How to have sex with the same person for the rest of your life

The Guardian

 

‘Spending too much time with your partner may be the problem.’ Photograph: Microzoa/Getty Images


1 Accept that having sex with the same person for the rest of your life – unless it’s yourself (see later) – is hard and, at times, boring. But not impossible. The problem – actually, there are several and also lots of contradictions – is that the received wisdom has always been to spend more time with your partner to build something called “intimacy”, which will lead to The Sex. Actually, this may be wrong.

2 Spending too much time with your partner may be the problem. Do romantic weekends make you feel really unromantic and panicked? Seeing someone all the time is not sexy after the first few months. It leads to something called habituation, which must be avoided at all costs if you want to continue having sex with your partner. Habituation is when you stop really seeing someone/thing because you see them all the time, ie taking someone for granted, which leads to hating their guts. In one survey, a common answer to the question “When do you feel most attracted to your partner?” was “When they weren’t there.” This is because anticipation is a powerful aphrodisiac and distance lets erotic imagination back in, which leads to fantasy. Unfortunately, it’s often cruelly crushed when your partner comes back into view.

3 The major stumbling block to sex in a long-term relationship is that you’re after two opposing things: security, reliability – lovely anchoring things like that which make you feel safe – but you also want fire, passion, risk, danger, newness. The two camps are opposed. If you have one, you can’t have the other.

4 The answer is to try to get pockets of distance. Make sure you stay true to yourself. Do things for yourself and by yourself; socialise on your own sometimes. In another survey, respondents said that they found their partners sexiest when the partners were in their element: the life and soul of the party, doing a job really well. Being “other” to the person they knew as reliable and as their partner. Having sex at your partner’s place of work may be something to consider if you can avoid CCTV. You don’t want to watch yourself having sex with the same person over and over again on YouTube because you have become a meme.

5 All this said, you do need to spend some quality time together to keep the bonds going. Sharing good experiences is better than spending your money on stuff for each other. This is because memories of experiences shared become more golden with the passing of time, unlike mere things you get used to (see habituation). Also you can only throw things at each other in an argument that leads to sex if you are in a film starring Sophia Loren. In real life, it leads to hate and mess.

6 Masturbation is basically having sex with the same person for all of your life, yet no one gets sick of that. Why? Because you are safe to go into your own private head-place, and the chances are that there is a real dissonance between the erotic you and the you in the real world. The erotic you has no place in your every day life, the erotic you may not be very responsible (responsibility kills sex drive). The erotic you only has one goal. Orgasm. It isn’t the point, they always tell you that in sex columns, but it’s nice – otherwise, come on, what is the point of all that effort? It’s this distance that’s at the heart of keeping an erotic charge between you and your partner. Consider separate bedrooms.

7 Learn the difference between wanting someone and neediness. The first is sexy, the latter isn’t. Looking after someone because you want to is different from one person being cast in the parenting role to the other, which isn’t sexy at all and will lead to a lack of sex with your partner and, possibly, lots of sex with someone else who doesn’t need looking after.

8 Don’t expect your partner to be everything to you. There’s an oft quoted phrase in relationship circles: “don’t expect your partner to do the job a whole village once did.” Also be realistic: two centuries ago you’d probably be dead by the age of 50, now marriages can last longer.

9 But! Take solace in the fact that older people do have more sex. Last year, a study found that if you’ve been married to the same person for 65 years, you have more sex than you did at your 50th wedding anniversary.

10 The secret of sex with the same person for ever, says Esther Perel, the author of Mating in Captivity, is letting go of “the myth of spontaneity. Committed sex is willful, premeditated, focused and present”. She also suggests good tools for talking with your partner (or to find out things about yourself), for example, start conversations with: “I shut myself off when …” and “I turn myself on when …”

Property, theft and how we must breach this sacred line

The 'private good, public bad' madness sees a bedroom tax foisted on the poor while the rich amass vast property wealth

• 
• • George Monbiot
  • The Guardian, Monday 25 March 2013 20.30 GMT

'By focusing on income rather than property we have gravely underestimated the extent of inequality.' Illustration: Daniel Pudles for the Guardian

On Easter Monday, in the wake of a festival of resurrection and redemption, between 600,000 and 900,000 households will either have to move out of their homes or have their benefits cut. The reason is that they are deemed to be under-occupying their property: in other words they have one or more spare rooms. The bedroom tax will hit some of the poorest people in Britain.

