The Orgasm Button: Is technology making sex as we know it obsolete?

What if it were possible to give yourself an orgasm simply by pushing a button?

It would mean having special simulators implanted in your hypothalamus, but this could be done in seconds without surgery, involving only a relatively painless injection. This orgasm button could be something you carry with you at all times, perhaps available as a standard feature on a futuristic smart phone. You could download an orgasm app and use it whenever and wherever it happened to be convenient for you.

It doesn’t seem all that unrealistic, does it? If such technology existed, most of us would be very enthusiastic adopters of it.

However, if it were possible to give yourself an orgasm by simply pushing a button, would you be willing to give up sex? Most of us would say not a chance. Brain-induced orgasms couldn’t possibly be an adequate replacement for sexual intercourse. But what if, just for the sake of argument, you had to?

Recall that scene in the 1994 science fiction comedy film, Demolition Man, in which Sandra Bullock asks Sylvester Stallone if he’d like to have sex. He answers in the slightly surprised but definitely enthusiastic affirmative, as yet unaware that he has woken up in a time when a series of increasingly devastating sexually transmitted diseases have caused traditional sex to be banned by the government. Therefore, having sex in this version of the future involves using a kind of orgasm brain-stimulation helmet.

After Stallone insists that they nevertheless do it the old-fashioned way, Bullock’s character reacts with horror and goes on to explain that “fluid exchange” and similar behaviors almost ended civilization. This lead to the outlawing of everything determined to be unhealthy for the individual or society, including smoking, drinking, eating meat, even using profanity. Though draconian, such measures were deemed necessary in order to prevent mankind from destroying itself.

In this fictional scenario the prohibition of traditional sex leads to the development of technology designed to enable people to get around the problem of not being allowed to touch one another. Yet, this is certainly not a new idea. The 1973 Woody Allen film, Sleeper, features a similar orgasm-inducing device called the “Orgasmatron.” How it works is not explained in the film but it’s essentially an orgasm booth; one simply steps inside it and comes within seconds.

It has replaced sex entirely in a future where, as Diane Keaton’s character explains, “everyone is frigid.” One can see hypothetically how the Orgamsatron device could have been developed in order to solve the pervasive frigidity problem. Then again, maybe it actually caused it. Perhaps people had been using the device for so long they lost their ability to have sex the old fashioned way. Or maybe they forgot how.

After all, high tech manufacturers of today know that we’re basically goldfish when it comes to new technology, and they frequently dangle shiny objects in front us, which we are told we absolutely must have or else our friends will think of us as uncool. With this in mind, if such a device existed today it’s easy to see it becoming as standard a piece of household equipment as a vacuum cleaner.

Furthermore, if it worked as efficiently as portrayed in the film, then one can see it entirely replacing sex. If one’s Orgasmatron happened to break down it would be as just as aggravating as losing one’s internet connection. Whether the over-use of such a device would cause us to lose our natural ability to have sex is another question entirely, but it seems unlikely. Maybe we just wouldn’t want to anymore, since using the device would be much more efficient and convenient than doing it the old-fashioned way.

The idea of a sex-free future may seem far-fetched, but it’s entirely plausible. Woody Allen certainly thinks so, and he isn’t the only one. Despite its deliberately tongue-in-cheek portrayal of the future, Allen wanted the film to be as scientifically accurate as possible, while still maintaining its comedic tone. In fact, while he was working on the screenplay for Sleeper, he consulted with science fiction icon and futurist Isaac Asimov, as well with the leading science fiction writer Ben Bova, and confirmed the “scientific feasibility” of his futuristic predictions

But how far away are we, really, from this sex-free future? From our perspective, light years away. A biological crisis necessitating the development of bodily fluid free sex-replacement technology has not yet occurred. Thankfully, sex is safe (provided one uses protection) and science-fiction is not the same thing as science. Moreover, if one takes a quick look at some of the devices currently available, then it’s abundantly clear that we won’t be abandoning sex any time soon. In fact, we’re still pretty excited about it. This is demonstrated by the myriad of devices and toys on the market that were obviously never meant to replace sex. Rather, they substitute for it and enhance it, as such devices have always done.

