there.” It’s down there, for goodness sake.
Most of us are raised to believe that sex doesn’t — or at least, shouldn’t — matter. It shouldn’t even matter that much in marriage. In fact, nice people shouldn’t spend too much time thinking about sex. As the social narrative goes, if civilization is the sum of our intellectual achievements, then sex is the shameful burden of our primal roots. It’s dirty. It’s something you have to do to have children so put it off as long as possible and then just close your eyes and do it. Preferably with the lights off.
It’s a strange dogma to apply to one of humanity’s greatest and most enduring obsessions. Whether or not you talk about it, you cannot escape sex. Sex is all around us all the time — in the texts we send and the sites we visit, in the catcalls from construction workers on the street, in the hot outfit your neighbor’s wearing, in the bouquet of flowers someone’s bringing home to a sweetheart. Sex is not merely a part of life, it is integral to human life and human identity.
Human mating rituals are so seamlessly threaded throughout human life that we don’t realize that many casual behaviors are in fact spurred by sexuality. You see, sex is not just all around us, it is inside of us. Sex traits are in our genes, sexual chemistry floods our brain and our bloodstream. The brain continually conveys sexual information to our entire system. The brain perceives sexual opportunity, prepares us for intimacy (or a “mating opportunity”), and when we engage in sex, our brain causes a chain reaction of events that bring us to orgasm and reward us with a flow of beneficial brain chemicals, such as oxytocin, vasopressin, serotonin and prolactin, all of which enhance mood and relaxation.
There is overwhelming evidence that sexual happiness and satisfaction promote a longer, healthier life. In a 1999 study of 3,500 adults, Dr. David Weeks, an American psychologist, was able to show that people who have sex at least three times a week look 10 years younger than their real age. Sex promotes blood circulation and cardiovascular function, improves muscle tone, and lowers the risk of stroke and heart attack. Brain chemicals released during and after orgasm contain natural opiates which combat pain, depression and stress. Sex hormones influence our moods, productivity, and social function; they profoundly impact our mental stability. Without the hormones that steer sexuality throughout out lives, the emotional experience of being human would be completely altered. Sex is at the core of human identity, not merely an appurtenance to human identity. Indeed, sex matters more than most of the things people uphold as more important than sex.
How and why we developed so many rules and taboos around sex has fascinated me since I worked on my first book, Different Loving (with co-authors William D. Brame and Jon Jacobs), a comprehensive study of sadomasochism, BDSM, and fetishes. I read scores of books and articles, focusing on original sources so I could build cultural frameworks and social history for each of the types of BDSM we covered. It became increasingly apparent that even authoritative texts on sex and sexual normalcy were profoundly flawed. Virtually all of the great 19th century theorists, for example, misunderstood, mischaracterized and discounted female sexual drive. Case studies of the day were analyzed through a filter of elitism, religious doctrine and, sometimes, sheer quackery. Nor did the situation measurably improve in the medico-forensic establishment throughout the 20th century, as psychiatrists and courts continued to rely heavily on the biased opinions rendered in the 19th century. While new discoveries have changed the face of virtually all the social sciences, and public attitudes towards sex had undergone numerous revolutionary changes, underlying attitudes about sex itself were literally frozen in Victorian time.
By the time I was working on my next volume on kinky sex (Come Hither: A Commonsense Guide to Kinky Sex), I was obsessed with this problem. I was in the last stages of completing my Ph.D. in human sexuality, and like every grad student, had a mania for reading and collecting data. I read, for example, the sobering statistics that 31% of all men and 43% of all women in the U.S. are sexually dysfunctional ( Journal of the American Medical Association, 1999). The following year, American Family Physician reported that over 50% of women were dysfunctional because they cannot achieve orgasm from intercourse and 15% have never had an orgasm at all. I started adding up the numbers. The National Institute of Health estimates that 30 million American men are impotent and tens of millions more have problems with low libido, premature ejaculation, and orgasm disorders. 15% of men and 30% of women have Hypoactive Sex Disorder, (Endocrinology Review, 2001), the clinical term for lack of desire. Dysfunction everywhere one turns, or so it would seem.
It struck me then that, perhaps, the problem was not that Americans were spiraling into mass dysfunction but rather that the interpretations of the data were fruit from the poison tree. If our model of what is normal is flawed, our definition of things like “dysfunction” and “perversion” must be flawed too. Did the medical researchers ask all these dysfunctional people if they thought they could be more orgasmic from a different type of sex? Were some of the subjects secretly gay or lesbian and thus would never find complete sexual fulfillment from heterosexual acts?
What if some cases of dysfunction are in fact the product of people continually trying to have a type of sex that doesn’t actually turn them on because they believe that is the only type of sex they are allowed to have? If 50% of women can’t orgasm from vaginal intercourse, instead of calling that a dysfunction, perhaps — as most sexologists today would agree — vaginal intercourse isn’t quite as sexually important to all female sexual function as commonly assumed. Today’s therapist would encourage such women to experiment with vibrators, fingers, tongues and sexual fantasies. If they can enjoy the experience and achieve climax, it is not a true dysfunction.
When everyone is held to the same pre-emptive model of how they are supposed to feel sexually, it’s inevitable that a sizeable segment of the population will always be dysfunctional or considered perverts or weirdos. As things stand, we live in an age when most people still hold their great-grandparents’ belief that masturbation is bad or wrong, while data are released weekly showing that orgasms are vital to human health. There is a cognitive dissonance between the facts about sex and the beliefs about sex. Missionary-position sex is still believed to be the “best” or “most natural” type of sex even though a 2010 study by the Kinsey Institute demonstrated that oral sex is actually the most popular type of sex.
The schisms in our culture’s attitudes towards sex are cracking wide open, in part because of Internet culture. In 2006, Babytalk magazine created a furor when an issue’s cover showed a woman breast feeding a baby; although no nipple was visible, 25% of readers protested that the image was pornographic. A few months later, the infamous “2 girls, 1 cup,” a trailer for a hard core copraphilia video, became an Internet sensation. It is not, as some prudes might have it, that depravity is taking over; it’s that sexual beliefs about what is and is not permissible, or what is and isn’t normal, do not mirror actual human sexual behavior. Real human sexuality is, and always has been, diverse.
When I set up my private practice in 2000, my clients’ needs for better information about sex pushed me to examine new and more urgent questions about the role of sex in daily existence. I had expected to see depression and despair in victims of abuse, but I had never appreciated how unhappy life felt for people who experience sex as a stressful or distasteful act. Whether it was the woman who had never had an orgasm with her husband, or the man who said that intercourse was nothing more to him than masturbating into a sleeve, people felt incomplete, and somehow inferior to those who they imagined were having hot, passionate sex — which they, naturally, believed was everyone in the world but themselves.
Sex matters. My clients convince me of that every day. Each problem, each life story, continually shapes and reshapes my perspectives on sex as it is truly lived, and gives me new tools to unlock its mysteries. This book encompasses the cumulative knowledge I’ve applied to my practice, set out for the first time in writing. Using social histories of sex, and relying on hundreds of sex studies, my mission here is to build evidence-based models of human sexuality. I also use composite case studies (to protect the identities of my clients) to give the
