theatreofsin

Let's glance at a couple of controlling images.

In one, a wolf attacks a man who screams and tries to beat him back. The man is overcome and falls bleeding into submission as the wolf tears at his flesh. Then, in a moment, the wolf is seized by the man's own terror and pain and, horrified, runs from the crime and leaves him.

In the other, a wolf attacks a man who takes a deep breath and opens himself to the teeth and the violence. The man is overcome and falls bleeding into submission as the wolf tears at his flesh. Then, in a moment, the wolf is seized by the man's own acceptance and relents, licking the wounds clean.

It works only, of course, if the wolf and the man are in some way allied; if the wolf is not motivated by malice, if the man can accept the part of him which can be hurt and the part of the wolf which needs to hurt. And it's best to remember that wolves and men are not mutually exclusive. The scene could still play if they were both animal, tearing into each other, reacting with fear or acceptance, breaking apart or licking each other clean.

Let's get this out there: sex is to physical intimacy as buttercream frosting is to cake. Properly prepared and spread, buttercream frosting is a lovely accentuation to some cakes. Myself, I prefer cream cheese frosting or a nice bittersweet ganache. Part of the cake? Oh, it certainly can be. The be-all end-all finishing touch? Well, that's really a matter of personal preference.

I'll take a moment to out myself: I'm asexual. (Read more at the Asexual Visibility and Education Network, Wikipedia's article on asexuality, the About.com article "The Anatomy of Asexuality, or Salon.com's article "Asexual and proud!".) I experience low or no sexual attraction. And, while this is an orientation which is slowly gaining media and cultural legitimacy (and is largely unafflicted by the violence leveled at, say, homosexuals), it's an area on which little light has been shown.

After all, it's easy to look at someone expressing sexual attraction toward someone of their own gender and say, "Aha." It's more difficult to look at someone not expressing sexual attraction and have a moment of realization. Most people spend quite a lot of time not expressing sexual attraction. If all people did was express sexual attraction constantly, 24/7, this would be a very campy world to live in.

Sexuality, for me, from my statedly outsider perspective, is in pure form a matter of hormones, endorphins, expectations and excitements and physiological triggers that don't really do much for me. Not too flattering? Neither is a big bowl of buttercream frosting, for all that it can make a cake something divine. My point in singling out sex like this is to point out that my status as an asexual doesn't make me a monk or a frigid loner. There's still that cake sitting there on what people would assume is an empty plate.

Physical affection is its own beast. A mother embracing her grown child, a group hug, a kiss on the cheek between fond friends, leaning against each other on a crowded couch or playing ragdoll in a packed car, a friendly wrestling match – all of these are nonsexual variants of physical affection, and one can have an appetite for them without a sex drive. And it can go further – I've slept next to people I've loved, in small tents or large beds or stretched out on a narrow futon barely wide enough to accommodate us both, and craved every inch of that contact. I am, at heart, a physical creature.

My interest just doesn't extend to the sweating and moaning options on the table.

People seem to assume that physical intimacy builds and builds until it reaches the point of sex, as though sex represents or validates some otherwise unattainable level. I've never held to that theory, even when one points out the theory that sex offers otherwise-unusual levels of vulnerability – there are plenty of kinds of vulnerability. Injury or illness. Emotional. I know people who don't seem to take on any vulnerability during sex, except for nudity, and there's nonsexual nudity as well – it's the kind in art and at nude beaches and in skinny-dipping. No one is in a rush to label those the pinnacle of human intimacy.

Sex is hormonal. It's thrown into equations with intimacy and romance and it takes on different tinges according to its context, but it's what people make of it, not what it is, that elevates it. And that's the way with just about all of human action, really.