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Chapter 1

The Challenge of Explaining Sexual Behaviour

As he left the prostitute’s premises, Karl regretted what he’d done and found himself with mixed feelings towards her for her part in the arrangement. It wasn’t the money. He felt empty — he just didn’t like himself. Karl wanted something more, but couldn’t define what that more was. He’d looked forward to having a good time. And he did have a good time for a short time. He’d found adventure and release. Yet he felt cheated — and a bit stupid. Vague feelings of loneliness seemed only to have intensified. He resolved he wouldn’t do it again, but knew in his heart that he probably would — and he would want similar sexual activities to happen, things his mates had talked about. He wanted to enjoy sex without the complications of a relationship (which he hadn’t been much good at anyhow), and he was at a loss to know why this experience had left him like this. After all, she’d done everything he’d wanted, and he’d felt great while he was with her. From where did this urge to see her come, and why did he feel this way now? Was he really looking for something else?

Indeed. What causes me to do a thing? What is the origin of the drives and motives that energise my behaviour, and how do these affect my choices? How do I understand the behaviour I engage in, and what meanings do I attribute to such behaviour? For that matter, am I able to discern the motives of my own behaviour — can I always identify what moves me to do a thing? Or do I, like Karl, sometimes find myself doing things, and wonder why I do them? These questions are fundamental to psychology in general and no less so to the psychology of sexual behaviour and relationships. Sexual behaviour, moreover, has features that differentiate it from other behaviours. Although non-sexual motives and drives play a role in sexual behaviour and relationships, there are also drives unique to them. And this raises the question: what motives or drives make behaviour and the relationships in which such behaviour occurs ‘sexual’?

Deeply embedded in both our physical and subjective selves are sexual differences. Indeed, this is true throughout the animal kingdom. Why might this be so, and what function does such sexual difference serve? We will look at this thing called ‘sexual’. ‘Maleness’ and ‘femaleness’ is explored; and what is and isn’t ‘sexual’. Intrinsic to the sexual relationship is the expression of sexual motives — what is their function in relationship? We will ponder the other component to the sexual relationship — the ‘relationship’ — and what it has to do with sexual behaviour. We will consider the role of internal drives, introducing the idea that drives have two sources — a biological one and a subjective one. I will argue that we are influenced by a changing drive profile comprising multiple drives which in turn help predict the sexual behaviour and relationships in which we might engage. I will later identify factors that help shape a person’s drive profile, paying particular attention to the notion of belonging.

On ‘maleness’ and ‘femaleness’

A unique aspect in sexual behaviour that differentiates such behaviour from other behaviours is inherent in the notion ‘sexual’. But what does this mean? According to my dictionary, ‘sexual’ has to do with the sexual act, the intentions and motives leading to the sexual act; and with the respective sexes, male and female, and the behaviours (essentially the gender predispositions) and physical characteristics unique to each defining their maleness and femaleness. We understand, of course, that there is a biological imperative that male and female should desire sexual encounters between each other (a primary and normal function of sexual behaviour): to create offspring.¹ Yet while sexual attraction between male and female might be mutual, there will be differences in the basis for that attraction between male and female, reflecting inherent differences in their maleness and femaleness. Indeed, it is the very difference that contributes to mutual attraction and desire. But this is not so for everyone: same-sex attraction and other forms of sexual expression reveal further complexities in the notion of what is and isn’t ‘sexual’.

We begin with the notions of ‘maleness’ and ‘femaleness’. These are surprisingly difficult to define, even though the idea of consistent differences in male and female experience and behaviour resonates with popular perception and the observations of experienced relationship counsellors. Gray, for example, famous for his 1993 self-help book Men are from Mars, Woman are from Venus, suggests a number of such differences: men are ‘solution-focused’ rather than ‘feeling-focused’; under stress men withdraw while women prefer to talk issues through; men and women have different needs for, and patterns in, intimacy; men need to be ‘needed’ while women need to be ‘cherished’; men need a love that ‘is more trusting’ while women look for a love that is caring, understanding and respectful; and a man’s need is to overcome his resistance to giving love while a woman’s need is to overcome her resistance to receiving it. Is Gray right? And if so, are these differences inherent in maleness or femaleness, or are they learned gender roles?

