The Log from the Sea of Cortez

by John Steinbeck

There doesn’t seem to be a true aphrodisiac; there are excitants like cantharides, and physical aids to the difficulties of psychic traumas, like yohimbine sulphate; there are strong protein foods like bêche-de-mer and the gonads of sea-urchins, and the much over-rated oyster; even chiles, with their irritating qualities, have some effect, but there seems to be no true aphrodisiac, no sweet essence of that goddess to be taken in a capsule. A certain young person said once that she found sexual intercourse an aphrodisiac; certainly it is the only good one. So many people are interested in this subject but most of them are forced to pretend they are not. A man, for his own ego’s sake, must, publicly at least, be over-supplied with libido. But every doctor knows so well the “friend of the client” who needs help. He is the same “friend” who has gonorrhea, the same “friend” who needs the address of an abortionist. This elusive friend—what will we not do to help him out of his difficulties; the nights we spend sleepless, worrying about him! He is interested in an aphrodisiac; we must try to find him one. But the damiana we brought back for our “friend” possibly just now is in the hands of the customs officials in San Diego. Perhaps they too have a friend. Since we suggested the qualities of damiana to them, it is barely possible that this fascinating liquor has already been either devoted to a friend or even perhaps subjected to a stern course of investigation under laboratory c...