ISSUE NO. 31
In a moment of unfiltered honesty, Sex and the City’s Charlotte York, played by Kristin Davis, breaks from her usual decorum to vent sexual frustration. “Damn it, I just want really want to be fucked, you know? Just really fucked!” Her outburst, much to the distaste of the well-mannered W.A.S.P. women around her, cuts through the careful construction of the veneer of modern romance. As Valentine’s Day looms, with its well-worn declarations of love and mass-produced sentimentality, Charlotte’s agitation underscores an irrefutable truth: beneath the rituals of courtship lies an unrelenting desire for carnal indulgence. Love and sex exist beyond the commercialized confines of romance-raw, unmediated, and inherently risky-forcing us to confront the delicate interplay between desire and risk.
Sex and intimacy exist on a spectrum—from the gentle, affectionate, and romantic to the raw, urgent, and rough. Raw love and playing rough embody the latter, a realm where passion is untamed, where desire is expressed with an intensity that borders on primal. What exactly do these terms mean? Rough play in sex is not just about physical dominance or aggression; it is a carefully negotiated dynamic where trust, intensity, and risk intertwine. It encompasses everything from power dynamics in BDSM to the uninhibited physicality of passionate sex, and in some cases, even extends to unprotected sex (barebacking), which brings an additional layer of vulnerability and risk into the equation.
Raw love rejects the scripted romance of traditional relationships. It is about experiencing connection in its most unfiltered form—without pretense, without hesitation. It is the urgency of desire that demands immediate gratification, the kind of sex that leaves bruises and bite marks as testaments to the intensity of the moment. It is, in essence, about fully surrendering to another person, whether that means giving in to physical dominance, emotional exposure, or a complete merging of bodies without barriers.
Playing rough in sex does not equate to violence; rather, it is about controlled intensity, a push-and-pull dynamic where both partners explore their limits. Hair pulling, spanking, biting, firm grips, and verbal dominance—these acts, when consensual, heighten pleasure by introducing elements of restraint and surrender. Rough sex thrives on this interplay of power, where one partner may take control while the other relinquishes it, or where both engage in a mutual struggle for dominance. The eroticism of rough play lies in the fact that it mimics danger while remaining within the bounds of consent. It taps into something deeply instinctual: the craving to be overpowered or to overpower, to push against limits, to experience desire in a way that is unpolished and unrestrained.
Yet, this kind of play requires an immense level of trust. Despite its chaotic energy, rough play is rooted in boundaries and communication. Safewords, non-verbal cues, and aftercare are integral to ensuring that pleasure does not cross into discomfort or harm. It is this paradox—intensity within structure, recklessness within trust—that makes rough play so intoxicating. The appeal lies not just in the physical sensation but in the psychological charge: the thrill of letting go, of being taken, or of asserting control in a way that defies the norms of everyday life.
For some, playing rough extends beyond physical intensity to include barebacking, or sex without condoms. This practice introduces a layer of risk that, for some, heightens desire. The act of engaging in unprotected sex carries historical, psychological, and even cultural significance—once considered reckless, it has, with the advent of PrEP and other medical advancements, been reframed as a deliberate choice rather than an act of defiance. However, the appeal of bareback sex is not solely about sensation; it is about trust, intimacy, and the intoxicating thrill of the forbidden.
The psychology behind it is complex. Engaging in sex without barriers can be seen as the ultimate act of surrender—an agreement to fully expose oneself, to embrace vulnerability at the most intimate level. For some, it is an assertion of agency, a refusal to let fear dictate pleasure. Others see it as a means of deepening connection, creating a bond that feels uniquely raw and unmediated. In some queer subcultures, barebacking has even been reclaimed as an act of defiant intimacy, rejecting the narratives of fear that dominated the HIV/AIDS crisis of the late 20th century.
For centuries, societies have devised ways to access unrestrained intimacy in all its Dionysian excess, if not primarily for men. In ancient Rome, prostitution was not only legalized but heavily regulated, with sex workers required to register with the state and pay taxes-an early form of state-controlled sex work, reflecting Rome’s pragmatism in the face of public and private desires. The infamous Lupanar brothels of Pompeii served as a stark example of this, with explicit frescoes adorning their walls as a form of sexual commerce that was open yet covert. Later, in the puritanical shadows of the Middle Ages, such practices were driven underground.
The demand for intimacy never waned. In the 17th century, European capitals like Amsterdam and Antwerp had bustling red-light districts, where brothels and street-based sex work thrived despite moral and religious pressures. During the Industrial Revolution, the rise of urbanization in cities like London, Paris, and Berlin gave way to even larger, more organized networks of prostitution, often supported by the economic disparities of the time. STI rates surged, not only among the working class but also among the aristocracy, revealing that repression does little to temper desire. The notion of pleasure was commodified and compartmentalized, yet it remained insatiable.
In tandem, sexual protection evolved through necessity. Roman men, ever pragmatic, used condoms made from linen or the intestines of animals, sometimes soaked in vinegar, to prevent disease or unwanted pregnancies. The use of condoms was a contested reality for governments in the 20th century as tools that returned sex to its carnal origins rather than a means of procreation. This was especially true in the wake of the First World War, where sexually transmitted infections (STIs) spurred a push for safer sexual practices, yet countries like Ireland kept their rigid anti-condom policies well into the 1980s, influenced by a deeply Catholic culture.