While sexual differences are genetically determined and easily seen in the physical differences between a man and woman, the subjective aspect of maleness and femaleness is not so easily seen or understood. The experience of one with Gender Dysphoria highlights this subjective dimension: ‘I feel that I (my subjective self) am female, even though I am in a male body.’ Whatever the reason for this dysphoria, it seems that it is possible for the physical self to be male, while the inner self — the subjective experience or awareness – does not identify as such. This is not simply about a male behaving as a female – a cultural construct; it is about feeling or identifying as ‘female’, the self-perception of being female in a male body. Furthermore, even though feeling or identifying as female is not the same as having a female body, there is a need to have a female body to properly express such experienced femaleness: at least, this is what the person suffering Gender Dysphoria would argue and why the relevant treatments are sought.

But what does it mean for the inner self to be ‘female’ or ‘male’? And why is it necessary for the body to reflect this?² This difference has historically been seen as the basis for the differences in the emotions, the psychology, and the motivations found between a man and a woman: commonly referred to as gender difference. Is this difference also reflected in the dynamics of sexual desire and attraction? And is the subjective experience of ‘maleness’ and ‘femaleness’, the basis of gender difference, innate? And then, how is it possible for these not to be aligned to physical sexual characteristics, as is the burden for those suffering Gender Dysphoria?³

Prenatal hormonal influences play a role in the masculinisation or feminisation of the brain, a process separate from the development of physical sexual characteristics. Nevertheless, to the extent that the body is the vehicle of expression for the inner self,⁴ and that the neural and hormonal activity of the brain orients that self; we would expect the experienced maleness or femaleness of the self to correspond to the relevant physical sexual characteristics. And so, given that a female body is required to express the female self, and the male body is required to express the male self, reviewing the sexual features and functions of the physical body should be a legitimate source of clues as to what might define subjective ‘maleness’ or ‘femaleness’ — the gender identity.⁵

Whether or not it actually occurs in any particular sexual act, the biological fact is that a man’s body is designed for sexual entry into a woman’s body and to release his sperm within her. The testosterone that motivates and makes possible such entry by generating sexual desire and physical arousal is generally activated by seeing and thinking about sexual stimuli — the sight of an attractive woman may be enough to stimulate testosterone and arousal, an event of which he quickly becomes aware.⁶ In this regard, the man has better capacity for keeping separate sexual arousal and the emotions associated with intimate encounter: he can easily be aroused outside a relationship, which may predispose him towards sexual curiosity and adventure.⁷ Testosterone release is associated with dominance, competitiveness and territorial behaviours in general⁸ — where strength of character or physical prowess is to advantage. Such predisposition can be used to overcome obstacles or protect a mate. However, it is more territorial than relational, and so the idea of ‘belonging’ might have a territorial flavour for the male.⁹ Having released his sperm within the woman — that part of him is now in her — the man may be inclined to treat her as his ‘territory’, both then and when children are born into the relationship. She can be emotionally close to other people, but she mustn’t give her body to anyone else: her body now belongs to him.¹⁰

These observations suggest that the meanings associated with ‘maleness’ might feature curiosity, adventure, the capacity to sexually respond to a woman’s physical beauty, strength and forcefulness,¹¹ and the drive to claim, retain and protect territory. As such, these ‘maleness’ characteristics may feature strongly in the drive profiles of many men. We might also argue that these are the qualities women associate with ‘maleness’, although the characteristics of strength and the capacity to protect and provide are also primary issues for many women.

