Sacred? Well, not anymore. Back when I was a virgin, sex used to be a big, special and somewhat scary subject due to the taboo nature and foreignness of the act for those that haven't experienced it. As naive people are wont to do, I assigned a whole bunch of unnecessary meaning and rules to it (for example, "sex without love is pointless" and the like, lol. I'm sure everyone can provide a few of their own) because I'd yet to feels its effects on myself as a whole.
Nowadays, I regard sex the same respect and treatment I afford to narcotics: it makes you feel good, but requires discretion and responsibility to enjoy it without getting slammed by the very real consequences that come with reckless engagement thereof. It's something I can live without, and sometimes have to when the availability of it is limited for whatever reason, but it can (and very frequently does) go a long way towards leading a happier and more fulfilled life. Sometimes it doesn't amount to anything more than a cheap thrill, other times, it can be a borderline-religious experience. Sometimes it's just a means of seeking catharsis, and sometimes the drive runs much deeper, like craving companionship, or a spiritual connection, or even a greater understanding of one's self. The highs give you a reason to continue participating, and the lows temper your wariness and allow you to exercise better judgment to avoid being mucked over by your own appetite for pleasure.
The biggest divergence from the metaphor is that while I can ration and remain vigilantly in control of my drug usage, sex can cloud my judgment in ways that would make a heroin addict shake his head in disgust. I've never truly gotten lost in a drug, but god damn, have I gotten lost in some women.
