Love TV

Love Well, Live Well

Do YOU have a sincere hope, desire, and dream of love that includes greater self confidence, respect, overall wellbeing, a positive, passionate love life that recharges, inspires and fulfills you that hasn’t materialized yet? YOU are not alone.

Gain EXCLUSIVE ACCESS to LOVE TV’s Seasons and Episodes. Watch, Listen, Learn and Have Fun to Realize Amazing Love in Your Life.

Monthly subscription
$ 8.95 / Month
Yearly subscription
$ 99.95 / Year
Lifetime subscription
$ 249.95 / one-time

Call it Secondary Sex

“You match with a bunch of people, no one ever messages each other, and no one ever has sex,” he responded.

That seemed unlikely to me, but he was all the way down in Long Beach, Calif., anyway, which is too far to drive for sex, so I cut my losses and we unmatched each other.

When a friend recently asked me, “Why do you think you never have sex?” I fell back on all the clichés. I told her: “I just want to focus on myself for a while.” “I’m afraid of getting hurt.” “Strangers are gross.” “I want to be in love first.” “I don’t have time to meet people.” “Los Angeles is impossible.”

But I’m not sure I believe any of these reasons apply to me. I’ve focused on myself my whole life. I’m worried about getting hurt, but no more than most. Some strangers are smoking hot. What is love anyway? I have plenty of time. Los Angeles is full of men and women of all shapes, sizes and backgrounds, and those men and women populate every restaurant and yoga class and dog park in my life.

There is a woman I sometimes love, a death penalty investigator too fresh out of a breakup from the woman who broke her heart.

There is a man I sometimes love, a writer and lead singer in a hard-core punk band, who constantly declares, “I don’t have sex,” and “I don’t do love,” in the same moment that he sways closer to my face, nearly but not quite giving one of us the opportunity to make a move.

The man I sometimes love tells me, “Love is a leaky boat.” The woman I sometimes love tells me the blooming jasmine in Los Angeles reminds her of walking to school in Egypt as a teenager. And in her head she is somewhere far away from here, from us. We don’t have sex, but we have intimacy. It’s not that I’m choosing to abstain from sex in these situations, but that sex seems to be choosing to abstain from me.

In my imagination, the sex I have with each of them when I’m riding my bike home from work or when I’m stuck in traffic on the freeway or when I’m otherwise far away from myself is epic. It is all dark rooms and brick walls. Aggressive and gentle. It is the kind of sex that makes a person fall in love instantaneously.

Except we never have sex. And we never fall in love. We fall into almost love and then life takes us away from each other. And without that memory of skin against skin to connect us across distance and time, we become, once again, strangers.

Curated by Timothy
Original Article