I know an eligible guy who finds it hard to settle down, though, theoretically, he wants to; he screws around at every given possibility, which is often, and, because of his job, he has access to plenty of beauties, so he finds it even harder to settle down. He likes adding notches to his table of conquests, earning the respect of male peers, and the more pussy he gets, the more other pussy tracks him down and finds him irresistible. Now he's concerned about his escalating sexual highs: he worries that having so much sex can screw up with his mind and body, can make him terminally dissatisfied and blasé. He feels he has less respect for the opposite sex, because he can fuck them all and leave them. He points to famous Lotharios who end up alone, incapable of making an attachment and keeping it. He wants to tell someone, 'I want to die in your arms.' His fantasy is to live together with all the women he's ever loved at the Continental Divide.
     Some men, no matter what else they do and how good they are at it, are lovers first. Take the President: that's his charm. If they have power and money, they can get away with being oversexed. Take Michael Douglas: an admitted sex-addict, he's resettling down with a young babe. What is Catherine Zeta Jones getting out of it? She is getting a $3 million ring she can keep no matter what. She's getting leverage in her actressy universe, publicity, cachet. Would she do the same if he were unknown and broke? No.
     Why is he doing it? Men who go through periods when they have lots of action come out on the other side less interested. It's ebb and flow. It's easy to get sated because at several levels sex is repetition; even orgasms can get boring, which is why some people move to S/M or find ways to keep orgasms at bay. The erotic imagination needs a lot of stimulus—what distinguishes us is of what kind.
     The best people on occasion ask me if there's such a thing as too much sex. Because the question smacks of millennia of repression and sexophobia, my first response is always No. Then I think it over:
     Biologically, there's no such thing. Our bodies are geared to reproduce at the highest possible rate. If we didn't have cultural conditioning, we'd all fuck all the time. If your knees hold up and your dick springs up, don't let anyone scare you away from fucking. Sex is terrific for your heart, your lungs, your prostate, your immune system, your psychological outlook; it lowers cholesterol and blood pressure; it's a great antioxidant, stress-reliever, antidepressant, productivity booster. (Research studies recently showed that medical interns who work 20hr shifts perform best if they get off once or twice per shift.)
     Practically, as in anything, you can o.d. If you feel constantly depleted because you orgasm powerfully every day, if you see pussy and don't get as excited as you used to, if you think of sex as something you gotta do after work or after dinner, if you don't say no to a woman only out of male pride and will fuck a herd to prove your prowess, if you start thinking about something else in the middle of sex, then your body tells you that you need a break. You know you're having too much indiscriminate sex if you feel desperate or numb and disembodied afterwards. If you're feeling nothing, you're not in touch with your body.
Mentally, every man is an island.
     So when would you be considered oversexed?
    1.When you always have the same sex. If you got an exquisite blowjob every day for a year, it would stop being exquisite and would be average, then tedious, then a waste of your time. If you came in a different woman's mouth every day for a year, you'd long for the doggie-style. If all your fantasies were to come true, you would get disenchanted. Like all good things (money, fine wine, good food, handmade clothes and cars), sex doesn't get mundane so long as you improve on it (you can always find better wines, more money, softer shoes, bigger boats, faster jets). There's a vast difference between redundant fucking and ratcheting up experience—between too much missionary sex and too much acting out of your deepest fantasies.
     2.When sex replaces intimacy or love. The world is full of people who don't know love and believe they love almost anybody they fuck. Loveless sex is diminishing only if love matters to you, that is if you feel empty or foolish afterward. If your lover is in love with you, it can be as destabilizing as being in unrequited love yourself. If 'too much sex' involves several lovers at the same time, at least two of them will fall in love with you and make you realize the messy consequences of sex itself, even if you can fuck without real emotion. People fall in love because they've objectified someone, which means they've 'idealized' that person as a sexual partner. Lots of sex can only happen if all parties involved can objectify each other without bad consequences. Nevertheless, many women who begin by wanting to be overwhelmed, quickly move to soft-focus wooing and cuddling as fore and aft of intercourse, and complain that 'too much sex' makes them feel 'objectified'. They need an emotional basis for sex—which is basically a shameful attitude toward sex. Everybody should be a sexual object for somebody. But, if having an orgasm is your priority, or if you are not serious in bed, women can misinterpret it and accuse you of performing thoughtless, hollow, sportsman's-type sex. That's how too much sex can burn out a relationship. Lots of sex is great if it's not the only thing that keeps either your relationship or your life intact.
