Celibacy, Sex, and Women. An introspective journey. Part 1


“Fortunate, indeed, is the person who has discovered how to give sex emotion an outlet through some form of creative effort, for he has, by that discovery, lifted himself to the status of a genius.” ~ Napoleon Hill

Over the past few months, most of my blog post have come from writing after a significant experience I had. I find myself writing for the therapeutic effect.  I don’t intend for them to be a blog post but I’m committed to publishing one a week and sometimes run out of shit to post. With the exception of some removing the grammatical errors (not all of them of course, I left some in for my little brother to find. It makes him feel good to find them.) and the change from present to past tense, I am publishing this post almost exactly as I wrote it in early September of 2016. This is part one of a three-part series. Why three parts? Well, probably because I have two written and no conclusion. I don’t have one yet, but I feel I’m close. When I get there, I’ll share it. That’s why I am calling this one a journey. 

I am missing all that comes with a relationship. Naps, movies, cooking, having someone to bare all to, to be vulnerable with and, most of all, the affection — both giving and receiving. I want to hug a woman and transfer the love within me into her. Beautiful, right? Unfortunately, the thing that is on my mind the most is sex. I really want to get laid.

As I wrote before, I am kind of over the whole meaningless sex thing. I no longer have it in me to fake interest in a woman in order to seduce her or to get in bed with someone who I can tell is a head case. Case in point, I have a text message thread on my phone of very naughty pictures from a girl who I met on Tinder. She was attractive, very attractive actually. Here is the thing, any girl who sends you naughty pictures before you ever meet, is fucking cuckoo. Fuck at your own risk. For me, there was no way I could not muster up enough energy to even meet up with her. No matter how horny I was.

So, I have been celibate for a while, MOSTLY by choice. I say mostly for a few reasons. I mean, I am a graying, homeless man in his 40s. I seem invisible to women now. I used to walk into a room and turn heads. Women used to approach me. I used to be charming and funny. At least enough to peak a woman’s curiosity. Now, nothing. (Note: I now realize the room was a bar and I was shit faced drunk.)

Also, I feel my personality disorder, whatever it is, is more obvious now than ever too. I walked up to a girl who was working in the produce section of Whole Foods one day and said, “Oh looks like your getting some work removed.” She responded by throwing her hair over the shoulder I was referring to and stepped away from me. I know her response was not my fault. I don’t take it personally. It was obviously a sensitive situation for her. How was I supposed to know? But this is a perfect example of how I manage to easily offend people. I wasn’t even trying to hit on her. I genuinely had in interest in her tattoos. Something about approaching strangers and talking to them as if I know them is apparently off-putting.

And above all, I am essentially a walking erection. “I want to fuck!” is oozing out of my pores. I look at a woman and think, “Oh wow. Look at her ____.” You could insert any body part here. Tits and ass are the obvious ones, but it could be the color of toenail polish, hair in a bun, the color of skin, lean biceps, or soft bare shoulder. I could also be the way she crosses her legs or does little flutter kick with her foot as her flip-flop dangles from her toes. Because I haven’t been having sex, everything seems to be sexualized. So when I make eye contact with a woman, and I smile to cover that fact that I was looking at her cleavage, I get a quick fake smile in response and quickly dismissed.

So what does a horny, single guy who’s craving a relationship do when he connects with a girl? Nothing.

I stopped at a place that was a make your own pizza joint. A cute girl was sitting by herself working on a pepperoni pizza and a Corona as she read this thick ass book. She was definitely attractive not but not really my type. She was a tan blonde with a thin build. Big ass and tits are my thing, so I wasn’t necessarily physically drawn to her. Though she was showing a lot of skin, something very common in Boulder. It was the book was I interested in. Part of writing my novel is to read as many as possible, and I am constantly asking for recommendations. So, I asked, “What are you reading?”

She closed the cover of the book and wiped it with her hand as if to wipe any dust that may have been on it. “Lila. It’s so good!” she said and looked up at me. Her eyes were the same color of my dog’s. Kind of a light brown with a touch of yellow. I didn’t expect such a warm reception from her. I expected to make her feel uncomfortable, but I feel I did the exact opposite. “Have you read Zen and The Art of Motorcycle Maintenance?” She asked.

“Uhh yeah. Years ago. I loved it.”

“This is the sequel.”

We carried on a little about this book and its predecessor. Then, I put my fist out for a fist bump and said thanks for sharing. She looked straight at me as I walked away with those warm light brown eyes. There was a little look of shock or disappointment on her face. As if she was thinking, “Oh? That’s it. This conversation is over?” I hung out a bit in the back of the joint looking out at Rusty who was waiting patiently in the front seat of my van. The window as all the way down and he did not jump out. (Good boy, Rusty.)

When my pizza was ready, I walked right by her to collect it and then back by again on my way out. As I walked by, I said something like “good talking to you” or “thanks again.” She looked up at me and gave me that same look. Did she want me to stay? To maybe join her or at least know my name. I’ll never know. I got in my van, drove to the park and stuffed my fat face with a gluten free pepperoni and black olive pizza.

What perplexes me is that as much as I would like to have women in my life, whether a partner or a friend, why didn’t I even introduce myself. Why didn’t I ask her name? I could see that she wanted something from me, but I ignored it. Why didn’t I act on this? Was it because she wasn’t the voluptuous woman I prefer to bed? Because she was blonde and not brunette? Because she had tennis shoes on and not cute sandals? Or was it because she was an extremely attractive girl half my age and would, in no way, want to sleep with me?

Is there a point here? I think so. I think it’s that I have to stop looking at women as things to fuck.

Continue to Part 2.

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