You know that quip that goes, “Sex is not the answer—sex is the question, and ‘yes’ is the answer”? There’s a postscript to that somewhere.

What is it about sex that has us all—straight, gay, bi, single, committed, in one of those open deals—in a rat race, looking for that one piece of cheese that will bring us unadulterated, complete sexual nirvana?

From the moment we get our first taste of sex, we’re bumping blindly into the sides or sitting at the sealed entrance waiting to turn back or trying to get around the two inches of walls because we know the cheese is just on the other side.

The secret to sexual nirvana is like the meaning of life. Some people have no clue, and some have an answer—but no one has THE answer.

The secret lingers in the twinkle of the eyes of someone who could get us to drop trou in the middle of a Baptist revival. It sits on the edge of the bed we share with the person we love. It condenses on the swizzle stick of our third vodka tonic. It rests in the “what if” arms of a friend that’s looking pretty damn good at the moment.

But we allow ourselves to be swept away, and the Secret flies away on our orgasmic pleasure to some mythical land where horses can fly and French people are genial to Americans. And it leaves us here, standing in its wake, where nothing is mutually exclusive.

We’re left wondering how someone so attractive could turn out to be an asshole; we’re so angry at our loved one for something that we want to drown a basket of kittens; we shake our heads the next morning to relieve the fuzziness and the shame; we screen our calls until we’re past the awkward “friends with benefits” crossover stage (and sometimes it never leaves).

And then there are those alternate moments where we’re cynical and don’t expect anything spectacular from the next shag, but an hour later we’re sweaty and elated and we still don’t have a fucking clue, because the Secret decided this time to swoop in on the orgasm wave and hit us with a jones so hard that we’ll never be able to see it through the high (which can last for a long time).

It gets so confusing. But here’s the kicker: none of us really want to drop out of the race, because the prospect of getting our hands on that stash of cheddar is worth the risk.