It was Winnicott, the long-deceased eminent British psychoanalyst, who, over his years of practice, established that ‘play’ is a necessary and vital aspect of psychological development for babies and children. In reading about Winnicott many years ago when I was studying, I was intrigued by his notion that psychotherapy is also a form of play, but in and for adults. Perhaps for adults who have forgotten to play. And I think there are many, many adults who have forgotten to play.
When I think of pleasure, I think not only about sex, but about play. One could easily argue that sex is an adult form of play that is intensely pleasurable (it probably has been argued/researched/documented elsewhere but I’m too lazy to currently research that). A measure of play could be the pleasure it brings; and if it’s not bringing pleasure, it’s not play. Play is an inherently creative and spontaneous act, certainly in children. Play is about curiosity, fun, connections, exploring, joy, experimenting and excitement – sound familiar? Isn’t this was awesome sex should be about? Then there’s activities such as dress ups, role plays, I’ll-show-you-mine-if-you-show-me-yours games, ecstatic experiences of spinning round and round or rolling down hills or swinging super high on a swing. All of these playful activities create a sense of blissful euphoria; of escape. Of connection to innocence and freedom. To a place where we’re not conscious of time or play or the way we look or sound. We just are. We’re just being. We’re in a state of pleasure and flow.
And isn’t that also what good fucking is all about?
I struggle like all hell to ‘act’ grown up. I secretly loath my adult professional job(s) (which is why I exiting out of the field and role I was in), because of the way I’m forced – if I want to stay working and being paid – to conform and kill the playful aspects of me. Yes, I am choosing to exchange my time/skills for money (ha! Sounds like good ole prostitution) in order to meet my base needs a la Maslow, but I quietly resent it. Actually, this is now not-so-quiet as I actively resign and leap into the unknown. As I move back into studying sexology and now sit here writing about pleasure and all things sexual. As I wait for my partner to come over so I can call him Daddy and he can call me his good girl, and we can both orgasm ourselves to oblivion into each other. This is grown up me having fun. This is grown up me still engaged with little me. It is via sex that I – and all of us ideally – remember who we are. That we are designed and created for play, and for pleasure. For sex and the infinitely creative act (and actions) it is about.
Sex is play. Sex is pleasure. Sex is creative. It’s all the same damn thing. Good fucking is good playing. And that is good adulting. And you don’t have to be fucking someone to be playing. Remember that babies play with themselves in the womb, let alone once alive and kicking. It is pure human nature to play with oneself, then start to play with others. Pleasure is pleasure is pleasure, and we are all mere slaves to neurobiology and the reward pathways that pleasure excites. Remember that pleasure keeps our species alive; we fuck to pass on our genes. And if sex isn’t about making babies (imagine how many more of us there would be if every single time every single person had sex resulted in a baby…fuck no), it’s about play and pleasure and funnelling that energy into other forms of creativity.
So get playing!