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"When," inquires
Asahi Geino (9/23), straight-faced and earnest, "did
you start scavenging for men?"
"About a year ago," replies
Yuri. Thus launched, her story proceeds: her shocked discovery that while
she was home alone with the baby her husband was out cavorting with someone
he'd met on the Net; her angry resolution that two could - and, by God,
would - play at that game; her liaison with a man 10 years her senior who
won her heart with soft S&M and softer reassurances that childbirth had
not ruined her figure; her growing, spreading, swelling love that could
no longer be absorbed by just one man, or by just two. At 25, Yuri is one
of Asahi Geino's case histories, a victim of an alarming new menace
seeping up from underground: "sex dependency syndrome."
It's a seven-page spread the
magazine lays before us, complete with half a dozen profiles, a chorus of
comments from sufferers not profiled, and a medical opinion. How general
is this restlessness among the population at large? That's hard to say,
but Dr. Fumihiko Umezawa, for one, feels compulsive sex is taking over where
compulsive drinking, compulsive gambling and compulsive shopping left off.
It's the defining compulsion of the late '90s.
And rightly so. Sex is the
only obsession that can - not always, but potentially - be indulged for
free. That's no small consideration in a recession-stymied economy.
Behind this obsession, as behind
most, lies the demon stress, and here too recession is a factor. But stress
cuts both ways. It is as likely to extinguish the libido as to fire it.
When it exercises its dual nature within one couple, extinguishing his and
firing hers, the consequences are bound to lead us outside the prim realm
of good social behavior. Actually Mrs. Aihara, as we'll call her, was coping
moderately well with her husband's chilliness - until recently, when a pair
of weekend guests metaphorically set the house ablaze with their nighttime
antics. That was too much for Mrs. Aihara, who made her very first teleclub
contact the next day. She's been insatiable ever since.
Then there's the story of the
young woman who entertains her gentleman callers during her 2-year-old's
afternoon nap. How can she be sure the little fellow won't wake up in mid-rut?
A little imagination scales big obstacles. Mom simply mixes some plum wine
into the baby's pre-nap milk, and he sleeps like an angel.
Never before has sex been so
close, so easy, so handy, so ubiquitous. The latest conveniences - "teleclubs,"
cybersex - play to biological and psychological traits that are uniquely
human, Dr. Umezawa explains. Human beings can have sex anytime, anywhere,
with anyone. Animal sex, aimed purely at reproduction, is for the most part
rather perfunctory. But we, thanks to the highly developed cerebral cortex
that makes us human, are blessed with an almost bottomless capacity (and
cursed with an almost bottomless need) to experience pleasure. "Sexual activity
is genital," Umezawa tells Asahi Geino, "but sexual pleasure is cerebral."
Since the cerebrum is the center of human intelligence, Umezawa's equation
is inescapable: Sexual inclination is a mark of heightened intelligence.
So far so good. But when sex
distorts the personality to the extent of causing mothers to neglect their
babies, fathers to rape their daughters, ordinary peaceable citizens to
grope strangers on trains and plant cameras in public toilets, the fine
line separating beauty from pathology would seem to have been crossed. This
is the foundation of Umezawa's research, and the source of his clientele.
What's the matter with men today?
Umezawa demands. If married women are restless beyond endurance, he says,
it's at least partly their husbands' fault. Why aren't they more attentive,
and more vigorous? Why should the average man in his 20s go four days -
as he does - without marital sex, when his wife wants action every night?
Could it be the profusion of extramarital (and extracoital) options? The
rift widens with age. In the 30s, it's once every nine days for husbands
and once every two days for wives; in the forties, once every 16 days vs.
once a week.
That's too bad, but ultimately,
one suspects, somewhat beside the point. Consider another of Asahi Geino's
case histories, 24-year-old Kanae - and ask yourself whether lifelong monogamous
marriage is likely to survive the coming millennium.
Kanae has been married for
a year. She knows what her husband does - he's in real estate - but he doesn't
know what she does (though he doesn't know that he doesn't know). He thinks
she works in a coffee shop. Actually she's on day shifts at an Ikebukuro
image club. She started six months ago. No, she wasn't unhappy with her
husband, who is as virile and considerate a man as Umezawa could wish. What
was the problem, then? "When I was single," she explains, "I could sleep
with whoever I liked. Then I get married, and all of a sudden I'm only allowed
to play with one man. I couldn't live with that."
Nor, however, could she live
with cheating on him - she loves the guy. On the horns of a dilemma, she
appealed to her cerebrum, which obligingly sent her an idea. "As long as
it's work, it's not cheating, right?" Right, she decided - and found an
"image club" job.
Now she lives single and married
at the same time. She's happy, and her husband, seeing her happy (though
not knowing why), is also happy. That's about as good as life gets. An image
club is supposed to feature sex play, not actual sex, but if a customer
asks her nicely, she'll go all the way. But no dates outside, she stipulates.
After all, she's a married woman. (Michael Hoffman, contributing writer)
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