The woman’s body, on the other hand, is designed to allow her to sexually receive the man and his sperm, while her breasts allow her to nurture new life. Her hormonal cycles mean that sexual desire and the associated sexual receptivity are affected by ovulation, which in turn prepares her for new life. This suggests a biological connection between her sexual receptivity and nurturance, an integration of sexual arousal, emotional intimacy, the possibility of new life, and concerns with the future — the establishment of a home or safe place both for herself and for her children.¹² In this context, for the woman, ‘belonging’ is more about shared experience, acceptance, identity, and affiliation. To the extent that she is receptive, she needs to be trusting of her man.¹³ But she also needs to be socially and emotionally aware. Her man must not become emotionally involved elsewhere: she should be his only or primary influence, and so she learns to read emotions well.¹⁴ She wants him to be protective and appreciate her physically and desire her body (and hers only — she watches for straying eyes). Yet she is careful about entering a relationship: to the extent that some dependence upon him may become necessary, it is important that she gets the ‘right man’, because she will need his support, strength, presence and understanding in the longer term, especially once she has had children.

These observations lead us to expect the meanings associated with ‘femaleness’ to feature integration between intimacy, emotional sensitivity and vulnerability, receptivity and an inclination to trust, nurturance and new life. We might argue that these are the qualities men associate with and perhaps desire in femaleness. Femaleness means the readiness to accept and receive what a man gives sexually, to trust for and desire his protection, general emotional sensitivity, and the capacity to create a place of nurturance.¹⁵ Yet I suspect that for all the woman’s complexity, a man is more likely to be initially drawn to and aroused by the simpler elements associated with femaleness: the physical and biological attributes of her femaleness and her sexual receptivity.

While the biological differences between a man and woman colours psychological and behavioural differences, the notion of maleness and femaleness — and especially how such maleness and femaleness is expressed — is also informed by cultural contexts and expectations.¹⁶ Although not everyone will embrace these cultural expectations, they nevertheless serve to orient the inner self in the subjective experience and expression of maleness or femaleness in the social sphere. I will later review some major sociocultural sexual scripts which affect the drive profiles of male and female, and contribute to the emerging relationship dynamics.

The male/female distinction lends itself to the idea that each makes different contributions to a relationship on the basis of their inherent differences. Together they form a functioning social unit; the functions of one being intimately balanced by the functions of the other at a biological and psychological level. For one to enter, the other needs to receive. For one to respond, the other needs to initiate. The strength of one needs the trust of the other. The social and emotional awareness of one stabilises the tendency to adventure in the other. And for such a social unit to function over time, we find that a sexual relationship generally becomes integrated with the processes of bonding and belonging, which further contributes to emotional and psychological stability and satisfaction. This circumstance provides a secure setting for children born into the relationship; and the growing social unit continues to be coloured and balanced by the gender differences. Yet the diversity of drives found in a person’s drive profile means that many sexual relationships don’t fit this pattern, and that sexual behaviour will find broad expression — but often at cost.

On what is and isn’t ‘sexual’

We have seen how ‘sexual’ has to do with the respective sexes, male and female, and the behaviours (essentially the gender predispositions) and physical characteristics unique to each which defines their maleness and femaleness. But it also has to do with the sexual act and the intention (with its associated drives) and behaviours leading to the sexual act. This includes physiological arousal in which certain hormones and neurotransmitters are activated, creating tension and priming for sexual (genital) release (or intentionally stimulating this in another person); and the desire for, and experience of, sexual pleasure resulting from either their own or another person’s actions. And, of course, it relates to entering another person’s personal space with the intent of stimulating sexual interest and perhaps of establishing a subjective connection with that person, and ultimately the act of copulation.

Some of these components have to do with the sexual experience itself, but some associate with the relationship more generally, so that the two become intertwined. For example, one component involves physical touch and sexual entry, which stimulates a bonding process through the release of oxytocin and vasopressin. Along with this, a parallel event occurs: the entering into another person’s subjective personal space, so that personal space becomes a shared space. Such intertwined components in sexual behaviour create associations (with corresponding neural connections) which link it to the notions of both belonging and bonding.

