If anyone finds my libido lying around somewhere, can they please return it to me? While spring and sunshine are making the foxes in my back garden rut nightly like, well, wild animals, I just can’t seem to be bothered to hunt any possible partners down at the moment (hence the recent silence on this site).  Sure, I’ve set up a few tentative assignations online – talking big but never quite delivering – and even leered at the odd shadowy man in a club, but somehow I just don’t have the fire to push things through right now.  What on earth is wrong with me?

Nothing, actually.  Despite having been guilty of professionally peddling the notion that men only think about One Thing, I can’t see anything wrong with a restorative sexual lull now and again.  The trouble is, that men are pressed to see this sort of thing as a problem.  Women in this country have done a good job of challenging the notion that any woman who enjoys and looks for sex is a slut, but men are still having a simplistic cartoon version of their sexuality sold back to them.  It’s as if we’re all supposed to be desperate priapic fuckmonsters ready to shoot spunk at the merest sight of a well-turned ankle.  Men are animals, we hear, they’re programmed to spread their seed to the four winds, they effortlessly separate sex and emotion, they’re automatically turned rock hard by the slightest hint of tits and arse – in the words of Lenny Bruce, they’ll “fuck mud”.

Is this really true?   Right now, all this male is programmed for is reading books and farting into a chair.  Certainly, there are times of the month when, personally, I seem to be dragged around by my dick like a lost soul strapped to a hellhound (or maybe just a hellpuppy).  These phases, however, aren’t the sum total of my or any man’s sexuality.

My Ex's photos have been getting me excited. As has Mr. Cohen

So why are they often portrayed as such?  It might be because they’re so damned convenient.  “I/he just can’t help it – I’m/he’s a man” can be a handy excuse to have around for all concerned at times.  It means that men needn’t be held totally accountable for their horniness, while women who sleep with them can, if they so wish, claim they’ve been swept away by the power of their partners’ lust.  The gay identity is largely, if not exclusively, built around sex – our attraction is after all the one thing we all share.  But even in hyper-sexualised gay subcultures, the power of desire can be overstated.  For every gay man that sets up a blind sex date online, there are 3 who chat up someone online because they’re horny, then decide to stay at home because it’s raining and there’s something good on telly.

So for the time being I’m happy to hold it all in and see what comes.  That said, when my ex got in touch over Facebook recently (friendly again, at last), I did find myself flicking through his photos with surprising excitement.  Remembering how hot he was, what his skin tasted like and how much I liked the quiet little noises he made, I felt genuinely hot under the collar for the first time in weeks.   Despite his good looks, I suspect that it was our emotional connection that made the whole thing so exciting.  Does that mean I’m – horrid word, this – complicated?  Probably – so many men are more complicated than they feel they’re allowed to admit.

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