It's been three months since I've posted here, and I do apologize for that. I want very much to keep this blog alive, especially here in a blighted year. The 2020s began with the pandemic-- what I've always called the Red Death --and things haven't gotten any better.
I'd thought that the pandemic would lead to more people blogging, and that we'd see the return or revival of blogs that talked about sex in its various forms. That of course didn't happen. Gen Z and its successor seem to be alarmingly sex-negative and viciously moralizing. The only new thing happening on the sexuality front seems to be the ongoing Trans Wars, and my own views on that are both Old School Postmodern and probably regarded as dangerously reactionary.
Yes, I'll explain what Old School Postmodern is some day. Let's just say that I spent the later Eighties and much of the Nineties reading critical theory in its various forms, and that I favor the idea of bricolage and dislike the idea of essentialism. I believe that social life is in fact all about cosplay, and I believe that architecture and plumbing do in fact matter. Aesthetics matter, too. They matter very much. I believe that there are almost as many genders as there are people on the planet, but that there are only two human sexes.
I do find it just a bit boring when people exalt the idea of being pansexual and insist that being "pan" is the only moral and progressive form of sexual attraction.
I can only note one good thing happening on the sexuality front this year. Karley Sciortino, who did the "Slutever" sex blog back in the 2010s, has returned with a new Substack. I always liked Ms. Sciortino's columns and her attitude. She was more playful than Stoya and much less crazy and self-destructive than Cat Marnell. I'm glad that she's back, and I'll be reading along with her. Ms. Sciortino was always fun to read.
Still, I wish that there were more personal sex blogs (and escort blogs) that offered up good stories and thoughtful, sex-positive (but non-New Age) advice. I wish there were still Young Companions in my life who had stories to tell. I do miss Jill in NZ, whose stories were always seriously erotic. I miss the long-vanished Debauchette, too.
This morning I was at my favourite coffee shop and saw a very lovely twenty-something girl working at her laptop. She was in a very short red mini-dress and did have excellent legs. I could only look down at my own laptop and sigh.
Yes, her legs were worth looking at-- long, slender, tanned, smooth, taut --but I did feel distanced. Once upon a time I'd have thought about what it would be like to have those long legs over my shoulders or what it would be like to kiss them from ankles to knees to thighs. I couldn't do that any more. The young lady was very beautiful, but I just felt like I was watching her through thick glass, or watching her via video feed on another world. The visions in my head of flirtation, seduction, and sex that I'd have had at any point since my mid-teens just weren't there any longer.
I couldn't imagine myself being able to have sex at all-- not for any reasons of possible systems failure, but because sex in 2026 seems to be far too exhausting and risky. I'd assume ab initio that I was too inept and boring to have sex. After all, as a cis- and cis-presenting straight white male of a certain age in the year 2026, I would be "mediocre" by definition. Having any sexual desires would be tagged as "creepy". Sex no longer seems like something either aspirational or fun. Sex has always had its social risks, but these days it just seems too risky to pursue.
Maybe-- maybe --I'll learn something from Ms.Sciortino's new Substack. Maybe there will be new blogs where lovely young ladies discuss their Adventures. Maybe pleasure will stop being suspect. I don't believe any of that will come to pass, but...I need some kind of belief in the future to stay alive.
