It comes with expectations. Even the absence of expectations is an expectation.
It’s fraught with emotion. It’s not something you just do, like eating an ice cream, or going to the movies with a friend.
It’s laden with baggage. We dance around it, to a social, cultural, ethical, political tempo set not by us, long ago.
It’s ritualistic. There are norms and mores to follow, in a sort of unrelenting moralised foreplay.
It’s married to ideas of liberty and emancipation and, paradoxically, to ownership and faithfulness and loyalty.
It’s far too important to be about getting off. It’s never just sex.
Pity.
