Thinking about this 1997 Edmund White quote on Fresh Air today, talking about casual gay sex in the 1970s.
Nor did all this sex preclude intimacy. For those who never lived through that period, and most of those who did, are dead, the phrase "anonymous sex" might suggest unfeeling sex, devoid of emotion. And yet, as I can attest, to hole up in a room at the baths with a body, after having opened it up and wrung it dry, to lie, head propped on a guy's stomach just where the tan line bisects it, smoke a cigarette, and talk to him late into the night and early into the morning about your childhood, his unhappiness and love, your money worries, his plans for the future. Well, nothing is more personal, more emotional.
(This is him reading a quote from his novel The Farewell Symphony)
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