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Bill Brown

A complicated man.

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Ahh, the hook up. I am by no means a prude—though I’m sure plenty will disagree—but this inicipient nihilistic cultural of casual sex (“buddysex” in kidspeak) horrifies me.

Important quote: “Many girls don’t have the time or the energy required for an intense relationship right now, or they can’t find a guy who wants one. But they possess enormous sexual energy and believe they have every right to enjoy it in whatever form they choose….” That’s the rationalization. “They don’t hook up with just anyone; usually, it’s with someone they know at least casually, or, if intercourse is included, with a less printable version of ‘sexbuddy.’ They tell themselves they stand less chance of waking up pregnant or infected that way.” And that’s the payoff.

Promiscuity is a disgusting form of throwing morality out the window. It says, “Sex feels good. Relationships are hard. Let’s have sex with anyone.” It boils down to a rejection of values since sex usually comes with a relationship based on value recognition—or it should. Why? Why can’t we just screw whoever we want whenever we want? The disease angle is true, but fails to resonate with this crowd and is probably overstated anyway. I guess I’ve been married too long (nearly ten years now) to know what sex without love would feel like—though my wife was my one and only. I think, though, that it would be enormously emotionally unsatisfying. I think it would eventually become as mechanical as the word they use—hook-up—to describe it.

I remember when the euphemism “making love” was en vogue. While I thought (and still do) it was corny, it also spoke to the intense value and power of the act. Sex is both a response to and demonstration of love. It’s a way of saying that the other person is so special and important that you’d give and receive the ultimate pleasure. The hook-up says nothing except that you are self-absorbed and self-centered. It is symbolically bereft. And it repulses me.

To say the least, this resembles nothing from my childhood and certainly not the courtship proceedings that led to my marriage. I secretly pined for my wife for months and months, relishing every opportunity to talk to her and delighting in something as simple as a chance catching of her shampoo’s scent. Once I got up the nerve to call her, it led to an overnight chat that culminated with me saying, “I love you.” Now I’ve never had any pretensions that mine was a normal method or that it would even work for anyone else.

I just could never imagine talking to my love interest with the vulgarity that today’s kids (and many—oh so many—adults) use. One of my close friends—a female—recounts tales of male forwardice (cowardice masking as forwardness, to coin a term) such as telling her that she’s hot right to her face and hooting when she bends over to pick something up. That she isn’t more insulted or repelled is perhaps an indication of the normalcy of it all and perhaps an indication of her self-assurance.