I know it’s been while since we’ve spoken, but I’ve been trying to enjoy my summer. It doesn’t mean the last few weeks have been drama free or scourge free (what can I say, mama is a magnet for bullshit these days). In all the ups and downs in the last few weeks, one constant has remained the same: Sex, or more so the lack of it. If you’ve read any of my previous posts, you know that I believe that everyone should be having sex. And not that mediocre, that last 5 minutes, shitty sex. I am talking about sweaty, orgasm-filled, liberating, wanting-to-tell-the-mailman great sex. Of course I know that one’s inhibitions can usually dictate how good or utterly wretched the sex will be. But what happens when you put your good intentions out there and you get basically nothing but a laugh from God and perhaps a new vibrator from a concerned friend (Hi AG)…
There can be a number of reason why we go through a dry spell. If you’re like me living on a small island, in an even smaller city where the women outnumber the men by quite a bit, then you too will experience the Ferocious Drought of 2016. Now in my case, I chose to God-forsaken prison because I’m in “love” and I “want to be faithful” even though, my tall, dark glass of chocolate milk ( and I mean tall…getting a little sidetrack…but I bet you can see the hearts coming out of my fucking eyes right now…) is over a thousand miles away, enjoying gross Chicago-style pizza. What can I say, I only want it if I can’t actually get to it without getting on plane…and crossing borders. I love him, but sometimes when I’m in bed having wet dreams and wake up to the disappointing face of B.O.B, I could kill the man, cry over his dead body and kill him again.
I’m writing this to shed light on this horrible stain in life of millions of single and attached people alike. What I want to say is that you are not alone. Knowing that some of my friends are having sex without any worry or care in the world, literally kills a piece of my soul. Whether you chose the celibacy life or it chose you (I’m right there with you ), let’s make the best of it. Whenever people want to tell me about their nice little romantic encounters, I like to destroy the moment by telling them that I don’t understand what they’re talking about nor can I recall what a “penis” actually is. It’s great that they’re fucking, but where is the sympathy for you. Where is the empathy from your friends when they know damn well that you’re dying inside and the only thing that can save your decaying carcass is sex. Maybe we need better friends…or maybe more miserable, sexless ones.
*Illustration by Brad Amorosino*