Most sex is mediocre, and the measure of its mediocrity is that it leaves us unaffected. No one falls ill; no one transforms into a fly or a cockroach; nothing changes, and afterward, life goes on much as before. As the narrator of Norman Rush’s novel Mating sagely observes, “sex can be various things, but in my experience the usual thing is considerate work on the part of both parties,” accompanied by the exchange of careful courtesies: “after you, no, after you, mais non.” No one has transformative sex all the time, and there is nothing wrong with sex that is merely pleasant. Indeed, a polite volley of pleasantries is probably the best thing that unecstatic sex can be.

Becca Rothfeld, All Things Are Too Small: Essays in Praise of Excess (2024)