Two years ago I proposed something similar. Nearly 8 million homes in England, I found, had two or more spare bedrooms. But only 11% of this under-occupation was in public or social housing. The rapid growth in half-empty homes, according to the government"is entirely due to a large increase within the owner-occupied sector".

Because of the desperate shortage of housing, especially for larger families, I suggested a bedroom tax for owner-occupiers. It was a much gentler measure than next week's tax, as it would apply only to those with at least two spare rooms and would affect only those most able to pay.

The response was an explosion of fury in the rightwing press and blogosphere: the places where the current bedroom tax finds its only supporters. In the Telegraph, Ed West remarked that my idea was "far closer to fascism than the ethno-centric populism of the European radical Right … The state has no business in people's bedrooms – ever." I am still waiting for Ed to denounce the state's intrusion into the bedrooms of the poor.

The difference, of course, is that because housing benefit is paid by the government, the government is deemed to possess the right to withdraw it. But much of the wealth of private householders has also been provided by the state. The value of our homes, for example, has been greatly enhanced by the infrastructure and public services the state provides. Yet the proposal to reclaim some of this unearned wealth through a land value tax is angrily dismissed by the party promoting a bedroom tax for the poor.

Similarly, every year taxpayers in this country spend £3.6bn on farm subsidies. We could by now have bought all the farmland in Britain several times over. But this money has earned us no property rights: farmers still feel entitled to announce at public meetings that "it's my land and I will do what I want with it". Most of the land in this country, if you go back far enough, was seized from other people – often, in the case of the commons, from entire communities. Much of the law we abide by today was drafted to formalise these seizures.

There is a sacred line that divides the world into public and private property. The line is arbitrary and moves every year: ever further across the public realm. But it is policed religiously. As soon as you can bundle the public wealth you've snatched over the line and into the hallowed ground of the private sector, you can claim sanctuary.

Among the Russian government's backers are oligarchs who were enriched by acquiring government assets at a fraction of their value. Their political alliances have ensured that their wealth is neither questioned nor reclaimed by the government. But when the government of Cyprus plans to acquire some of the assets stashed by tax-avoiding oligarchs, the Russian prime minister denounces it as "stealing".

When the threshold is crossed, everything changes. Money spent in the private sector is deemed by politicians and the media to be a good thing. Money spent in the public sector is deemed a bad thing, even though (or perhaps because) it is more effective at distributing wealth. If you are on the right side of the line, the government will deregulate your business. If you are on the wrong side of the line (schools and hospitals, for example), it will subject you to ever more draconian regulation, with cruel and unusual punishments for the slightest resistance to its crazy targets and intrusive inspections.

Gagging clauses in NHS employment contracts are rightly denounced by ministers. But what of the gagging clauses deployed by banks or oil companies or insurance firms, which shield their malpractice from public scrutiny? Where in the media or in government have you heard a call for those to be removed? And why should freedom of information laws stop at the fence marked "private: keep out"? Why, for example, should we not have the right to know what the banks are cooking up?

Take a look at the astonishing chart of property wealth published by the New Economics Foundation and you get an inkling of why attempts to challenge the concentration of private property are denounced as fascism. The graph, using government statistics, suggests that the average property wealth of the top 1% of households is £15m. "The 1% are worth more than the bottom 99% put together." By focusing on income rather than property we have gravely underestimated the extent of inequality.

All this is blasphemy: a trespass into the holy shrine, which has been sanctified by a thousand speeches and editorials. But there is nothing inherently sacred about the veil of the temple that divides the two realms; nothing, as Easter approaches, that must forbid it from being rent in twain.

The more sex we get, the more we want

Christina Patterson: 
Bedroom farce, on stage, page or double-page spread, is, for the most part,numbingly banal

Saturday, 12 July 2008


"Sex," says the 17-year-old narrator of The Catcher in the Rye, "is something I really don't understand." Well, mate, nor do I. I only know (yes, I'm afraid I do know) that the arms of someone you don't even like – who your head, and your friends, tell you is a total shit – can feel like your natural home on this planet.


