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My first sight of the analytic couch constituted the primal scene, for only its existence jarred me into
recognizing that the world is governed by a minority, the sexually active, and that they hold sway over a
huge majority of the nonsexual, those people too young or too old or too poor or homely or sick or crazy or powerless to be able to afford sexual partners (or the luxury of systematic, sustained and shared
introspection, so sexual in its own way). All advertisements and films and songs are addressed to
sexuals, to their rash whims and finicky tastes, but these communications cleverly ignore nonsexuals, those pale, penniless, underdeveloped bodies, blue nipples flung like two test drops of ink from a new pen across the blotting paper of a chest, or high, hairless buttocks, unmolded by hands into something lovely, something enticing, left pure and formless like butcher's lard.
- Edmund White, A Boy's Own Story
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