Now this is a little troubling to think about: how can intimacy be better than sex? Doesn’t sex involve some sort of intimacy. Well sure, but they’re not quite the same things. Intimacy is being close to an other, vulnerable and emotionally intertwined like the threads of a bird’s lovenest – as if one.
It was said somewhere that a true lover is not a man who makes love to a million women, but one who makes love to a woman a million ways. Intimacy is like that but without the messy condoms.
Reflecting on my day off, I think about my past loves. They were a great pair. One the daughter of a South Asian pop singer celebrity and the other an inconspicuously sub-famed actress, feminist, beauty-queen.
I guess when it comes down to it, I’m in love with my memories. I read an article that said that our “experiencing self” is no where near as important as our reflective self. That is the part of us that is here, now and present, is less important than the one that remembers that delicious dinner at that banquet with the savoury, perfectly salted piece of rare, beautifully marbled meat. That is the kind of intimacy I strive for. The kind that hits me when I’m sitting in my room and the sizzle of a barbecue is just a touch more noticeable than the faint waft of cooked meat percolating in the air.
Yeah, you guessed it. I had a barbecue last night and that memory. Is better than sex.