One invention that has gotten a lot of attention over the past year is the Japanese “French Kissing” machine. It was developed for couples in long distance relationships who wish to do something a little more intimate than just chat online, but a little more innocent than engaging in cybersex. The concept seems so sweet and almost quaint, until one learns how it actually works. Suffice it to say, it doesn’t really imitate kissing. Using it involves fellating a little plastic straw like thing, while the movements of one’s tongue are recorded by a computer. Later on, one’s long distance partner puts their own straw, hopefully inside their mouth, and plays back in reverse their partner’s previously recorded tongue swirlings.

As can be expected, the reception for this kiss transmission machine has been mostly chilly. People are finding it anything but sexy, and many of the articles written about it have been derisive and dismissive. Yet, the “bi-lateral control” technology used in this device is simply amazing. There are so many applications, both sexual and not, for a machine that records movement in real time. Doctors could record surgeries, for example.

However, the kissing machine inventors have something far more superficial in mind. They’re thinking that pop stars could record their “kisses” and such recordings could be downloaded onto people’s home devices for a small charge. Just imagine being able to buy a kiss from somebody famous. Then again, one could never be absolutely certain that the downloaded kiss actually came from Justin Bieber or Katy Perry. And of course there’s the inevitable problem of illegal kiss downloading.

However, this still leaves the question of the orgasm button. There actually is one, or at least there was about sixty years ago. In 1953 Dr. John C. Lilly , who was then working for the National Institute for Mental Health, did an experiment in which he implanted electrodes into the orgasm centers of the brains of monkeys. He then gave the monkey a button to stimulate itself every three minutes. When the monkey wasn’t sleeping, guess what it was doing all day?

Of course, we’d like to think that our brains are slightly more sophisticated than those of our lower primate cousins, but, come on. Our lives are definitely more complicated. We’ve got jobs and yoga classes and deadlines.

But if we didn’t have other stuff to do, you just know we’d be pushing that button all day long.

Why you can never put your feelings into words…

Words are not feelings.
They smolder and burn,
Like little cinders.
Too hot to be kept inside.
They crave the coldness of the world.
So full of things to discuss,
Describe and analyze.

And words cannot talk about feelings
Without burning them alive.

Feelings are not words.
They’re very delicate,
And must be kept warm.
Simmering gently like mulled wine.
They’d rather stay inside where it’s safe.
Afraid they might die,
Of exposure if they come out.

And feelings cannot feel words,
Without smothering them.

That’s why you can never,
Put your feelings into words,
Or your words into feelings.
They’ll destroy one another.

You’re breathing my air

Of course I know it’s only natural to encounter drunk people in bars. The whole point of being there is to eventually become one of them. However, last night was the first time since moving to Sweden that I was met with any real hostility because of my nationality. Or maybe it was because I’m an immigrant. The agitator was very drunk so it was difficult to tell exactly what his problem was. I was sitting with an English friend and we were chatting away, in English naturally, which tends to attract attention from bar patrons curious about those two good looking English-speaking women sitting at the bar. My friend and I weren’t there to get drunk, though, just to catch up and visit. A bar might seem an odd place to do this particularly due to the fact that my friend is three months pregnant. Still, this place is her local, where she used to go all the time before she got pregnant, and she knows everyone there. Plus she was drinking non-alcoholic beer.

