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James H. Jackson, Jr.

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The Secret Power of Sex and Love
by James H. Jackson, Jr.   

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Books by James H. Jackson, Jr.
· Quest for the Soul
· The Mystical Bible: Bible Mysteries Unveiled
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Category: 

Psychology

Publisher:  CreateSpace ISBN-10:  1440466394 Type: 
Pages: 

630

Copyright:  Nov 14, 2008 ISBN-13:  9781440466397
Fiction

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Who can deny the power of sex? Sex is a spiritual phenomenon that has power. This book describes the true value, importance, versatility and power of sex including and beyond mere procreation and pleasure. In the past, you may have read about The Joy of Sex, now read about its power!

Excerpt
CHAPTER 1

THE MATING MAXIMS

“I grew up, summers, as a hotel brat. My mother owned a resort, a white stucco vacation palace in the Catskill Mountains. It was there I learned that sex was recreation. Only much later in life did I realize that sex might involve complicated feelings.

Sex was what everyone did in the afternoon when they went to ‘rest.’ They did it late at night too...Everyone did it with everyone else. Married women did it with busboys and waiters while their husbands were working in the city. Everyone knew. Day camp counselors did it with one another...The musicians did it with the most attractive women guests, and the master of ceremonies was king of the harem. After him came the lifeguard. Everyone knew that, too.”


Night Thoughts. Reflections of a Sex Therapist, p. 175, by Avodah K. Offit. (emphasis added)





“There is no question about monogamy being natural. It isn't.”


Deflating the Myth of Monogomy, by David P. Barash




INTRODUCTION


I grew up as normal kid, more or less, straddled between the city and the country. Kids in the city called me a country boy, kids in the country called me a city boy, but I got along well with both and in both environments. I excelled at being mediocre, with momentary flashes of brilliance in just about anything, including mediocrity. (Now, as an adult, I could wish for those “momentary flashes of mediocrity”, but it seams as though a persistent, terminal case of it may have finally set in.) I did all the things boys do—played marbles, looked for praying mantises, practiced judo with the neighborhood ‘gang’, which in those days was more like “Spanky and Our Gang” from the 1930s or so television program with Spanky, Alfalfa, Darla, Buckwheat and Porky than the warring gangs of the 1980s and ‘90s. Like Spanky’s gang, we even had a mascot dog, a German Sheppard named “Chico”. Chico was a neighborhood dog (but not a street dog) who hung out with us. Perhaps three or four of us, yours truly not included, knew Chico’s owner. We had a call for Chico that went, “Here Chico” which was yelled out and went something like, ‘Heeeere Chiiiii Cohhhh!” If Chico was around, he would respond to that call and come running. I played with chemistry sets, played football, baseball and later basketball, caught tadpoles, you know, the whole ball of wax. And I was average or below in just about everything except for those momentary flashes of brilliance. For example, I was so bad at marbles that I used to buy one or two (or more) bags of new marbles every day because I would lose them all. But I practiced and continued to practice (much to the dismay of my parents since we lived on the third floor of an apartment building and I practiced on the bed with the marbles all too often falling onto the wood floor) until, by sometime in the third grade, I eventually became the best marble shooter in the elementary school, a reputation hard-earned, although short-lived, by beating two of the best in the school as and after we had eliminated everyone else who played in a two hour marathon from 3-5:00 P.M. after school. I beat them so badly that I won all their marbles—marbles they themselves had won from others earlier in the day and during our 2-hour marathon. In order to continue playing, I had to lend them some of what were now my marbles because they didn’t have any.

And like all little boys, I didn’t like girls. Well, at least that was the standard propaganda among the boys. As I look back, it was actually fear rather than dislike for girls that motivated me to say that then. For, in reality, I don’t think I’ve ever had a single day, perhaps not a single second when I didn’t like girls. I can’t remember any. It was embarrassment and fear—fear of being found out, fear of the unknown (girls), and fear of rejection, as well as some insecurity—that motivated me to tell that lie.

