Sex appears as a theme in the book from the very first scene. It is the morning of Christmas Eve, and Lute Fliegler, one of the secondary characters in the story, wonders whether he should wake up his wife to have sex. Contrary to what could be expected from a book published in 1934, the narrator not only assumes Lute’s perspective to speculate on what Irma’s wishes may be, but he also gives voice to Irma’s desire:

She began to stir and then she opened her eyes and said: “My God, Lute, what are you doing?”
“Merry Christmas,” he said.
“Don’t, will you please?” she said, but she smiled happily and put her arms around his big back. “God, you’re crazy,” she said. “Oh, but I love you.” And for a little while Gibbsville knew no happier people than Luther Fliegler and his wife, Irma.

In chapter 3 there is another sexual encounter—this time between the novel’s main characters, Julian and Caroline. This will be the only such encounter because, despite recurrent offers and requests for more intimacy, the couple will spend the next two days negotiating their emotional relationship around two dissimilar and yet connected issues: sex and social standing. Caroline uses sex as a means to get Julian to behave well socially (i.e., to not get drunk). Julian accepts the bargain, but, as soon as Caroline get anxious about the social implications of Julian’s behavior, he notices her emotional distance and starts breaking his part of the agreement. While Julian has an inflated sense of himself due to his socially sanctioned physical appeal and status, Caroline is insecure about sex, and her level of comfort is limited by her past experiences and by her mother’s inability to talk openly about sexuality. However, despite Caroline’s limitations, the self-assurance and sense of her own womanhood that she exhibits are a testament to O’Hara’s refusal to oversimplify these complex power relationships. When she reflects on her relationship with Julian after his affair with Helene Holman, Caroline asserts a right to her own desire:

“Are you so dumb blind after four and a half years that you don’t know that there are times when I just plain don’t feel like having you? Does there have to be a reason for it? An excuse? Must I be ready to want you at all times except when I’m not well? If you knew anything you’d know I want you probably more then than any other time. But you get a few drinks in you and you want to be irresistible. But you’re not. I hope you found that out.”

Eventually, Julian’s inability to employ his charm and bravado to seduce Miss Cartwright, the socialite reporter from the Standard, will be his last act of social inadequacy. The narrator draws a clear line between his actions and Miss Cartwright’s own free will and desire. When Julian says that if Miss Cartwright wants to leave, then it’s all right, she answers,

“Not all right at all. You’re married to a swell girl. I don’t know her at all, but I know she’s swell, and you don’t give a damn about me. Oh, I don’t want to talk about it. I admit, I have a yen for you, but—but all the same I’m going. Good-by,” she said, and she would not let him help her with her coat.