I was somewhat startled (and then amused) to read this in the review of Elegy in The Guardian:
What the film can't reproduce is the continuous, acrid pain of what male desire often is, thwarted or not: a continuous, day-by-day, hour-by-hour, minute-by-minute pain, almost like a cancer pain.
Lol! I must be undersexed but in my experience it feels mostly like an annoyance, a vague source of distraction and irritation. Like Bunuel I will heave a sigh of relief when I am old and finally free. Somehow it hasn't worked with Roth. He has got only hornier and hornier with age.