The last taboo

Is this the last frontier of sexual honesty? Men who don't have sex. I know they're out there. But are they talking about it?

Is this the last frontier of sexual honesty? Is the lid being gently prised open on some kind of taboo here? Men who don't have sex. I know they're out there. But are they talking about it?

A woman I know hasn't slept with her long-term partner for six years. She's ready to explode. "I feel like just walking into a pub and finding any bloke - I need sex." She's in her late 30s, craving a child. Her man can't articulate why he has no sex drive. Refuses counselling. She wonders if he's gay. He's put on weight, and she suspects low self-esteem is a factor. "I don't care if he's a bit chubbier. We've settled into this weird brother/sister relationship - it's just ... killing me." She loves him and can't bring herself to leave, despite the hunger for children. But rupture is so often good, I suggest. "What happens if you're in your mid 40s and still with him and still not having sex? You'll be incredibly frustrated. And perhaps bitter." She sighs, can't answer.

"I'm seeing more and more celibate relationships," says Dr Lana Holstein, a sexuality expert. "Typically, these are couples whose pace of life has increased so much that they're on the edge of exhaustion. That leaves little time for loving." Stress, fatigue, performance anxiety are all culprits - not to mention the intensity of having young kids. "Can you please write about lovemaking following childbirth," pleaded a man in a heartbreaking letter. "My wife and I couldn't recover from the loss of our sex life."

Other men have given inklings of why sexual issues are so hard to discuss openly. One doesn't like fellatio but has never told his closest friends: "To admit it would mean you're a nerd. It's like telling your mates you don't drive well or don't like footy." Another wrote, "I used to be embarrassed about hating this - then realised that a man who doesn't demand it comes as a great relief to women." Others have boldly said they prefer something else to sex: "It's the closeness and intimacy I really need, not the sex," explained one. "Just sleeping beside her is something I love," emailed another. "Being close, having her in my arms is such a joy." "Actually, I just want a cuddle a lot of the time."

Then this: "Dear Nikki, I'm 39 years old. I've been married for eight years, but with a difference. I'm a virgin, and so is my wife ... " I thanked the correspondent for his courage in being so open, and wasn't sure I'd ever hear from him again. I did. "The trouble is, my mother was the only woman I was ever comfortable with. My wife is the ideal woman in so far as she reminds me of my mum in terms of her qualities - but you don't sleep with your mum, do you? And Nikki, I'm shy, especially when it comes to the nitty-gritty. How does she put up with it? We have so much else in common, and we're both comfortable with the situation now." My friend, whatever works. And it seems there's a lot of love in this relationship; love that's been soldered by a deep companionship and affection. As Margaret Atwood said, "Nobody dies from lack of sex. It's lack of love we die from." Sex, of course, can be incredibly bleak, lonely, bewildering, ridiculous.

But if it works ... well, there's nothing more life-affirming. There's something spiritual about the best sex; it's the most exhilarating mystery available to us. It can involve communicating with someone on the deepest, most profound level; revealing to them who we really are, surprising ourselves, and our partners, with the level of our surrender. Apart from the obvious biological imperative, good sex flushes us clean and boosts our confidence - and freshens and affirms a partnership. I'm haunted by this man's words, for they seem a logical extension of Joseph Conrad's infinitely sad aphorism: "We live, as we dream - alone." But sex, great sex, defies that. And of course from it comes that most wondrous decision in all of life: to create it.