Today, in an era where platforms like OnlyFans, unregulated porn sites, and algorithm-driven pornography cater to every conceivable whim, it is almost unfathomable to some to consider the lengths to which people once went to satisfy their most intimate cravings. However, the pursuit of pleasure remains unchanged-insatiable and ungovernable, echoing back to the labyrinthine paths of pleasure found in the lupanare of Rome or the bawdy bordels of the French Enlightenment.
As social movements gained momentum, so too did sexual liberation. The 1960s and 1970s in the United States saw the decriminalization of homosexuality in states like Illinois (1962), followed by the rise of the LGBTQ+ rights movement. This shift marked a turning point, granting queer communities the freedom to explore their desires without fear of legal persecution. In New York City, photographers like Robert Mapplethorpe documented the spirit of sexual liberation in the burgeoning gay subcultures, capturing candid and intimate portraits of BDSM fetishists, but also the growing visibility of drag culture and the sexual freedoms of the time. The Stonewall Riots of 1969 in Greenwich Village became a catalyst for queer activism, forever altering the conversation around sex and sexual freedom.
By the late 1970s, the HIV/AIDS epidemic unleashed devastation and loss, forever shaping the framing of raw, unprotected sex for decades to come. The epidemic hit hardest in cities like New York, San Francisco, and Los Angeles, disproportionately affecting gay men and communities of colour, and a widespread panic ensued. Governments were slow to respond, and a dark shadow was cast over queer desire and the broader sexual revolution. Yet paradoxically, the HIV/AIDS crisis heightened the urgency for safer sex practices, and campaigns promoting condom use emerged, while the early warnings about unprotected sex felt increasingly urgent.
The fear of disease heightened cultural anxieties about promiscuity but, paradoxically, it further fueled the pursuit of hedonism. The 1990s ushered in an era of contradictions-while mainstream media clung to cautionary tales about HIV and AIDS, the underground scenes of Berlin, New York, and London became epicenters of sexual exploration and rebellion. Raves in Berlin’s now-famous Berghain nightclub, leather bars in the East Village of New York, and anonymous encounters in the labyrinthine streets of London’s Soho became acts of defiance in a world hell-bent on policing pleasure.
Moving into the 21st century, sex has never been more accessible, more digitized, and more sanitized. The rise of dating apps like Tinder, Grindr, and Bumble has deadened seduction to an algorithm, stripping away the thrill of chasing the illicit in favor of instant gratification. OnlyFans has monetized desire in ways that even the most seasoned courtesans of history could scarcely have imagined. Pornography, once taboo, is omnipresent-its aesthetics permeate everything from music videos (such as those by artists like Madonna and Rihanna) to fashion (with designers like Jean Paul Gaultier and brands like Versace embracing overtly sexualized imagery). Yet for all the ease with which our bodies can be accessed and consumed, something elusive remains-the thrill of the chase, the danger of the forbidden.
Unprotected sex, while still a practice that demands responsibility, has evolved from a symbol of rebellious defiance to one tied to self-determination. The advent of PrEP (Pre-Exposure Prophylaxis) has revolutionized the conversation around sexual health, particularly within LGBTQ+ communities. PrEP is a daily medication that significantly reduces the risk of contracting HIV, fundamentally shifting the stakes of unprotected sex. With three million users around the world, it has redefined what it means to engage in sex without barriers-not as an act of recklessness, but as a conscious choice made with medical advancements on their side. Unlike the condom campaigns of the AIDS crisis, which framed protection as a necessity of survival, PrEP has reframed the discourse around risk, pleasure, and agency. It has allowed individuals to reclaim sex as a space of liberation rather than fear, enabling desire to be experienced in its purest, rawest form.
The transactional nature of digital encounters and hookups has, for many, dulled the once-electrifying charge of human connection. What was once sacred, illicit, or thrilling now feels routine, mechanical, even commodified. Despite all this, the craving for raw, uninhibited sex endures. It exists beyond cultural taboos and beyond history. It is the same impulse that drove men and women into candlelit bordellos in Paris, or the pulsating underground clubs of New York, or yes, even that sends Charlotte into a moment of pure hysteria in Sex and the City. It’s changed and evolved but it has never really gone away. It seeps into all kinds of cultural moments-from Luca Guadagnino’s Queer (2024) to pop culture acts like Cobrah, whose music champions pleasure and liberation above all else.
Perhaps this is why, despite decades of seeming progress, the discussion around unprotected sex remains so charged. It isn’t just about the risk of carelessness but about trust, intimacy, and the intoxicating allure of what is forbidden. It’s about surrendering to something primal that cannot be replicated through a screen. It’s about having a rare moment to feel everything-pleasure, danger, the exquisite and the all-consuming. In this sense, raw love and rough-play embodies the tension between instinct and risk, between vulnerability and dominance.
Rough play introduces a layer of recklessness, a flirtation with danger, the push-and-pull of pleasure and pain, submission and control. It is this duality-the friction between indulgence and consequence-that has always defined human intimacy. While an undeniably unusual place to begin an essay about the carnal urges of raw sex, Charlotte’s outburst in that scene is more than just a moment of comedic relief in an otherwise seldomly transgressive series. It’s a confession that echoes throughout human history-a desire for unfiltered intimacy. No pretense, no romance, no artifice-just the raw, undeniable truth of human desire.
ISSUE NO. 31
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