Of course this kind of research appeals to me. Like everyone I just want scientific evidence to support the little known fact that I am not abnormal, I am just like everybody else. Societal values, this book suggests, stop women from following their true natures. I am denying my true nature.
Sometimes, often, when I am enveloped by sadness, I know it is because I have abandoned the fulfilment of lust for the fulfilment of love.
I send out random feelers of lust to every passing warm body, heat seeking, sniffing out the possibility of sex.
I know I am happy, but in the same way that I acknowledge humour - 'that's funny', I say, without so much as smiling whilst those around me are laughing and clinging to their guts.
I am happy. I know I am happy but the happiness of the love I want is a taught membrane over the cavernous gulf of voracious, indiscriminate lust. I finish, uncouple, and feel that warm contentment that comes with orgasm, but it is never long before that gulf opens wide and I am peering down into my disappointment. "I am so happy." I say, but my face makes a lie of it.
I am. I am happy. I have the best in the world, but there are always more. And this book underlines a certain longing.