(Forgive the length. It was necessary.) Imagine a man is in a relationship with a woman - stay with me now - and their lovemaking is a thing of organic beauty. It's not just him who feels this way, but the both of them. Sometimes it's fast and furious. Sometimes it's languid and oozy. Once in a while there would be a fart and a laugh and not enough energy and they'd laugh, fall asleep in each others' arms or sprawled away from each other, but always connected. Always content. Sometimes they'd eat forbidden foods, you know, the junk foods they swore they'd no longer eat, sit on the couch, well he'd sit in a chair and she'd sprawl on the couch amid a pile of blankets and read like she had fallen down a hole into a fairyland, and they won't make love that day or that night but it felt as if they had because this too was good, was part of "them". Then he reads a manual. About sex. He reached for it in a used bookstore because a friend, one who himself has an amazing relationship, mentioned something sexual that he'd never heard of. The sex manual confused him. But he didn't ignore it, in fact he sought out more information because he wanted to give her everything, to make it the best. One friend said to leave it alone. He couldn't. He wouldn't. He started thinking too much. He'd step out of the flow when they were together. He watched some videos. It made it worse, especially the ones made by women, I mean he wasn't a woman. Surely they knew more than he did. Right? No. Not at all. He knew his own heart. His own love. When he tried to make it "better" it wasn't really about what he wanted it to be, at least not entirely. It was more about what he was afraid it wasn't. More about thinking he couldn't be, things couldn't be, that wonderful, could they? Yes. They could.