Sexlessness and God (and Money)

This is a sequel post. 

As mentioned, I've let anxieties mar my otherwise steady outpouring of/will to pleasure. I'm trying to describe my own psychological manoeuvres when it comes to relishing sex and physicality generally. These anxieties have been of two related camps, finances and an extrapolation of those finances into a future nowhere near coming to pass. It's only with the obviousness of hindsight these pressures are seen to be wildly unnecessary departures from an otherwise comfortable present, with every facility and support a person of my specific socioeconomic grouping could hope for (wherever I fall on the scale; lower middle?). 

What I'm asking myself is whether there's a conceptual tie between the areas of money and sex, as partitioned by my tireless ordering system (my mind).

I guess money is frequently what makes my pleasure possible, not in the sense of paying someone for sex, but in the trivial expenses surrounding a hookup, enabling the casualness. Also, a certain amount of disposable is necessary for any kind of leisure time outside the home, and even then money haemorrhages discreetly.  

If I think back, my most satisfying hookups have been bookended by drinks/coffee and other costs extraneous to the act itself. 

Do I have less sexual desire when I'm poor? That is, do I feel somehow ashamed of having less money and am I less motivated to have a sexual encounter at these times? What sense of myself are these hookups serving then, the grindr facilitated ones. Are they sought as rewards for possessing money and thereby being a contributing member of society, participating in the flow of capital as an eligible consumer? 

There might be some truth in this, no matter how uncomfortable. Maybe I do feel less deserving of sexual pleasure when I'm broke, which is normally the result of impulse expenditures and, to complete this logic, begs sacrificial abstinence. So then I have to be able to afford sex? With strangers, the answer is an emergent yes. 

What price have I preemptively stamped it with then? At what monetary low is it off the cards for me? And if I was ever rich enough, from this appalling trajectory would I expect perfect strangers to jump my bone as if drawn magnetically to my swollen bank figure? If I'm good for it, should the world open its legs to me by default? Do 'suits' already think like this?

Or is it an ingrained conceptualisation of money as the singly reliable indicator of value, by which nothing of worth escapes an equivalent mediation. Not even sex. I know I've talked about sex as commodity before, but never in observance of my own behaviours. 

More than this, I sometimes feel in spite of myself the absolute licence of money and the cloistering dearth of options when one has very little to none.

I am not a free agent.