literally juicy.
No, not that litteral. No juicing apparatus.
Sex.
We talk about sex.
I've not talked about sex for a while.
Mostly, I just do it.
Sex.
No, not with other people. Prostitution is illegal most of the time, and frankly, I'm too embarrassed to try something like that, especially when I have other, much simpler and less dangerous options, like onanism. (Not the biblical one.)
and porn.
Women.
Women short and tall, rubenesque and skinny, blond an brunet and raven and red, scantily clad or fancily decorated. good girls bad girls sweet girls mean girls.
pretty girls.
I want to have sex with them.
Well congratulations Isaac, you've entered the 9/10ths of the entire male population club.
I don't want to have sex with them.
Wait, what do you mean by that? Why the hell wouldn't you want to have sex with them if you're not gay? You're swerving into some much less populated demographics.
I mean, what I want from them, isn't what sex is.
Well, sex can mean a lot of things. We've got all kinds of sex, my boy. All kinds. Maybe you just haven't found the right flavor yet.
Perhaps. But I intuitively feel that what I'm searching for, what gets spiked whenever I see something feminine and attractive, doesn't really fit into that word, sex. I think that because I have access to the internet, and frankly, if it was just a certain kind of sex, I probably would have found it, by now. You see, the thing is, I don't know what it is, that I'm looking for. All I know is that, regular as old faithful, I start getting this violent swirling of energy inside me, like a whirlpool, like a hurricane. It wants... something. Wants to do something. And seeing beautiful woman, makes it want to do that something, even more.
Porn now, porn is simple. When I was younger, it was new. And that was good enough. I like novel experiences. I like masturbation. It's fun. As a teenager, it was pretty close to essential, to keep me from going crazy. And it was fascinating. However, what I've noticed nowadays, is that if it wasn't for porn, I wouldn't masturbate nearly as much. Which is interesting, because the sexual energy inside me is still strong, and I'd be spending a lot of time uncomfortably energized, just because I didn't care enough to fix the problem through a simple bout of strangling the dolphin.
That's odd, that is. The only conclusion I could come to about this, is that my horniness isn't distinctly, well, sexual. In order to get rid of that energy, via sexual release, I have to actually change the quality of that energy, from something pre-sexual, into sexual, via looking at pictures of people having sex. I suppose I should deeply thank porn, because without it I would be significantly more hot and bothered than I am now. Porn, and the subsequent masturbation, gives me contentment and release, even if just temporarily. Sometimes guilt too, but that bit, I've found, is optional.
Well, is there something else I could be putting this... well, energy, to use in? I think actually yes is the answer. I think I could. But there's something stopping me. something that would be very nice to deal with:
Failure.
made popular in Isaac-vile by
Rejection.
There are all sorts of cool things I could be doing, but I don't want to do them, even as I desperately want to do them, because I am terrified of failing, yet again. Afraid of being rejected. Somewhere along the line, I got told, or shown, that when I didn't succeed at something, when I "sinned", it meant that I was a bad person. I "took it personally."
you know, there are some people, I'm thinking of certain olympic athletes, but they're in every field, who excel in their field, not because they are just naturally the best, though they are predisposed for what they do, but because someone taught them good as a kid, and they learned that everything is a lesson, and there is no such thing as failure, as long as you learn from your mistakes. And bless there little hearts, they believed it, and they became super awesome because when they fell off the horse, they'd get back on.
Me, not so much. I fall off the horse, I generally stay off the horse. Maybe take up cricket. Something less predisposed to falling.
what the fuck, ay? Obviously I "know better."
fuck you, me. It doesn't matter if I "know better." because I feel worse.
Your little precious intellectual sound bites?
worthless, by themselves. Worse than worthless, when you use them to tell yourself how you are a bad person.
What matters is not what you think, but what you feel and what you do. And that has to do with what you really believe. Which is not what you think.
"well Isaac" you say, "why don't you get off your whining ass and do something to change your belief and feelings about this, rather than just complain about it."
Slap to the face. first for being dickish. Second because this is what I am doing, right now: it just so happens that writing is a pretty good way to get clear on things and process through them, if done with intent. And this blog is nothing if not a showcase of process. And occasional off-color jokes.
Well, I think I'm done for the night. Or the morning, as our weird system of am and pm would have it. I'll probably come back to this, unless I decide to rant in a different, more private journal instead.
I'll leave you with something wonderful:
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