While I was visiting the ladies room, an inebriated man had managed to maneuver himself into a piece of bar real estate right next to my friend. I took my seat and saw that he stood slobbering over her not noticing or caring that she had her face turned away from him. She seemed to physically shrink from him every time he opened his mouth as if she were afraid of getting drunk off of his breath. Apparently, when I was away he had ascertained that she was English. When I took my seat he asked if I was also English, to which I replied that I was actually American. What followed was a slurring diatribe against America and Americans and George W. Bush and American foreign policy. Now my friend is not very confrontational, and her usual way of dealing with unpleasant people is to wait for them to go away, which usually works just fine. But this guy wasn’t going away. He kept moving closer and closer to her until he was practically slobbering into her hair. I’m not really that confrontational either, but this had gone far enough. “Okay, you need to move away from my pregnant friend. Right now. You’re too close and you’re breathing on her. So piss off.”

“Yeah, well, you’re breathing my air.”

At that point, I knew what I was dealing with, which was probably a member of Sweden’s most racist and xenophobic political party: the Sweden Democrats. Basically they believe that immigrants are at fault for all the problems in this country, and that those problems would simply disappear if we all just went away. Even those of us who have been living here for years and have paid tons of money in taxes to the Swedish government. “Sweden for Swedes” is their party motto. Having said all that, I should probably point out that my friend and I don’t really fit the description of the type of immigrant the Sweden Democrats don’t like. We’re white, you see. And we’re not Muslim. I’ve been in the same room with people having a conversation about how the “fucking immigrants” are ruining this country. When I politely point out that I am, in fact, one of those fucking immigrants, they quickly reassure me that of course they didn’t mean me. They meant the “brown” immigrants, naturally. Oh I see. You don’t really have a problem with immigrants, do you? You’re just a racist asshole.

Eventually we did manage to get Mr. Racist Belligerent Drunk Man to leave us alone. Maybe he wasn’t a member of the Sweden Democrats after all. He didn’t seem to be giving my friend a hard time for being English, so I’m pretty sure he just hated America and Americans, which is fine. I can’t do anything about that. Haters gonna hate.

Recurring

It happened again last night,
or rather early this morning.

You never ask yourself rational
questions while you’re dreaming.
Everything makes sense
and is acceptable.

The sewing pins on my desk
must have triggered it.
Innocently they lay there
in a little pick-up sticks pile.

Tiny metal bodies with their
cheerfully colored plastic heads.
Imprinted on my subconscious
mind somehow.

At 3:00am, I become aware
that there is a pin in my mouth.
Now, a rational person would have
removed it immediately.

Instead I lay there half asleep
doing nothing about this small hazard.
I must be careful not to swallow it.
This thought seems to force the inevitable.

Oh god, I think, panicking, there’s a
pin inside me.

I picture holes being torn. Painfully.
A sewing implement protruding from me,
appearing on x-rays to the consternation
of hospital staff.

Bolt upright and wide awake, I stumble
to the bathroom to try and choke it up,
not yet realizing that I’ve been dreaming,
and that it’s happened countless times.

Always a different object, though:
an earring, necklace, small stone, a contact lens.
Eventually the nightmare leaves my head.
It sits in the corner laughing at me.

I got you again, it mocks.
And you know I’ll be back. I will.

Apocalypse Roulette

There are websites with handy
Safety tips.

For surviving the coming
Apocalypse.

That moment we all dread
And fear.

It’s fast approaching,
Nearly here.

But no one seems to know
Just how.

Just that it’ll happen
Any day now.

Perhaps the Apocalypse
Will come,

From Space, the Solar
Maximum
.

The end of all our hopes
And cares,

Will be the solar winds
And flares.

It’s anyone’s guess what fate,
Awaits us.

Maybe someone just really,
Hates us.

Therefore, should we bother
Asking why?

Either way we’ll freeze
Or fry.

No one can stop it, not you,
Nor me.

So I say, fuck it. Let’s have
An orgy.

Residue

He is a total artist.
Pure non-conformist.
His creative genius,
Burning like fire.
But he is mired.
Stuck in darkness.
For it is fueled,
By a sludge,
This fire.
Made of the remains,
Of every grudge.
From the oily residue,
Of every pain,
Both old and new,
Burns the flame.
It will never go out,
Because the pain,
Will never run out.