Standing outside looking in, it is all just hairless beasts. It is just mindless fucking, the key to the survival of the species.
I watch the prelude to the dance out there, on the street. I observe it all quietly, a predator myself, and I can spot the rest of us. Shark-like. Slowly moving in a chosen direction, glancing into the windows and the doorways, but without a sense of urgency. I watch the sharks stop to talk and in an instant it is clear if they are hungry or distracted. I can smell the imminent kill.
We are the eaten or the eaters but sometimes, quite often, we fall outside the feeding frenzy.
I am standing outside looking in. I am not the eater or the eaten. I look, but I no longer participate. I am growing older. Grown old. I have become invisible in the scheme of things, and because I am content in my marriage I am no longer the shark, sauntering by. I look, but I refuse to participate. There is no frenzied kill, there is no sex.
Standing outside of it all, there is no sex.