I.

No,
oh please turn towards me...flip the hair away and let me see your face...there. Oh, you're beautiful...those lips...and the way your tongue moves behind your teeth when you talk...mmm, and that tank top...bend over...a little more...a little more...come on, read my mind, damnit! No, shit, move your arm out of the way! There...there we go. Oh, that's beautiful, you're so beautiful, I could stare at you all day, and SHIT! she looked my way, FUCK, eye contact eye contact eye contact, dammit, I was just glancing around, no, I wasn't looking at you, I wasn't staring at you, no stalker, no, not me...please don't get off the bus...shit.

of course not,

God, look at her...that hair, those eyes, that body...mmm, I could just run my hands over her from top to bottom, caressing every curve of her breasts and hips and waist and thighs and...and man, that dress is probably a felony in seven states but I swear to God I'll shoot the fucking cops if they come after her, and holy shit what the FUCK does that guy think he's doing talking to her, I'd better get over there and kick his fucking ass 'cause I have GOT to get this girl in my bed tonight

Don't be silly.


well tw mostly aj, s


II.

People change.

Once upon a time, back when you were in junior high, girls suddenly started sprouting curvy bits. Soon they began figuring out several different ways to wave those curvy bits in your faces, and even when they restrained themselves, those curvy bits still managed to catch your eye. You thought about sex quite a lot, and when it wasn't actually in the spotlight of your mind, you could still feel it hovering in the wings, ready to leap onstage at the slightest provocation. Even if you were busy or stressed or exhausted or deathly ill, you'd be ready for some hanky-panky if the opportunity arose.

Then one day, usually when you're 18 or 19 or 20 or so, it happens. You're chatting with a lusty young wench and, in the midst of the conversation, she happens to reveal that she's a gibbering neurotic. You could probably get her into bed--hell, she's practically throwing herself at you--but you decide that it's just not worth enduring the hollow, stilted sex and the inevitable aftermath of awkward silences, embarrassed glances, and hysterical messages on your answering machine.

Or else a girl starts flirting with you while you're trying to figure out why the insurance company sent you a bill for $420.38 when they're supposed to have sent you a check for $673.95. Cute as she is, you can't help but wish that she would go away so you can figure out how to pay the garage before Jim Bob the 400-pound tow-truck driver comes after you with his tire iron and gap-toothed smile.

You notice that every now and then you don't want sex. You wonder if you're sick. No: you're getting old, or else just growing up.


III.

Let's get real. You don't expect a simple answer, do you?

Sure, it's tempting to kick back in your armchair and toss these o'erarching questions into the nodegel. It makes you feel as though you're probing into an all-encompassing mystery in an attempt to uncover some sort of universal truth. But it's just not feasible to make a concise, meaningful generalization when you're talking about a big heterogeneous group.

Here's the real answer. It's the sort of response that should always be made to people who create annoying, generalizing nodes beginning with "People who":

  1. Some of us think about sex all day.
  2. Some of us think about sex sometimes, but not at other times.
  3. Some of us don't think about sex very much at all.
  4. In some, this condition lasts only a little while.
  5. In others, it lasts a bit longer.
  6. Some people never change.

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