Thursday, July 9, 2009
Back like the McRib
I must confess: I've been scared. Scared to continue this blog, scared to face the wrath of my readers. I know I've disappointed you and I'm sorry. But I do have a life to live (and oh how I've been living it) and I do have people in my life who would cease to remain if I chronicled every fucked up detail I've experienced.
As you can probably tell, I was mostly seeing someone for the past few months. An Indian princess. A Bengali beauty. My Bombayshell. A girl who made me give a fuck about the outcome of us. Work took her from me, though. Six figures on the east coast -- which is fine. If it wasn't her job it was bound to be my dick. I don't think I'm built for relationships. I don't think relationships are built for me. Ideally, I'd like to be involved during the week and single on the weekends. I had a friend who used to start a fight with his girlfriend on Thursday. They'd break-up on Friday, he'd go out and have a vodka-drenched, pussy-filled, guilt-free weekend, and then get back together with her on Sunday night.
"Baby, I'm so sorry. I miss you so much..."
That's the thing with guys: an unbusted nut is the most important thing in the world until we actually bust it. Then we can't fathom how it was so important in the first place. It's a deadly, deadly, beautiful cycle -- one that I'm beginning to feel right now.
We said our tearful airport goodbye. I cried hard. I've noticed I sound full-blown retarded when I cry. Deep, body-rattling sobs. My soul gagging on the sadness of reality like an amateur bulimic who can't believe she just ate that hamburger. You never know someone's true impact until you have to let them go. As long as they're around you can treat them like shit and take them for granted. Just ask Michael Jackson.
I guess now I'm technically free again. Summertime singletime in the sun-soaked city. So what should I write about? Nightlife? Women-juggling? The deaf transsexual pornstar who threatened me? I think I'll start with this:
I'm strongly considering banning all "fuck me's" from my bedroom. Well, bedroom area (I have three walls and a curtain). I'm thinking about putting up a sign and everything. Why? "Fuck me" creates pressure. Expectation. When I hear "fuck me", I fill with silent panic:
"You better fuck her, Jeff. You better impress her. Don't disappoint her. Then she'll tell all her friends you're a limp-dicked dud, and you're not. You're really a large-cocked stud. So you better fuck her and you better do it well. Impress her with that dick. Do it!"
That's my mind telling my body to get its shit together and perform. My body, which to this point has been going with the flow and running full steam ahead, which has not even considered the possibility of not filling her vagina with penis, begins to act defiant:
"You can't tell me what to do, motherfucker. I run shit."
"I know. I'm just saying..."
"Don't say shit! I got this!"
"Good. Fuck her then."
"Fuck you, motherfucker. I don't have to do a goddamn thing!"
And the dick. Shuts. Dowwwwwwwwwwn. During sex, your mind has to be a silent spectator jacking off in the corner. If he starts barking orders he's going to kill the moment. It's like telling a kid not to touch a hot stove. Now that you've told him he's suddenly aware of it. And he focuses on it. See, the body functions best as a child. Let it play, don't interrupt it. It'll be fine. The second you ask it to do something is the second it throws a temper tantrum. Regardless of how horny I am, how badly I want to have sex, if my mind is thrown into the equation my penis will take a cigarette break. It's a trade-off: only one head works at a time.
For me, the only time "fuck me" is acceptable is when I'm already fucking. Then it actually fuels the sex, the moment, the animal horniness.
"Yeah? You like that?"
"Oh fuck yeah!
"You like getting fucking fucked?"
"Oh yes! Give me that fucking cock!"
"This fucking cock, yeah? You love it? You love fucking this fucking cock?"
Is it just me or is "you like that?" the number one question asked during sex? Maybe I'm just insecure and want to know I'm doing a good job. I don't know.
So, in closing, pre-sex "fuck me's" are a no-no. Heat-of-the-moment "fuck me's" are perfectly acceptable, so long as everything's going okay.
Goddamn it feels good to be back.