or spoken to each other since. And yet I have the deepest respect for that moment. We were more honest with each other than anyone else at the time.

I told him things I hadn’t told anyone else. Into his ear.

And he did the same.

You don’t have to love someone like your soulmate to appreciate and respect their body. Or their mind.

If you ask me, we don’t treat bodies well enough. We regard the body as the mind’s servant. We trash them with fast food and sugary drinks. Or we starve them to squeeze into a size zero.

It’s no wonder that our culture — American in particular — looks down on non-monogamous sex.

We don’t respect bodies. So there’s no way we can respect sex unless we stop lacing it with judeo-christian values.

Lower case, intentional.

We’d rather brainwash everyone into one specific type of relationship, and tell them sex outside of that is a sin, than to embrace a more complicated but truer set of facts. Some people are wired for monogamy. Others aren’t. Still others, both. Or neither.

Even stranger, you might progress through phases of sexuality. Younger people want to hook up. That’s fine. Some guys and gals in their 30s yearn to settle down. Later, they feel like messing around. A few people discover they’re asexual. All, fine.

You have to figure out what you want.

And you have to communicate that with your partners up front. Or at least do your best while you’re discovering everything.

Every so often, someone asks me for advice on getting laid more often. All my opinions lead to the same basic idea:

All sex has meaning.

There’s not one form of sex that I would consider meaningless. Masturbation has meaning. It’s sex with yourself.

You’re being kind to your body for a little while. That’s important. You have to make time for it. As I’ve written before, masturbation relieves everything from stress to headaches. I’ll even do it in my office — after hours, of course, with the blinds closed.

Sex with strangers has meaning. I’ve only done that a few times, and it wasn’t planned. That’s what made it so special. We met, and we magnetized. We treated each other with respect.

Truth, I’m still friends with one.

I’m better friends with a one night stand than most of my exes. We entered into something special. After all, it’s not often you meet someone who instantly makes you feel dangerous and safe at the same time. Someone who excites you with one touch.

Honestly, it’s been a few years. Social stigma might force us to barely acknowledge each other now. We’re both married (or re-married) with kids. Society doesn’t let ex-one night stands be friends.

What a bummer.

Imagine a one night stand done right. There’s no walk of shame. No regret. You didn’t get smashed and lose your contact lenses. No, he was a solid 10 the whole time. He wasn’t some loser outside a bar at 1 am, trying to pick up any girl. He noticed you in the afternoon. You made conversation.

Later that night, you let yourself go. You kissed at a crosswalk.

The freedom of a one night stand lets you role play a little. Upstairs, you act more confident. You say things that previously you only thought, and kept to yourself.

You’re not faking anything. Just feeling out a new you.

This isn’t a night you forget. It’s not just about the sex, but everything around it. The hotel room. The king-sized bed. The night skyline.

The stars.

It’s about the sex you always fantasized about. Because sex this perfect can only happen so often in a lifetime for some of us.

Here’s my own personal definition of the orgasm: It’s everything you want out of life, condensed into a few seconds.

Obviously, you want it again.

And again and again and again.

Even if you come close, that still kinda counts. Whatever about this person who aroused you, who shook your orbit, it matters.

It’s not just meaningless.

Let’s say the next morning, you walk to Starbucks together. You and your one night. You stand in line holding hands. You split a scone. After the conference day, you meet up and go for a walk. You tell each other about the shit you’re going through. His divorce, your breakup.

Your job insecurity. His.

Neither one of you feels ready for a relationship. But you both need connection. So you’re here, connecting.

Even sex with my silicone doll had meaning. It allowed me to explore uncharted regions of myself. It was relaxing. It satisfied me while creating space to focus on my career and my mental health.

My doll and I didn’t talk much. But she was some of the best sex I ever had. Pure. Honest. Full of passion.

She taught me a lot about myself.

No, you can’t have kids with a sex doll. You can’t walk down the aisle together. You can’t carry one over the threshold. They’re kinda heavy. You’ll never have a traditional or same-sex marriage with one.

But it’s a form of sexuality.

We think meaning has to be big. In truth, meaning is small. Don’t spend your life looking for the big meanings. Most of them are little.

From there, they build. Like any kind of arousal.

So don’t ever think of sex as meaningless. There’s always something to gain. It doesn’t matter if your partner is flesh and blood or latex. A person or a sex toy. With sex, you can never escape truth.

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