Hi, Carol!

Unlike "chicken" therapists like me, you can write from the vantage point of wide sexual experience. I’ve been more experimental than the average American –lotsa pards, a few orgies, etc.–but really pretty tame. For me, recreational sex has felt empty afterwards. My conclusions match with many: Dr. Drew on Loveline, most therapists, Tantra teachers, and even, in one interview, the previously promiscuous Joni Mitchell: intimacy is where it’s at.

Not that intimacy can’t include sexual wildness–but this conclusion is disturbingly conservative. It’s what Jerry Falwell, even, would like us to admit at one level: "You were wrong, heathens!" And yet it seems true.

So, do you, after all of your adventures, agree? Regardless of sexual orientation or style, is intimacy where it’s at? Does all sex eventually point to intimacy? –Charles

Dear Charles,

I do, after all my adventures, agree, with one very important caveat: Intimacy is where it’s at–except when it isn’t. I suppose I should clarify what I mean here, especially because your letter (backed by all the authorities you cited) points to a dichotomy I don’t entirely buy into: intimate sex versus promiscuous sex. I understand promiscuous sex as largely defined by quantity, while much of the culture persists in also defining it by quality–empty and nonintimate, typically. "Recreational sex" is an interesting euphemism for promiscuous sex; in other arenas we think of recreation as essentially synonymous with fun and perhaps relaxation, so there’s no reason we couldn’t have recreational sex with an intimate partner. Indeed, another way of defining "recreational" is to oppose it to "goal-oriented" (the way we tend in this culture to dichotomize work and play)–in that sense, we could call sex "recreational" unless we were trying to procreate or, perhaps, were getting paid for it.

So you see, I don’t entirely accept the dichotomy your letter poses. In my, ahem, vast experience I’ve had partnered and supposedly intimate sex that felt empty and unfulfilling; I’m sure many readers will relate to that. (Granted, this is a warning sign, not the way it’s supposed to be.) But I’ve also had casual sexual experiences, including some in a commodified context, that felt astonishingly intimate. It will surprise no one that some of these adventures turned into relationships–feeling intimate the first time is like a sign, right? It means you’re supposed to get even more intimate, pursue a relationship. But some of these situations could not have led in that direction, yet the feeling of intimacy was nevertheless sometimes profound.

Perhaps that is a sign that all sex could lead eventually to intimacy. Many polyamorists would, in theory anyway, agree: For them, intimate relationships can come in multiples, a sexual variety that does not imply promiscuity (well, except to Jerry Falwell) because it’s grounded in ongoing, intimate relationships. I’m talking about something a little different, though: Perhaps it’s the sexual equivalent of telling your life story to a stranger on a bus, spilling your guts and then getting off at your stop without having exchanged phone numbers. Why would someone who had just found a new friend leave without asking their name? Because this kind of intimacy exists without the kind of daily context and definition that ordinary, ongoing friendships do; it feels complete as it is. But let’s go further: Suppose I tell my life story to a stranger, but I have no other friends intimate enough with whom to share it? Having opened up to that stranger may leave me feeling both relieved and vulnerable, connected yet lonely. In short, casual sex engaged in by folks who really crave intimacy may well feel empty, unfulfilling, and second-best; but folks who don’t lack intimacy may take it as the recreational fun it can be, or might be able to access a temporarily intimate space with a stranger. You can even do it on a bus, if you have a coat over your lap.

In short, why are we engaging in sex in the first place? There are dozens of reasons. Some focus on physical pleasure and release, adventure and experimentation, desire for variety, validation, or distraction from other things. Some reasons are inextricably entwined with our emotional state, our desire for relationship and intimacy. In fact, some people have sex to achieve intimacy because they can’t get there any other way. Doing so is considered–in this culture, which connects sex and relationship–completely "normal" and nonproblematic. A variant on this is the person who withdraws sexually when intimacy feels too overwhelming–this is problematic, sure (especially if you’re in a relationship with such a person), but it’s not all that unusual. Sex therapists and couples counselors are keeping up on their mortgages because ongoing intimacy, as in a long-term couple, sometimes even acts as a wet blanket on sexual connection.

I have a feeling that this topic should be tackled in a much longer essay, maybe even a book, so trying to nail it down in 1,000 words seems pretty crazy. At bottom, the wedding of sex and intimacy has to be considered in light of social norms as well as experiences that vary from those norms–and speaking of norms, of the authorities you cite, I’m going with Joni Mitchell. Dr. Drew is a medical doctor without specialized sexuality training. Ditto many therapists, who are taught that emotional health is centered in a particular kind of relationship. Tantrists teach the most couples-oriented style of sexual exploration on the erotic marketplace. Granted, there is much insight and usefulness in therapists’ and Tantrists’ perspectives, but I’m going with the one who says, "I could drink a case of you, and I would still be on my feet." By the way, Annie Sprinkle (whose vast experience makes me look like I’m still in junior high) had this to say about monogamy: "It’s so exciting! It was the only sexual fetish I had never explored!"