But first: what makes behaviour ‘sexual’? A range of behaviours might attract the label ‘sexual’ but involve few of the above-mentioned components, while there are also behaviours that are decidedly nonsexual, yet have components associated with the idea ‘sexual’. A key distinguishing factor is intent — that is, the meaning or purpose of the behaviour. For example, because love and intimacy associate strongly with sexual behaviour, behaviours relating to either love or intimacy may be interpreted as sexual, yet they may be without sexual intent: one need not imply the other. Two people can love each other deeply without sexual intent, such as a child and parent, or siblings, or two men or two women who are drawn together, perhaps through shared life experiences. Similarly, there are behaviours and experiences that might approximate aspects of sexual behaviour or experience, but, lacking sexual intent, are not considered ‘sexual’; such as an adult caressing a child, a child suckling at the breast, a person receiving therapeutic massage, or a doctor conducting an intimate examination.

On the other hand, there are situations, behaviours, or comments that might be described as ‘sexualised’ because there is an intended association with sexual desire or behaviour, even though there is no actual sexual component to the situation, behaviour, or comment (such as may be found in advertising). Then there are behaviours where the boundaries and motives are blurred, and it is difficult to interpret whether or not the behaviours are ‘sexual’ (that is, whether there is sexual intent) — when one person meets the gaze of another; an affectionate embrace or physical touch; unintended sexual innuendo in conversation, and so on.

In making links between neurobiological processes and sexual experience and behaviour, it is necessary to differentiate between sexual arousal, sexual desire and interpersonal sexual attraction, even though these experiences can overlap and the distinctions can become blurred.¹⁷ Nevertheless, these distinctions become important when analysing and deconstructing a person’s prevailing drive profile: sexual arousal, desire, and interpersonal attraction are not always aligned, and nor does their combined presence necessarily predict a successful or functional sexual relationship. Furthermore, the blurring of these distinctions can sometimes create confusion in interpreting one’s own physiological and psychological responses to a situation — for example, the experience of sexual arousal does not always correspond to sexual desire, nor is it always a valid indicator of sexual attraction. Let us consider these distinctions.

Generally, sexual arousal has to do with eroticism — the capacity of a stimulus to excite a genital response. Such a stimulus may be the presence of another person, or of sexual images or fantasy; it may even be a pleasant awareness of one’s own sexual attributes. However, such genital response does not always reflect sexual desire; and sexual desire, on the other hand, can occur without a genital response. Consider, for example, masturbation without erotic images; a child sexually stimulated by an adult; therapeutic massage; and physical closeness. The one responsible for the sexual arousal does not necessarily represent an object of sexual desire for the one experiencing the arousal.¹⁸ To be aroused simply means that physiological changes have taken place within the neuroendocrine system, typically involving the release of dopamine and melanocortins. Sexual arousal is a physiological event generally reactive to certain stimuli associated with sexual behaviour, but does not constitute a sexual drive as such, even though it is a critical link in the chain of sexual behaviour. Nevertheless, we will see that sexual arousal without interpersonal attraction or pre-existing sexual desire can result in the conditioning of subsequent sexual arousal responses, which in turn can create a sexual drive.

Distinguishing between sexual desire and interpersonal sexual attraction is more difficult. They involve rather nebulous dynamics comprising interrelated meanings, attributions, values, perceptions and expectations. Interpersonal attraction may involve admiration, love, or pleasure in the company of another person, and can occur without concomitant sexual desire, although the basis of attraction does normally include gender traits. Of course, interpersonal attraction can prime someone for sexual desire (just as sexual desire can prime someone for interpersonal attraction). Importantly, interpersonal attraction — whether sexual or otherwise — involves being drawn to a person because of certain qualities of the person to whom one is drawn: its focus is the other person, including their maleness or femaleness; not sexual activity as such. The experience of falling in love typically reflects this, as I will explain later.

More generally, desire relates to wanting an object or experience, so it generally emerges in the context of a perceived lack of something. It translates into an impulse to own, consume or experience something: its focus is one’s own fulfilment. Sexual desire, then, has to do with wanting the fulfilment that comes through sexual experience. However, it can also refer to that sexual experience as an avenue to wanting, consuming, or experiencing someone, or certain aspects of that person. Being ‘joined’ to a person is subjectively accomplished through the sexual act — it can be a way of subjectively ‘capturing’ that person and what that person represents. In this case, the goal is not the sexual experience per se; but the sexual experience is used to obtain the goal — the getting of something which is seen in a person or associated with that person. The origin of such desire might reflect any combination of underlying drives that finds expression in the sexual act. To understand sexual desire in a person, we need to establish what that person wants to own, consume, or experience.