     3.When it involves multiple partners exclusively. If you have a different person every night, it's hard to experiment and stretch your limits, except those of stamina. If you have a lot of partners, you probably do the same things with a lot of people. The average girl won't tell you on the first night that she wants you to come in her ass or she likes to swallow because she can't trust you. By the same token, you won't risk not coming or not making her come—unless you authentically don't care even about your image. The need for chain-fucking means either that you're looking for someone who'll bowl you over (and end your need), or that you're avoiding anything that could be misconstrued as intimacy out of the fear of losing your identity.
     4.When it debilitates the rest of your life. If you skip class or work or dinner because you can't stop humping or whacking off, ask yourself: am I getting release and relaxation here, or am I increasing my depression without resolving it? 'Lots of sex' as an idea is about power; with the right partner it can be play; without her it can be self-destructiveness. If fucking is your raison-d'être, and your source of accomplishment, you better be young. Your body will betray you with age and you'll be left with nothing to live for.
    5.When sex is integrally connected to risk. If you hit on every colleague you dig, fuck the girlfriend of your best pal because she digs you, lie and cheat habitually, make some fundamental changes or you'll hit the wall. You may conclude you're a sick puppy. Hey, none of us are well in the head. Unless you have issues you'd rather not confront and hate intense pleasure, it's possible you're sad inside or want to fill up an emptiness of some kind or doubt yourself and are afraid to lose control. Join the race.
     My point is lots of sex in itself is good for you, but sex, lots or little, is fraught with emotional danger. My other point is you can have a lot of sex and be bored with it—if you lack imagination, or if you don't adore the smell, texture, chemistry of your partner; if you fuck someone you're not compatible with, then your only interest is getting off and getting on with the rest of your day and that's not good enough.
     The more you fuck, the more you'll want to fuck, because sex is an antidote to a lot of everyday bullshit and a cure for private ills. Going on a rampage won't 'get it out of your system'. Here are my suggestions if you think you're overdoing it:
     Trust your body. It knows. It will get physically sick of sex.
     The urge to plant your seed into as many women as possible, to multiply your odds of genetic survival and dominance is normal. But man is also made to protect and provide for his offspring: traditionally, the period of 'sowing your wild oats' ends with fatherhood. Another solution for those of you driving on a no-exit sexual racetrack is to select a like-minded, spunky female and impregnate her in cold blood.
     Though there's nothing wrong per se with fucking to oblivion, there's also nothing wrong, sexually, with exercising self-control. Admit that you're incurably horny, then find ways to contain and heighten your gratification. Set yourself challenges: bed a determined virgin, a la 'Liaisons Dangereuses', or an older woman, or whatever goes against your typical grain; be the 'bottom' and ask for nipple-play or rimming; savor her if you're normally tempestuous and hurry if you're usually languid. Take nothing for granted; sexual tastes change with time and with mates. If you're a serial shagger, try relishing the piquant anxiety of not immediately taking care of each hardon: delayed satisfaction can light in you a tremendous ardor for your lover, and take you back to being fifteen, which is a more complex pleasure. And keep upping the ante, nuancing your screws. What I recommend is the secret to good sex: variety. Take up squashing, spanking, fistfucking. Refine, refine. What most people learn with practice is the value of quality over quantity. For it's small sport for the hunter whose prey perches on the muzzle of his gun.
     I have a friend who after a messy divorce decided to get back in the saddle without entanglements. Every woman he fucked he told in advance that he wanted nothing but play. For two years he slept with half a dozen women whom he juggled like dishes. Then one morning he had anal sex with a woman who had slept over; on his lunch hour he ran into another lover with whom he had burgers and a second anal orgasm; after conducting a seminar in which another of his lovers was present he had a drink with her and, in her car, another bout of anal sex. He got home at ten to find, surprise, a fourth lover waiting on the porch, and had anal sex until midnight when she went home and he lay in bed, his penis sore. The next day he attended a book party where he saw in a corner, standing by themselves, the four women, drinking wine and comparing notes. Even before they saw him he backed out of the room. They followed him as far as his office. He locked the door, but they knocked, then pounded. He reminded them that they had agreed to no attachments and should have no complaints, and if they hadn't yakked about their sex lives, they wouldn't be feeling exploited, used, raped. He told them they all should get naked and have a menage. It was the last time he saw them. Too much sex? Bad luck? The truth is you can't realistically have lots of sex with lots of people without any repercussions. Eventually each of the four women tried to rekindle their affairs with him, having realized, as a result of his egregious behavior, that each loved him and wanted a serious, exclusive relationship with him. But by then he was more mortified than they that he had succumbed to the absurd side of mere-sex. It took months of painful labor to extricate himself from all his women, after which he returned to serial long-term monogamy and never looked back; because, though he mistrusted love, he mistrusted even more the chess game that sex-only had become. Today he has tons of kinky sex, but he frequents one bedroom and one set of orifices. He calls it peace.