Thinking about sex is a balancing act, because there is nothing consensual about our biology or upbringing. Walking down the street I listen to the thoughts that go through my head like an old radio picking up foreign sounds. What a great ass, god I’d love to fuck her against that wall I hear myself mutter, instantly followed by, hey, don’t stare too long, you’re going to freak someone out.

For a long time there was a voice that said, what the hell is wrong with you? Why the fuck would you think that? It’s an insidious voice that comes from a place of detachment and a lack of wholeness. We all like to think we’ve tamed our demons, but it’s just not true. Our demons don’t let themselves become domesticated, so instead they feed on our intentions. Trying to exorcise them is just as useless, so while we think they’re changing, in fact we’re simply hiding them deeper within ourselves.

That voice that tells me to fuck everyone I meet is just as much a part of me as the one that wants to tear down rape culture with a machete. The impulse to stare at her tits, to grab his ass when he walks by, and to fantasize about their little sister, is just as much me as the impulse to create safe spaces and institute enthusiastic consent in my personal relationships. And as much as I’d liked to pick and choose, that’s not an option I get. As much as I’d like to hide those demons or ignore them, they are a part of me.

I like to say that I’m more interested in explanations than excuses, and when it comes to sex it’s the damn truth. As a grown man I can control my actions. I won’t follow her two blocks staring at her ass, and I won’t call out to her on the street. I won’t touch her without asking, and I won’t snap pictures of my dick to send to strangers. I won’t push someone to do something they don’t want to do, and I’ll try my hardest not to do things drunk I wouldn’t do sober. But it will be a struggle, because there are parts of me that want to resist it all. Parts that want to yell and scream and parts that want to touch and slap.

Thinking about sex is a balancing act, because we are not made up of politics. We are not stuffed full or reason and we are not pickled in understanding. We are bags of flesh and muscle with more impulses and instincts than we’d like to admit. And we’ve been conditioned to want everything, and to want it now. We’ve been sold a package of instant gratification that includes bodies and sweat as much as it does iPhones and shoes.

I want to wrap my fingers around her neck and kiss those lips until she’s quivering, but I will not ask her name on the street. I can picture her cunt clenching around my cock as I press her against the wall, fucking her from behind, but I will not call out. I will continue to look and continue to want, my demons now old friends instead of pets or enemies, but I will take a deep breath, turn the corner, and I will walk the other way.

And hardest of all, I will not hate the parts of myself that I resist.