Of the attributes most men want to experience or own in another person, perhaps the most important is the femaleness of the woman — both of her body and her inner self; and for most women, the maleness of the man. But when sexual desire is ‘desire for sex’ only, it is essentially indiscriminate in terms of with whom a man or woman might have sex (especially where alcohol is involved), drawing a man or woman into sexual activity where there may be little interpersonal attraction outside the essential femaleness or maleness of the other body (as Karl discovered in his encounter with the prostitute).¹⁹ Sometimes, of course, a man desires the maleness in another person (and a woman the femaleness in the other person); and then, sometimes, the sex of the other person is irrelevant, either because the sexual desire lacks all discrimination in what is desired except for the pleasure of sex itself, or because the desire is to own or experience certain inner qualities of the other person other than their maleness or femaleness. Where sexual desire relates to a particular person, then the desire is for the qualities seen in that person, a desire that finds momentary consummation through the sexual act with that person.

The relational goals of connection and belonging

We have considered what makes behaviour ‘sexual’. Sexual behaviour, however, is one thing; a sexual relationship is another. And because sexual behaviour generally occurs in the context of relationship, relationship dynamics necessarily play a role, affecting the quality of the sexual encounter. Indeed, sexual and relationship satisfaction are closely linked.²⁰ A relationship has to do with relating to and connecting with someone else. But where a relationship is sexual, that relating and connecting necessarily has a sexual dimension. Belonging comprises an important element of sexual relationships. Love and intimacy add further elements addressing relational needs, forming the basis for romantic relationships. Of course, not all relationships are sexual; nor does all sexual activity occur within relationship — romantic or otherwise.²¹ We will find that these variations are the outcomes of different drive profiles.

But first we need to make a distinction. While the ideas of belonging and attachment overlap, they are not the same. I can belong and not be attached; and I can become attached but not belong. A child can belong to its parents and not be attached to them, while a person who has fallen in love may feel an attachment to someone that doesn’t yet belong to them. One aspect of belonging has to do with social identification with somebody. Such identification might cause me to be embarrassed by a person’s behaviour when I feel I belong to them, which I wouldn’t if they didn’t belong to me. By the same token, I would feel proud of their achievements because they are a part of me, and represent me as much as they do themselves. Ours becomes a shared experience, with shared ownership of decisions, accomplishments, failures, and so on. It is primarily a matter of social position: others also perceive and respect that the couple belong to each other. When something happens to the person that belongs to me, it also vicariously happens to me. I will argue that the need to belong is a central psychological drive, and that one function of the sexual relationship is to meet that drive.

While attachment is also about shared experience, its focus is different. It has to do with the nature of the bond that has been created — with intimacy and being close to someone. What matters is a person’s acceptance, interest, and understanding of me, regardless of how they might come across socially. I am less likely to be embarrassed by or proud of the person I am attached to: so long as they are there for me. What is important is the connection, the interpersonal need for recognition and validation, the mutual encounter. With attachment, what others think of the person is not as important as what the person thinks of me. Secure attachment is built on a person’s ongoing emotional presence and availability when I need them; it also involves my desire to be emotionally transparent with them in order that they might know me and validate me.

Belonging is a fundamental drive that associates with relatedness and attachment. Although they don’t distinguish between attachment and belonging, Baumeister and Leary (1995) conclude ‘that human beings are fundamentally and pervasively motivated by a need to belong, that is, by a strong desire to form and maintain enduring interpersonal attachments. People seek frequent, affectively positive interactions within the context of a long-term, caring relationship… The desire for interpersonal attachment may well be one of the most far-reaching and integrative constructs currently available to understand human nature’ (p. 522).²² Rokach (2014) echoes this observation: ‘There is a basic human need to belong, to be part of an intimate and caring relationship with a partner who is close, and deeply concerned about us [so that] we are driven to establish close contact with others, and participate in intimate relationships’ (p. 155). Furthermore, research has found that relatedness, or the sense of belonging, is important for our mental health. It is associated with better functioning and greater resilience to stress.²³ In its absence, sadness, depression, jealousy, health problems, and loneliness may emerge.²⁴ Belongingness helps to orient us socially, and its connections contribute to our sense of meaningfulness.²⁵

