In coitus we delight,
Post coitum we take flight.
After sex I am always comfortable…
it’s sinister you are almost always
expected to be
FRIGID
or
EMBARASSED
or
ASHAMED
i am not.
The poem was inspired by something I once read somewhere. One tart asked another one why men paid them for sex. She said something like “honey, they aren’t paying for the sex, they’re paying for you to go away afterwards.” (In other words, rather than “paying” with love, commitment, etc, they do so with cash.) The poem also taps into the classical male fantasy of frequent casual (and “meaningless”) sexual encounters.
I think most (all?) of the guilt that many people feel afterwards is merely a direct or indirect consequence of misguided judeo-christian morality.