Like all ancient cultures, the Egyptians were at the whim of Mother Nature for control of their agriculture. They would wait all year, sometimes several years, for enough rain to flood the banks of the Nile, making the soil nearest the banks rich enough to support their crops. They had to make optimal use of this short period of time so that they could grow enough food to last until the rain came again.
Sexual droughts are no different than the droughts that plague the economies of farmers. When you're experiencing a dry spell and seem to have no prospects of precipitation or lubrication in sight, it can be a completely frustrating if not entirely maddening time in one's life. But eventually the clouds roll in from the distant horizon, the crack of thunder sounds and the rain slowly begins to fall.
As you know, I returned from New York no luckier than before I left. I didn't expect anything to have changed, but as I went through the routine of checking the various online messaging and stalker sites to which we all subscribe, I discovered I had a message from a new boy. He was my age, attending a prestigious school up north, and told me he was home for a few days in a nearby suburb taking care of his mother who'd injured herself. He'd never been out in D.C. and wanted my expert opinion on where to go.
Judging his credentials (aka cute pictures, interesting and intelligent profile and enough friends to rule out serial killer status), I agreed to show him around sometime. The following evening we made plans to meet up and check out a place downtown. In our first few hours together the conversation never ceased, a refreshing change from the dates that consider "US Weekly" to be literature and make counting the dots in our ceiling tiles seem exciting.
After making adequate use of the Tuesday night drink specials, we caught a cab and headed back. Being an advocate for water conservation, I thought it would be foolish to waste this fortuitous change in weather patterns. The river flooded twice that night, manipulating the banks into positions that even Mother Nature didn't know were possible.
A couple nights, a different bar and a fresh pair of sheets later, the rain came again, though this time it wasn't as refreshing. Even though we had only known each other for a few days, I began to unearth things that seemed to undermine the initial lightning-quick attraction. An appeal to an illegal substance on his part and surprise announcement of an earlier than expected departure made the brief shower make me feel somewhat less than clean. But after a weekend of emotional and mental rinsing off, I felt renewed to sustain another drought or weather an unexpected storm.
For many of us, our sexual behavior may be sporadic at best, but the key is knowing when to take advantage of opportunities. Going out every night does not constitute an opportunity just because there happen to be other people there who are interested in getting laid. Allowing yourself the freedom to hook up with someone you find both physically and intellectually stimulating is what separates the sluts from the nymphomaniacs.
And I use the word slut as a badge of honor that acknowledges a person who may choose to sleep with several partners in his or her life but only does so safely with someone in which they have an expressed interest.
For those of you who don't prefer even this understanding of a slut and instead choose to sustain a drought until monogamy is dripping from the sky, that is honorable as well. We are lucky we no longer rely on steady rainfall to sustain our food supply, but man has always been equipped for sexual droughts. We all have two hands, after all.