Even as a child in nursery school I can remember some embarrassing situations involving girls. I won’t share them with you because...well, because they’re embarrassing (still!) In the first grade, I can remember the pleasure I got from looking at a girl whose dress got caught on the back of her chair, revealing her panties as she sat down. She realized it though, and corrected the faux-pas in a few seconds, but to me at the time they were a pleasurable few seconds that lasted all too briefly. Like all the other boys, this voyeuristic pleasure continued and developed until by junior high and high school we (all the boys) began to look up the girls’ dresses when they were going up the stairs, or drop a pencil so we could look up their dress while picking it up. We did this with the teachers as well, one of whom was the now famous singer Roberta Flack, the only name I’ll mention in the book since she’s not guilty of anything other than the momentary lapses of attention to the manner in which she sat, something that happens to every woman at one time or another. Miss Flack, as we called her, was popular among the boys for wearing skirts, sitting on the piano stool and occasionally forgetting that she was wearing a skirt, but it was only occasionally, all too rare for the boys, most of whom seemed to agree that she had a nice body. All the boys loved it (both the body and the occasional sitting faux-pas). In fact, I can quite frankly admit, without the slightest embarrassment, that I still enjoy the vicarious thrill of looking up a woman’s dress if the opportunity arises. I even do it with my wife, and obviously, she has absolutely nothing I haven’t seen many times over! This pleasure, which I’m certain most other men share, though few would be so blatant as to as admit in public, is consistent with a quote from Edwin Tietjens in chapter 10 of this book in which he states, “It is not nudity (but...t)he half-concealed, the mysterious...(that)...stimulates the imagination in such a way as to make the onlooker involuntarily think of all that can most stimulate him.”

I also remember that there were many girls on whom I secretly had a crush, some of whom I knew secretly (or not so secretly) also had a crush on me. If we had mutual interests, why didn’t we act on them? Human nature? I’m sure there are still times like that today, even though we are adults, and of course, not just occasions among my friends and me, but with virtually all adults. Today I realize that the woman usually gives the man the initial rights of action. If he doesn’t seize them, then nothing usually happens between them and she moves on to the next interesting and interested man who acts. As a child I didn’t know this, but as an adult I now realize that even in children—little boys and girls—the principle unfolds to express itself in exactly the same form and manner as in adults.

My very first sexual encounter of any kind was in the neighborhood library when I was in the first grade. Nothing happened, but it wasn’t because she didn’t try. I was sitting in the library with books about mythology and Aesop’s Fables (both of which I still love to read) and she was a girl I didn’t know who had come and sat across from me. After a while she started whispering some things to me I didn’t quite understand. Oh, I heard them just fine. I just didn’t understand what they meant. She said something about ‘A hole in the middle of her tights and no panties underneath. Did I want to see?’ Now, I couldn’t or didn’t understand why I’d want to see ‘a hole in her tights.’ I’d seen holes in my socks and that didn’t interest me at all. Yet, somewhere in the back of my six or seven year old mind, there was some real interest! As I got to know this girl better while growing up, I realized that she invited all the boys to see the hole in her tights, and she was also six or seven when I met her. I know of at least two other guys to whom she did exactly the same thing in that same library during the first grade. We talked about it sometime between the fourth and eighth grades. When she first approached them, they didn’t know what she was talking about either. As strange as it may be, particularly with the way in which boys (and men) boast about sexual conquests they haven’t actually made, I know of many men to whom she made offers, and although I’m certain somebody (a whole lot of somebodies because she was always a very fine looking girl with a great body) must have taken her up on her many offers, in truth, I don’t know of one single guy who has ever actually admitted to sleeping with her!!

Now, even at six or seven, there were some girls to whom I would have answered ‘yes’ immediately, and actually, even though she was a perfect stranger at the time, she was one of them. I always thought she was a fine lady, even from that day to now (and although I haven’t seen her since sometime between the ninth and twelfth grades, I understand that she still looks fine), so why didn’t I eventually accept her never ending offers and open invitations to me (and to everyone else)? Well, I’m sure a lot of guys did, and I probably would have too if I could have ever had a convenient time to do so, but that first time I was so young and inexperienced that although somewhere in the back of my mind I sensed what she was saying and I wanted to comply, I didn’t know enough to believe she was really asking me to do what I thought (but wasn’t sure) she was asking. As for my not knowing what to do, well I’m certain she knew exactly what to do.

