I've heard this nonsense all my life about how "men think about sex every seven seconds" and such, but it's really not true. I feel confident that there have been whole days where the thought did not cross my mind.
The unending circus of noise, of music, of longings and regrets, of deeply-held desires, of daydreams of places I've been and that never were, the haphazard mishmash of archetypes and schemas perpetually and violently being cycled through one another to create ideas bith derivative and new, the shrieking *DIN* of Protean and nameless feelings whose depths invite endless introspection, the rollercoaster of shapes and colors bound up with every idea needing one of a hodgepodge of mnemonics from decades of learning, the constant internal pop-up ads for terrible decisions, and between all of it, the cavalcade of memes and quotes from a lifetime of VORACIOUS media consumption, the constant, anxious "what-if" simulations running concurrently *and* one after another...and you think we spend all day thinking about sex?
Quit projecting. I am a FREAK of the highest order and I think about a lot more than sex.