I've heard this come from several Chads and normies who claim to have been laid lots of times, and it is fucking bullshit. I've never done it, but Imagine having a sexy naked female body right next to yours and getting to feel her warm silky skin. Getting to kiss her and sensing the aroma of her pleasant female scent. You get to truly connect with each other during the act while looking each other in the eyes and moaning from the pleasure. Having real sex is the most heavenly experience that most of us will never get to have. I've had a foid hold my hand and sit on my lap for a second, and that was by far the best feeling I have ever felt. Now hiring a prostitute isn't the same because it's you paying for a service from a gross stranger rather than both partners getting to connect on another level.
It goes without saying that the phrase: "sex is overrated" is particularly offensive in the ears of any man for whom sexual affection is an impossibility. One can't help but imagine some grotesquely obese glutton who no longer finds pleasure in food after spending a lifetime shoving it down his gullet turning to some emaciated ghoul, its body and mind wracked by the pain of deprivation, and sullenly complaining sustenance doesn't make him smile anymore. That though his belly is fully there's nothing that can fill the void in his soul. We're supposed to sympathize with him, look at his gut after taking stock of the ribs pushing against our paper-thin flesh, and weep for him.
Strangely enough, I find myself doing so every-so-often. Sex was never meant to be cheap, even for those healthy and attractive people it was reserved for. There had always been a price to pay that kept it precious. Sex meant children and all of the responsibilities and sacrifices necessitated by them and so indulging in it required something of a risk. One could try to circumvent all of that by engaging in adultery but, traditionally, having one's infidelity discovered had very severe consequences. Gentler societies would shame the guilty parties, harsher ones would expatiate that shame by spilling their blood. Continence conferred magical power and there was the belief one could trade sexual pleasure for divinity. Even the ancient Hebrews, who eschewed such oriental sentiments, offered up the example of poor King Solomon. Sure, he had his legions of wives and concubines. But in order to secure them, the king sacrificed to foreign gods and, in the process, turned away from Yahweh. For all intents and purposes, Solomon traded the temple for the palace harem; all of his sexual pleasure came at the price of his soul.
But we no longer believe in the soul; we've exorcised it along with all of the other angels and devils that used to haunt our world. Contraception has largely eliminated the threat of unwanted children. Adultery, once regarded as a terrible crime, has been reduced to fodder for romantic comedies, tabloid gossip, and the testimonies of the devastated men who have decided to go their own way. Sex has lost its mystery for the vast majority; the only stewards of its dignity remaining are the incels who are forbidden to step into its presence. Bizarre irony that the only ones who still acknowledge the god's power are the demons said deity so fiercely despises but, well, here we are. The geometry of Heaven is now nothing more than a shadow cast by Hellfire; the Devil is the only one left who still trembles at the name of God.
The lovable still have some primal intuition that their beauty has some greater meaning. It should make them happy. Yet, much to their despair, it doesn't. They fuck as voraciously as the glutton eats and find themselves feeling just as hollow. So they try to sweeten their cuisine with kinks and fetishes, they adopt all varieties of perversions trying to make sex something special yet again. The men fuck woman after woman, the women man after man. Variety is the spice of life, after all. Sadly, when all is said and done, the result is the same nausea suffered by the fat man who tries to recapture his love of eating by consuming nothing but candies.
So they come to us, concealing themselves with all of the anonymity the internet affords. God has forsaken Saul, so the desperate king disguises his face and seeks out the Witch of Endor for a miracle, even a diabolic one, in order to convince himself there's something like magic left in an otherwise grey and barren world. They condemn us, insult us, demonize us but are strangely incapable of ignoring us. They consume articles dedicated to us, watch videos decrying us. How could they not? We alone have made the topic of sex meaningful, and thus exciting, once again.
So yes, I pity the fuckers who claim sex is of no great consequence. How could I not feel just a little bit of sadness for the men and women who are so desperate for God that they're willing to spend day and night reading scriptures penned by the Devil?
