Sex Is Not a Competition
Despite society’s highly competitive nature, it’s inadvisable to adopt that same mindset for your sexuality.
Recently, I chatted with a friend on the street. We hadn’t seen each other in a while, and it’s been even longer since we’d had an extended conversation. This is someone with whom I was sexual many years ago, but now we’re just causal “nod at each other and say hello” friends.
During the unexpectedly extended conversation, my friend mentioned how his sex life had changed as he’s gotten older. He decried a lot of the gay hookup culture norms and practices. He complained about how it’s becoming increasingly more difficult to find the types of erotic connections he desires.
Much of what he said is valid, but the conversation made me yet again think about how so much of our culture treats sex as something competitive. I’ve discussed and written before about the downside of treating sex as something akin to a competitive sport, but it’s an issue worth revisiting since it seems to be a consistent undercurrent problem within the entire range of sexually active populations.
While I’ve been trumpeting to whoever will listen that sex isn’t a competitive sport since the 80s, I’m by no means the only person who’s thought of this. In “Sexual performance is not a competitive sport,” Maureen Matthews echoes the same sentiment.
One thing I would encourage you to remember is that sexual "performance" is not a competitive sport.
In “Sex is Not a Race, a Competition, or a Performance.” Jonti Searl says much the same.
It’s not a race, a competition, or an achievement. It’s not something you have to make happen.
As soon as there’s performance, there’s pressure. You succeed or you fail. And in that, there is no space for pleasure. There’s no place for intimacy. There’s no room for presence.
I’ve attended countless classes and workshops in which sex educators and therapists of various kinds have said exactly the same thing.
If such a large number of people wholeheartedly believe sex isn’t something that should be competitive, why do so many of us fall prey to that line of thinking?
Here’s the portion of this post in which I get starkly honest and transparent. Despite me intellectually knowing sex shouldn’t be competitive, my own brain falls down that rabbit hole often.
As I approach 70 years of age, I still hold up my frequency of sex and erotic play using the same yardstick people in their 20s and 30s in my social sphere utilize. Of course, even younger people shouldn’t think of sex as competitive, but most certainly I shouldn’t be attempting to compare myself to them in terms of sexual performance, frequency, or conquest.
As an active kinkster for more than 50 years, I inadvisably compare my kink skill set and range of interests to the younger doing kink today. Not smart. Why should I feel like I must keep up with the ever-increasing choices of erotic interests and associated skill sets if they’re not something that resonate deeply for me. I shouldn’t. But I sometimes do.
19th-century American humorist Josh Billings once said, “Advice is like castor oil, easy enough to give but dreadful uneasy to take.” So true.
To be fair, our entire Western society is acculturated to compete, in everything.
People who are heavier or normal bodied try to compete against the idealized body images proliferated in media.
People who are older try to compete against the younger, smooth-skinned images that populate every inch of advertising and entertainment.
People who have interests outside of the academic try to compete against those who naturally take to the grade-centric school rigor some find easier.
People who are not wealthy try to compete against the lifestyle of the rich and famous.
People who own simple, basic possessions try to compete to own the more expensive and lavish.
The list goes on. Of course, not everyone competes as much as others. Some have come to their senses and backed away from competing in these arenas. Yet, even those you might expect to be less influenced by society’s comparison and competition ethos often end up succumbing. As a longtime yoga practitioner, I recall how aghast I was when I learned about the first “yoga competition,” taking a practice meant to be personal and customized to the individual and relegating it to the realm of track and field or gymnastics.
But, back to sex.
No matter who you are, you should never judge your own sexuality against someone else’s. If you see someone having lots of sex, it doesn’t mean you should too. If you see someone demonstrating a specific kink skill, it doesn’t mean you have to learn it too. If you see someone chiseling their body into stereotypical sexually attractive perfection, it doesn’t mean you have to do so as well.
Have as much or as little sex as you want.
Embrace the erotic interests you like and let others pursue those you don’t.
Become comfortable in your own physicality and let others pursue supposed body perfection if they wish. (Hint: no one with the latter mindset will ever think their body is “good enough.”)
If someone in a kink subculture such as the leather world tries to declare your version of being kinky doesn’t hold up to their false-idol scrutiny, resist taking their opinion too much to heart.
I know. This is a lot easier said than done. But it’s definitely worth the effort to come to peace with your erotic frequency, performance, skill, and appearance being good enough. If you’re happy, don’t let anyone else tell you to feel otherwise.
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