Ruminations on Sexuality Part 7: Purged

After all of these ruminations, I pause to wonder, then, what is my ideal view of sexuality. A long stillness of pen produces no set answer except to reassert it is probably as varied as the number of people walking this earth and the moods they might be in.

The important thing is that we face the demons of our morals and reconcile our various scriptures with our true desires. We must be comfortable with ourselves and our bodies, true to our natures and respectful of our partners.

Trouble comes when we restrain and repress natural urges, holding ourselves and others to some standard high or low that is not fully our own. The force of desire is formidable and nurtured falsely, twists into ugly states of mind and being. The flame in our heart must be allowed to burn freely through any precepts that might be binding us, holding us down. We must accept our individual truths and embrace our lust as a healthy expression of a passion for life.

With a partner, mutual consent is everything. The ecstatic communion of two souls for pleasure and intimacy is a wonderful purpose. Connection in a deep and heartfelt way ignites the mundane into a glittering celebration and creates a bond that holds us steady through tougher times, the life blood of our spirit aroused.

When two (or twenty) are together and in connection, anything goes. We should dance and play, expose our hearts and explore the bodies that contain them. Life is short and making love oh so sweet, vital to our health and well-being, something beautiful that invites sharing, deeper connection, if only in the moment, spontaneity and trust. Sex makes the world a better place.

After dropping my son at a dance the other night, I peeked inside for a glimpse into his world of play. Barely started, various couples were already erotically entwined so clearly in the doggie position of raw sexuality, I wondered why and how they managed or even bothered to keep their clothes in order. He confided the next morning that often clothes conveniently fall aside.

Like my own parents who witnessed only a little of my escapades, the humor that I was at first so shocked did not escape me. Dance that left nothing to the imagination when I was that age was impossible. My friends could skinny dip together in darkness, but it was all so new and daring, there was never the group snuggles on the living room couch where I see this generation so comfortable today. Such adventures into more open play was an exception of wonder, less normal behavior.

Quickly, I understood that they exhibit the comfort with their own bodies and each other that my generation revolutionized, but has been troubled to fully embrace. We were raised one way and tore up the rule book to experiment in another. We broke down major barriers, but some of us were more able to dance into the sunshine than others who were dazzled by the brightness and had to shield our eyes.

So much of my writing these days concerns the lessons about living fathers have learned to hand on to their sons, the importance of the torch passing in more conscious ways so that we can move forward with less pain and insecurity. I advocate openness and honesty, truth and acknowledgment over innuendo and denial of the obvious inadequacies and thoughtless mistakes of which we are all so obviously capable.

From a place of hope, I share my own struggle because I believe so strongly that as much as we want to do well in the world, the messages we receive at our earliest ages can affect our whole lives, unconsciously sabotaging our efforts to have a positive impact on the world around us. Living half-heartedly--not in spirit, but stunted in consciousness--clouded by scars unknown or obvious, we can inflict damage, continuing cycles that could be healed.

My father and I have learned to talk more openly and share the deepest places of life and death. He has a unique perspective being near the end of such a long and prosperous life and still faces forward. He considers his regrets and accomplishments, contemplates a wealth of adventures and the great fortune of a love for a woman that lasted many years at the center of it all. He will likely take to his grave the fact of whether or not he ever knew another woman intimately. It makes no difference (I believe) to any of us.

The promise that I create this connection sooner with my own son seems well-delivered when I see a young man standing straight and strong, taking confident steps into a world of his own, attracting young women who recognize his finest qualities. It does not stop here: our futures will be forever entwined with conversations of meaning and support that has no boundary in subject I can imagine, only in detail. We hug, shake hands, high five and slide some skin, adapting and growing together, sharing our struggles and celebrating our successes, better men for being father and son together.

In the middle of my own life, I have known women intimately for brief moments or in long marriages that needed to end, always in search of the kind of commitment, love and partnership, for better or worse, my parents seemed to exemplify. With the opportunity to play rampantly, I have paused instead, choosing to consider connection and spirit, and my body conveniently provided an excuse to feel less attractive. My heart expands with every day of the recuperation and I am so ready now to be rid of this physical metaphor of a life lived in orgasm without the ability to ejaculate.


Whether the surgery can repair my internal and rid me of the external tube or not, I am ready to go boldly forward in my life, a man among men. I am ready to dance.

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