Allow me now to indulge in a Carrie Bradshaw-esque moment. Like many claims of the day, characteristic of quite a few modern social movements, I find that “sex talk” tends to veer either on the reactionary or vulgar side and involves a surface-level engagement with and understanding of sexual behavior and relationships. We have reached an age where generally speaking, popular perspective holds that consenting and age-appropriate individuals have the unalienable right to the pursuit of pleasure through orgasm, regardless of procreation or long-term partner or any partner at all — fantastic! We turn our heads backward and point — talk about oppressive attitudes, the policing of patriarchy, the abuse of nonmale identified bodies, the denial of sexual experiences that are not heteronormative, and this is great. But I still can’t help but feel that something is missing. Because when we choose to get naked with someone, when bras are being unhooked and pants are getting shimmied out of and arms are blindly reaching to pull off socks, what the fuck is actually going on?

We declared that previous approaches to sex were falsely and manipulatively tinged with morality, but I don’t think we ever actually arrived at any real conclusion of what approach we should have to intimacy. Although we’re now emboldened and assured that we have a claim to sex in all the ways it manifests, intimacy at large is still viewed in a vacuum, or quite one-dimensionally. Is it ever really as simple as my hand on your clit or your mouth on my neck, have we not to a certain extent perpetuated the notion of sex as a purely biological matter, an act that is grounded completely in a sort of fixed corporeality? I don’t buy it. I think the real dirty truth is that the bedroom is not a place absolved of context, is not just physical — who you are in life is who you are in bed.

There’s no better way of learning this than dating a man with Catholic guilt, although I can’t say I recommend the experience. No one is going to openly admit to it, come out and say it, so to speak, but the signs are quite easy to notice. An overly present or noticeably absent mother can be a signifier, but mother issues are all too abundant in men, so that’s not the real marker of this well-meaning Catholic that is unable, or rather unwilling, to learn how to use his dick. The greatest indicator is one you can’t miss even if you tried, even if you wanted to be ignorant or play delusional — after you guys finish having sex, and I mean immediately after the act is completed, he will get up, put his underwear back on and change the sheets. Change the sheets! He doesn’t need to pray — hell, he doesn’t even need to believe in the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, but he’ll never fuck in rounds or more than once a week.

When I found myself in this position, I was stunned. See I had always been aware that our sexual chemistry was, well, lacking. The first time we had sex I almost felt like sighing. There are few things as disappointing as mediocre sex with someone you have developed feelings for, few things as disappointing as sex so boring that you have an internal monologue going, laying on a mattress, staring at the ceiling, thinking “I am in this bed right now. Someone is inside of me. I should have bought that sweater earlier. Did I make plans tomorrow?” I mean who wants to be thinking while they’re fucking? Isn’t one of sex’s greatest benefits the cessation of that sort of self-consciousness? But I was willing to give it time, because I really enjoyed his company, and what does time offer if not the opportunity for change?

Of course, it was one of those situations in which the more comfortable we become with people, the more our neuroses express themselves — in that contradictory movement, the longer we were together as a couple, the worse the sex got, and the previously referred-to behavior made itself known. Changing the sheets! Changing the sheets! The shock that overtook me was otherworldly — had I just participated in a crime? Was he not getting rid of evidence? Was he not going to shower as a way of simulating baptism? I had no idea what to do. I wasn’t there to judge or reprimand, but I had no idea what to say. How do you even initiate that conversation: “Hey, so you know how your mom has repeatedly reminded you that premarital sex is sinful and you always laugh about it? I think her voice is actually in your head when we’re having sex.” And I didn’t know how to relate. Although I had been raised Greek Orthodox, there had never been an ounce of sex-related shame in my body — in fact, if anything, my tendency has always been to veer toward sexual deviancy.

Initially, I felt for him, I really did, up until I didn’t. How he fucked was who he was — a boy unwilling to address, let alone talk about, his feelings, resulting in withdrawal in the bedroom and an excess of cocaine. His unwillingness to acknowledge his own inner world, to take his feelings and his body seriously, necessarily made him incapable of acknowledging my feelings and body in a legitimate way. My love to fuck was not only denied but apparently made me the perpetrator of a great transgression! His discomfort with pleasure translated into an unintended mocking of my attempts to pursue it, and it was impossible to be with someone who couldn’t take my pleasure seriously. The point that I want to make is that it is an entirely different sentence than, “It was impossible to be with someone who couldn’t make me come.”

Every time we get into bed with someone, it’s personal. Sex is both an act and a process, somewhere and something that raises and holds all the dynamics that continuously color relations at large — how do we see ourselves? How do we navigate being perceived by others? What do we want, and do we feel comfortable indulging in our desire? And don’t I also experience myself when being touched by another, meet myself and engage through pleasure?

Kyriaki Yozzo is a senior majoring in philosophy, politics and law. 

Views expressed in the opinions pages represent the opinions of the columnists. The only piece that represents the view of the Pipe Dream Editorial Board is the staff editorial.