"I'm not just someone's fallback plan!"

roared the sycophant.

I rant today about something that has plagued me, and probably you, since exploiting sexuality became the primary objective on everyone's mind. I'm not talking about sexual preference, stereotypes, gender roles or bigotry. That would be easier to dissect, actually, and I wouldn't be nearly as aggravated.

Sex is fun. Sex is useful. Sex is dangerous, can cause problems and it changes relationships forever. In a community of people where sex is in high demand but in short supply, it is only natural that people will become territorial about it. About who they are having sex with, about how many people they've managed to sleep with, and about how often they engage the act on a weekly (daily?) basis. I won't slip in the mud of sanctity or virtue for this particular post, though I do have opinions about both and how they relate to sex. Instead, I'm just musing about the carnal urges that usually instigate pain.

Let's face it-- while we're here in college, we aren't really looking for love. We're looking for someone who will let us rant to them about professors and assignments, someone who will be there when everyone else abandons us; we want a confidant and a partner in crime who will help us manage a hectic college lifestyle. We also want someone who we know will, undeniably and without any effort, put out when we want it.

So what's the big deal? We all fit into those categories somehow, whether we choose to believe it or not, and it's certainly attainable (I realize that I'm taking huge liberties with the royal we, so if you don't actually fit into these categories, bear with me. I'm making a point, I promise).

I'm not saying that I don't want these things, either, by writing about them in a quasi-negative tone. We all experience heartache and some kind of emotional distress about the end of a relationship at some point, so I'm not suggesting that I have some kind of special awareness that other people aren't privy to.

I am, however, suggesting that people may be cleaving to the things that sex governs -- like their loneliness, for instance -- too strongly.

This thing I'm talking about, this collegiate romance, is a very lucrative offer that we as a community of people have unofficially proposed. It's ingrained now in everything that we do. We dress up to go out so that we can attract someone. We don't sit with people in the dining centers if we know it might jeopardize the way someone we are trying to attract might perceive us. We're hurt when we're spurned by someone, but not when physical things -- like excessive drinking -- threaten us all the time.

And this is what we base our central thoughts around. The bigger picture orbits the immediacy of our desires, keeping us locked into modes of success (we're having sex) or failure (we are not having sex).

In the end, what is really accomplished? We still manage to get by (we're all still here, after all!) and we learn something about ourselves throughout our various dalliances, but I think we're losing something. It reminds me of Burke's terministic screens theory: when we make one decision, we're blocking all of the other possible outcomes forever.

What would happen if we chose to do something based on a relationship that has more longevity instead?

Silly battles over territory, wrongful accusations and inconsistency probably wouldn't make the cut. Besides-- conversations are a lot less risky.