Not thinking about sex

I never forget about sex for one moment.

We read philosophy and cook muscles and talk about the smell of oil paints and I am thinking about sex. We send words through the ether and I think about leaving a voice message, but I don't and I am thinking about sex. I bush past you in a small space and you are dressed the way I like it and I am thinking about sex. You call me for beer-o'clock and you have the smudgy eyes of someone who has been at work and you could be spread beneath me and my hand wet and warm and I should be nodding and responding but instead I am thinking about sex.

I have become attached and it can only lead to disappointment and I think about armour and emotional distance and steeling myself for the fall, but really I am thinking about sex. I am having sex and I am thinking about sex. I am rolling onto my back and hoping that you will not stop for the thudding of the bedhead against the wall and I am thinking about sex. Even after when your breathing has fallen heavy into your lungs I am thinking about the interminable wait for the next time and the next time and the time after that, when we will have sex.

Is there ever a time when I am not thinking about sex? I imagine that there must have been one time, but I am at a loss to tell you when.