Today Richard writes:
Sex was supposed to be a nice refuge from the smoldering ashes of jobs and
banks and things. Instead sex has become extra freighted with all these
miseries. It's some sour, vicarious act of anger and aggression.
Spot fucking on (as usual). The sex I've had in the last month has been sad, empty, "we don't love each other anymore and haven't for a long, long time" sex. The last careless, satisfying sex I had was in December, 3,000 miles away with someone twice my age in a studio apartment in Montmartre littered with red wine bottles while it rained hauntingly beautiful Parisian rain. But it barely counted because nothing in Paris counted, or at least I like to pretend it didn't. What a lovely, lovely little Play World I set up for myself last autumn.
Good New York sex hasn't happened since before the recession officially hit. Blamin' Wall Street for my severe guy drought. I think Josh will agree with me on this one. Jeez this is so freakin true but also, heh, convenient.
Wow, we really can blame everything on the recession.