Given the centrality of the human need to belong and establish attachment, it comes as no surprise that it might constitute a primary function of a sexual relationship.²⁶ There is a drive to belong, and attachment reflects the quality of the associated intimacy. Ideally, significant relationships are characterised by both belonging and attachment, and this is especially true for sexual relationships. There is a sense of mutual identification, closeness, acceptance and embrace that has a different quality in such relationships than in other relationships, because of the unique physical sharing of self that does not occur in other relationships. Besides this, there is a cooperative component involving mutual consent and the fulfilling of various needs and desires not fulfilled in non-sexual relationships. In fact, for many people such relationship represents both the goal and proper integration for their sexual expression.

It is the difference between sexual expression within relationship and that occurring casually that had left Karl vaguely dissatisfied after his visit to the prostitute. Whatever Karl thought he wanted, he didn’t get. Even though he could buy sex, she was not for sale. He didn’t get her or what she might have represented to him. He glimpsed her femaleness, but didn’t encounter her as a person. He gave nothing of himself except money and his body: she gave nothing of herself except her time and her body for sexual performance. Perhaps he needed to express and explore his masculinity, and he needed the femaleness of a woman to do so. Karl was not attracted to a male prostitute; this was not the focus of his need or desire. Even though he didn’t know the woman, it was the woman he thought he wanted. But all he got was a sexual encounter: the enactment of his sexual fantasy, a reassurance of his maleness, and the temporary amelioration of his sexual tension. Oddly, although he knew from the beginning what the deal was, the experience stimulated something else: it stimulated a vague desire for more of her and of her femaleness, to have her indefinitely and exclusively, and perhaps connect with her more deeply. Multiple drives were at work.

Karl knew he would come again even though this experience had left him feeling vaguely depersonalised and disconnected. His identity as a person had been irrelevant, and she would never belong to him, or he to her. He felt ‘short-changed’. The event was not without consequence. From the prostitute Karl learned that ‘loving care’ did not mean loving care at all; and that sex had nothing to do with the ‘giving’ by the woman of herself to him. He learned about deception and pretence; he learned meanings of the sexual event that left him empty and cynical; he learned about a world of unfulfilled promises. The sexual experience came to have negative associations for him. He was disillusioned and lonely. Nevertheless, he kept her number and knew he would probably be back. Although he was conflicted, the sex he had purchased for his masculinity had been pleasurable in itself; it had given him release, and she had done nothing wrong by him. She was a good business woman and had kept to the agreement. For Karl, his confusion related to a mixed drive profile that also included unmet needs to connect and belong.

On belonging: Further considerations

What does it mean to ‘belong’ in a sexual relationship? We might think of belonging as having a shared history or shared values with someone else, things in common, promoting a sense of connection: ‘I belong to this person because we both came from the same town and we both love fishing.’ Alternatively, to belong might involve a sense of ownership: ‘She belongs to me because I have invested so much in her.’²⁷ Then again, to ‘belong’ might mean that I have a role or place that fits a specific need or purpose: for example, ‘you belong in our organisation (that is, you have this role) because of the particular skills you have.’ In each case, we see that ‘belonging’ is a relational notion, reflecting some investment, connection, obligation, meaning or role in a relationship. Each nuance of meaning may also find its way into a sexual relationship.

