JEALOUSY

Love is little more than lust seasoned with jealousy more than lust seasoned with jealousy; everything else is a matter of conscience.      

Eroticism is simple: it is the courage to say yes.

For every hundred crimes committed in the name of Love, only one is committed in the name of Sex. Love is blind—worse, it distorts. It intrudes uninvited, humiliates us with its foolishness, and drags dishonesty behind it like a shadow. Love, on the other hand, often appeals to our lowest instincts and wraps itself in lies. How do you say yes when you truly mean no? Consider the ash tree. When it first appeared, all the other trees envied it—so strikingly beautiful that no one could speak a word against it. But when winter came, and the ash tree shed its leaves, its dark buds were exposed, and the other trees mocked: The ash has lost its fingers. Even perfection becomes a target when stripped bare. And then we ask: Do men have a higher sex drive than women? For generations, men believed they were smarter, stronger, and more in control than women. Yet women now outperform men across universities worldwide. For years, men insisted women should not work—and now women hold 54% of managerial positions globally. And incredibly, men once thought women had a lower sex drive. But women of the past lived under restrictions that shaped their expression, not their capacity. We now know that the female orgasm can be up to ten times more powerful than the male’s, and that women possess a broader range of arousal. Sexuality, for many women, is deeply tied to identity. If girls were raised to view themselves as inherently sexual beings—without shame, without fear—we might be living in an entirely different world. When women pursue men, the process resembles reading a river. Most large fish remain just outside the force of the current, conserving energy and avoiding predators. Their hiding places form a complex hierarchy: the most desirable positions in the stream are determined by subtle ecological patterns, and the strongest fish claim them. In such environments, fish either feed in unison—what biologists call a “feeding frenzy”—or not at all. The moment the frenzy begins, it ends. Fish tend to bite just as light rain begins to fall; the disturbed surface makes them feel safer, concealed from what might threaten them from above. I often divide humanity into two simple categories: those who cut the nails on their left hand first, and those who begin with the right. My theory is that people who start with the left hand tend to be more light-hearted, more inclined toward pleasure. They take on the easy tasks first and leave the difficult ones for later. There are women who do not experience orgasm, and there are names we give to such silences of the body: the little shock, mea vulva, mea maxima vulva. Music has its own analogies—consider the interval between B and F, the so-called “Devil’s Interval,” a harmonic tension that unsettles. Think of Bach: 2 + 1 + 3 + 8 = 14. Three voices interwoven: the bass line, the treble played with the left hand, and the main melody played with the right—the cantus firmus. Together they form a trinity of dissonance and beauty, much like the complexities of human desire. In relationships, I have met three kinds of people: men and women. F is the first voice. A fundamentally good person. Always early, always reassuring, almost telepathic in their sensitivity. F seems instinctively to know what a partner wants or needs—how to touch, how to comfort. F is the bass line: foundational, stable, often undervalued. G is the second voice. The one worth waiting for. A tiger—magnetic, commanding, sexually charged. G determines the tempo, the rhythm, and the intensity. The third voice—the cantus firmus—is the person for whom one feels everything simultaneously. The combination of all emotional registers.