One day about eight and a half years later, or there about, while I was walking another girl home from school, let’s call her BX, trying to make some time with her as we walked, this first grade library enticer, let’s call her CX, joined us. It was the last day of school, the day or so before our graduation from junior high school. Now, more than eight years later, CX was still trying to give me the...well, you know. And of course, the time still wasn’t right, not while I was trying to interest another girl into giving me the exact same thing. BX was a beautiful lady who had always interested me and had once expressed a mutual interest. Now, when I thought there might really be a chance between BX and me, CX interjects the question into our conversation, “Guess what color panties I’m wearing. Do you want to see?” I was embarrassed, interested, and of course, concerned that if I took her up on her offer (and I was very, very tempted), I might never make any time with BX. I ended up with neither of them nor anyone else that day, and with neither of them ever because I didn’t take the bird in the hand instead of trying for the one in the bush. After walking BX home I spent the remainder of the day alone. CX was already gone.

A couple of years ago I asked another elementary school friend about CX and he said, “Oh yeah, I saw her about 6 months ago. You know, she’s still asking me if I want to see her panties.” She had, in fact, taken them off while he was giving her a ride in his car! And as for BX, well, she was a nice girl, with good family upbringing, sweet and reserved. Within the next three years, before we even graduated from high school, she was also a mother!

Perhaps CX was a bit extreme, but even from elementary school, in the first and second grade, on up to now, I can remember events like that one. They weren’t isolated incidents, and the girl rather than the boy often instigated them. During the first grade, one of my friends started going with a beautiful little girl. Within a month or so after they started going together, they were sneaking under the ‘white houses’ (everyone in the neighborhood knew what that meant, though I’m sure you don’t. They were just low-income housing) to...well exactly what were they doing? I know now, and I knew then, but it was hard for me to fathom because I was only in the second grade, and so were they! But they were caught at least once.

So, what is this thing that is so pervasive that even in the first and second grades nice kids get hooked? In the fourth grade there was a sixth grade boy who should have been in the eighth grade, and he was screwing a beautiful fifth grade girl to death. Everyone knew it, even the teachers. They even got caught a couple of times, but nobody could do much about it, and she obviously didn’t want to. She searched him out at every opportunity. They were seldom apart. By now, though, us fourth grade boys were getting ‘hip’ and we weren’t so eager to say we didn’t like girls. In fact, all my friends and I envied what he was doing. Most of us didn’t like him because he was a hoodlum, but we would gladly have traded places with him during moments of intimacy alone with her.

What has been said has not been frivolous talk. Embedded in these true stories and italicized words are lessons, what I have called “Mating Maxims,” that exist even in children, continue through adulthood, and from what studies on sex in the elderly seem to indicate, will follow us to the grave. We may or may not admit them to ourselves, particularly in early childhood, or if you’re a parent, particularly not about your child, or not if you’re religious, or in any one of an infinite number of situations, but they are there all the same, even as children, and apparently in all children. Maxims such as the UDA principles, the laws of seduction, the principles of power, and the others that follow are apparently simple biological principles that change in character and color from one chronological age to the next, but always exist and never cease to exist even though we may try to suppress them.

By the time I got to high school, I was much wiser to the workings and existence of these “maxims.” I had learned, for example, that the way into a woman’s panties (a prime goal by then) was through her head (mind), not through her panties. That makes sense because if you’re already “into her panties”, you’ve achieved your goal, and if not, you’ve still got to get there if that’s what you want. I had also begun to learn that in matters of sex, a woman could not always be trusted. Of course, we knew that about boys, but not so much about girls. A man will tell a woman whatever he thinks she wants to hear, whether or not it’s the truth, and that’s exactly what he should do if he wants to seduce her.

One woman I dated in high school during the tenth through twelfth grades couldn’t say no, and I don’t think she ever really wanted to. She really was a very nice girl from a good, Christian family with a good Christian upbringing and from an all girls Catholic school with good Christian values (like me), but in all honesty, the boys who didn’t succeed with her sexually (and she was a virgin when I met her) just didn’t try! Any effort at all would have succeeded because, as she once admitted to me, she really couldn’t say no. If you could get her phone number and get into her home (and both went together), you could get some “good lovin’”. I can’t imagine how she remained a virgin for so long. One time I came to her house about 10:00 P.M. or so. She was home alone. We went to her basement, talked for a while, listened to some jams (music) and got into some heavy petting as usual. Before long, we were wearing our birthday suits and that’s it.


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