To better grasp this idea, consider my relationship with my mind and body. I normally experience my mind (here I mean my perceptions, thinking and emotions) as belonging to me — that is, belonging to my subjective inner self,²⁸ just as my body belongs to me. I normally protect myself (my mind and body) and maintain the integrity of my uniqueness and separateness from others (other minds and bodies). For example, I protect my body by clothing it, shielding it from pressure and harm, and guarding it from unwanted and invasive eyes and touch.²⁹ I do this because my body is private territory, my ‘home’: it is not just a physical body indifferent to the effects of the physical world and the presence of others as a dead body might be. It is ‘owned’ by me; it belongs to me — that is, to my inner self. I have an intimate relationship with my body, expressing myself through it, embracing it, looking after it, protecting it, and investing in it. There is a union between me and my mind and body, but also autonomy and separateness of my mind and body from others: my mind and body belong only to me. One might argue such exclusivity (that is, that it belongs only to me) to be an inherent right.³⁰ Nevertheless, given my mind and body belong to me, I have a right to choose to share these with another person. And to the extent that my inner self is expressed through my mind and body, then, when I share my mind and body with somebody else, I also share my inner self.

How can sex associate with ‘belonging’? When I choose to share my body sexually with a person, it is not just one body encountering another body — each reacting physiologically to the other, giving energy and life to the other — but it is also our inner selves doing so, finding expression in each body’s activity, giving and receiving, and (ideally) at the same time discovering and enjoying subjectively the inner self of the other person.³¹ In this way, both selves are changed by the encounter, a change imprinted on the brains and inner worlds represented by our respective bodies. In effect, I am giving both of my inner self and my body, and in return, I am receiving from the other person both their body and inner self.³² We become vulnerable to each other, each trusting that what has been given to the other will be treasured and protected, just as each treasures and protects what was given. This shared investment and the intense experiences associated with the sexual relationship bond us together and typically generate a sense of mutual belonging. And so it is not surprising to find that high relationship satisfaction is strongly associated with high sexual satisfaction — it is a bi-directional relationship.³³

In a sexual encounter the physical interpersonal boundaries maintaining separateness are removed, and the respective bodies become shared territory. The body of the other person for that moment comes to belong to me as much as my own body belongs to me — in a sense we share ownership. Two ‘homes’ become one shared ‘home’: we are joined together. I enjoy the other body as much as I do mine, just as I protect the other body as I do mine. And again, the other person equally enjoys and protects my body as they do their own. The mutual vulnerability this creates needs protective factors. It requires interpersonal sensitivity, trust, and a mutual commitment to each other’s wellbeing (that is, love for one another), so that the shared ‘home’ remains a safe and beneficial place to be.

The sense of belonging is not just momentary: a union is created.³⁴ From now on, if someone else should approach the other (shared) mind and body threatening to take it from me, I may be provoked to jealousy or anger — I view it as someone invading our shared territory and home.³⁵ Indeed, if the relationship is under threat, sexual intimacy may be activated to ensure closeness and reassurance, and to ensure the integrity of the relationship.³⁶ Once I kept my mind and body separate from others; now I want to keep our minds and bodies separate from others. The sense of belonging insists on exclusivity in the sexual relationship,³⁷ and where this is violated through infidelity, relationship dissolution generally follows,³⁸ even though feelings of belonging, attachment, and sexual desire can still linger for a considerable period.³⁹ If we allow invasion into ‘our territory’, our sense of ‘ownership’ over our shared selves is diminished, our sense of self is affected, and we become disempowered and weakened in a moral sense. The third party threatens to take what we perceive has come to belong to us. This sense of belonging is invisible and unmeasurable, but powerful in its implications, both personally and socially.⁴⁰

In both sexual and non-sexual intimate relationships, the boundaries protecting the inner self are relaxed, so that our respective inner selves become shared territory to the extent that our thinking and emotions are shaped by each other’s presence.⁴¹ With interpersonal attraction (as against sexual attraction), there is a desire to encounter the inner self of the other person so that our inner selves might become ‘shared territory’, as well as enjoying the more ‘superficial’ qualities of the person. In these circumstances there is no sharing of our respective bodies. But in a functional sexual relationship, there is a desire to encounter both the inner self and the body of the other person: the sharing of interpersonal territory occurs at both physical and relational levels.⁴² And probably the most profound and enduring extension and expression of this ‘shared investment’ or ‘mutual belonging’ is in the birth of a child into the relationship — the child belongs to both parties and both parties belong to the child. Belonging forms a primary function in a sexual relationship, and the drive to belong quite appropriately finds expression in sexual behaviour.