On Gourmet Lovemaking All of us, barring any physical limitations, are able to dance and sing -- after a fashion. This, if you think about it, summarizes the justification for learning to make love. Love, in the same way as singing, is something to be taken spontaneously. On the other hand, the difference between Pavlova and the Palais de Danse, or opera and barbershop singing, is much less than the difference between sex as our recent ancestors came to accept it and sex as it can be. At least we recognize this now (so that instead of worrying if sex is sinful, most people now worry whether they are "getting satisfaction" -- one can worry about anything, given the determination). And there are now enough books about the basics; we are largely past the point of people worrying about the nor-mality, possibility, and variety of sexual experience. This book is slightly differ-ent, in that there are now enough people who have those basics and want more depth of understanding, solid ideas, and inspiration. To draw a parallel, chef-grade cooking doesn't happen naturally: it starts at the point where people know how to prepare and enjoy food, are curious about it and willing to take trouble preparing it, read recipe hints, and find they are helped by one or two techniques. It's hard to make mayonnaise by trial and error, for instance. Gourmet sex, as we define it, is the same -- the extra one can get from comparing notes, using some imagination, trying way-out or new experi-ences, when one already is making satisfying love and wants to go on from there. This book will likely attract four sorts of readers. First, there are those who don't fancy it, find it disturbing, and would rather stay the way they are -- these should put it down, accept our apologies, and stay the way they are. Second, there are those who are with the idea, but don't like our choice of techniques -- remember, it's a menu, not a rulebook. Third, most people will use our notes as a personal one-couple notebook from which they might get ideas. In this respect we have tried to stay wide open. One of the original aims of this book was to cure the notion, born of non-discussion, that common sex needs are odd or weird; the whole joy of sex-with-love is that there are no rules, so long as you enjoy, and the choice is practically unlimited. We have, however, left out long discussion of very specialized sexual preferences; people who like these know already what they want to try. The final group of readers are the hardy experimentalists, bent on trying absolutely everything. They too will do best to read this exactly like a cookbook -- except that sex is safer in this respect, between lovers, in that you can't get obese or atherosclerotic on it, or give yourself ulcers. The worst you can get, given sensible safety precautions, is sore, anxious, or disappointed. However, one needs a steady basic diet of quiet, loving, night-and-morning intercourse to stand this experimentation on, simply because, contrary to popular ideas, the more regular sex a couple has, the higher the deliberately contrived peaks -- just as the more you cook routinely, the better and the more reliable banquets you can stage. One specific group of readers deserves special note. If you are disabled in any way, don't stop reading. A physical disability is not an obstacle to fulfilling sex. In counseling disabled people, one repeatedly finds that the real disability isn't a mechanical problem but a mistaken idea that there is only one "right" -- or enjoyable -- way to have sex. The best approach is probably to go through the book with your partner, marking off the things you can do. Then pick some-thing appealing that you think you can't quite do, and see if there is a strategy you can develop together. Talking to other couples where o Excerpted from The Joy of Sex: The Timeless Guide to Lovemaking by Alex Comfort, Susan Quilliam All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
