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Don’t Be Utilitarian About Pleasure
Pleasure is a worthy end in itself.
Yesterday, when I was at the doctor, the guy realized that I might have a (mild) heart irregularity since, uh, maybe always. While we discussed how my symptoms present with various types of physical activity, I considered how climax causes the heart rate to spike. So I decided to ask him about sex and, specifically, self-pleasure. Because let’s just say that I can get very enthusiastic about devoting hours to both activities — and it’s not uncommon for me to spike my heart rate dozens of times in a single session… to the point that I feel drop-down dizzy and/or my vision goes temporarily black once I finally return from Cloud 9.
[Which, let’s be real: small price to pay. But now that I’ve had occasion to think of myself as “Person Who Maybe Has a Heart Thing,” I just wanted some reassurance that I can’t eff myself to death. (I’m not gunning for a Darwin Award here.)]
The good doctor confirmed that I was indeed not endangering myself by chasing dozens of orgasms per session, regardless of whether I do have A Potential Heart Thing. Totally safe. Praise God!
“Maybe you just wanna take a fiver at some point and make sure you hydrate,” he offered helpfully.
Noted.