And that it's perfectly possible – drearily commonplace, in fact – to feel that a fleeting muscular contraction involving neurotransmitters, endorphins and the sure knowledge that you're king or queen of the universe, is well worth swapping for your marriage, your family, and your pride.

Whatever the Victorians, or Ann Widdecombe, or the smug marrieds on both sides of the political spectrum may say, it was ever thus. From Catullus to Chaucer to Shakespeare to those men of God, Donne and Herbert, right through to that bespectacled owl for whom sexual intercourse famously began "too late", poetry has celebrated the lips, and breasts, and buttocks, and charms of women – and men – who are not their wives. As poet and playwright John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester in The Libertine, the ever-versatile Johnny Depp reminded us that the sexual pirates of 17th-century London were just as adventurous as those in the Caribbean. He was starring with John Malkovich, whose sexually voracious Vicomte de Valmont in Les Liaisons Dangereuses will remain, for many of us, a (rather sexily) sinister but enduring image of aristocratic, decadent, pre-revolution France.

Restoration comedy bristles with brittle asides from loose ladies and rich rakes apparently set on triathlons of sexual licentiousness in plots which served as a kind of 17th-century precursor to sudoku. The tradition continued, in drama, and in life. At my mother's local theatre in Guildford the other day, I saw a play by Dion Boucicault, an Irish playwright hailed by Richard Eyre as "a Victorian Andrew Lloyd Webber", and the writer who inspired Oscar Wilde. The play, London Assurance, was written at about the time that the Brontës were dreaming up role models for future prime ministers. Lacking the wit of a Wilde, or the passion of a governess, it was, alas, merely a reminder that bedroom farce, on stage, page or in a double-page spread in a red-top, is, for the most part, numbingly, grindingly banal.

"I married him," announces a Lady Spanker at one point, "for my freedom and he married me for protection." If this was a mild subversion of the historical sexual status quo, but one not that uncommon in Western aristocracies of the past millennium, it was a relatively pithy statement of the kind of pragmatism in affairs of the heart, and genitals, that has generally prevailed. Not always able to match the biblical ideal of a man and woman joined exclusively, and monogamously, for ever and ever and ever, men, and even the odd woman, have made "arrangements". The most common, of course, has been that indispensable marital accessory, a blind eye, but some have been more complicated. H G Wells, Katherine Mansfield and Vera Brittain, according to a new book on literary love lives between the wars, are just some of the writers whose domestic, and extra-marital, lives were constructed to provide maximum freedom and minimum fuss. Not, perhaps, for the lovers squeezed into the tiny gaps in these busy, busy lives, or for the children, but you can't make a nice libertarian omelette without breaking a few little eggs.

In this lovely, liberal world, a world of kings and princes and lords and sometimes poets, cakes were eaten and retained, and laundry that was already scattered around public parks could not be seized and washed. And if your love life was alluded to in the Daily Courant or the London Gazette, who cared? You were red-blooded, goddammit, you were lusty. You had more important things to worry about than a glimpsed tryst with Emma, or Kate or Nell. Publish? Well, why not? As Wellington famously wrote on the blackmail note he returned to his lover, the courtesan Harriette Wilson, "Publish and be damned!"

That, of course, was an ice-age ago, when the market value of a private life was more on a par with poetry and less on a par with a Damien Hirst. Sex, like chocolate, and Kettle Chips,is a kind of drug – and so, unfortunately, is the media coverage of the sex lives of so-called celebs. The more we get, the more we want. It's a terrible shame, but that's the way the chocolate-chip cookie of the zeitgeist crumbles. Your love of a stripy uniform, or a Chelsea strip, or a juicy orange, allied with a nice whip, or garter, or noose, may or may not be an indication of a damaged childhood, an ability to do a job, or a lively sense of humour. And it may or may not matter.

But if you have any claims to fame, or fortune, or public office, and any sex life beyond the constraints of a 1950s-constructed norm, a sense of humour is precisely what you're going to need, in spades. We have, it seems, made our bed – or basement, or sand dune, or desk at the Admiralty Arch – and now, in the full glare of the media, and the internet, and YouTube and, of course, our children, we're just going to have to lie in it.