The message of Brave New World was not that sex is bad, and 1984 wasn't countering Huxley when Winston and Julia stole away to the wilds to have secret non-marital sex and eat organic jam. The Junior Anti-Sex League was not the remedy to Huxley; Bernard Max was not some anticitizen one, some token two-minute Goldstein or Osama, some new Napoleon the Pig paradigmatically demonstrating the freedom for which we should strive. Farnham's Freehold (+Shannon) found its paradise in books, not fag-hanging or condom-banning, and Starship Troopers fought the hordes of Klenadathu, not slow dancing.
Read your Huxley again: Bernard Marx is a perspective-character, not a hero. He is a broken, pitiful turd, a message of error, and he and the rest of the pitiful society he dwells in are juxtaposed against the character Helmholtz Watson, who enjoys lots of pleasures and has lots of kinky sex and is presented sympathetically by Huxley in so doing. Helmholtz is no cowardly Christian running to follow 12-step NoFap programs or hunt down cross-dressers in his spare time. And so too was
And so, a few generations after our ancestors permitted the spread of that somatic bleakness, we see Huxley meet Orwell somewhere in the middle, as the tot-pot Alphas of the world rush off to create new Anti-Sex Leagues of their own, becoming the hypocritical trash that both Orwell and Huxley warned against last century. Now, to turn against their own mangled insides, the very Serena Joys and Bernard Marxes we saw mocked are craving the Mormon pajamas and the omnipresent Big Brothers of which 1984 was supposed to warn us.