So this is post number two hundred and forty three for the year. I had a little hiccup last night with writing. I had my iPad on my lap prepared to write something… I totally passed out. Not even sure why because I had gotten plenty of sleep and I had only been driving for a little over seven hours. Oh well. To be able to write ‘something’ every day is a little harder than one might think. I’ll have to double up soon to end up with at least a years worth of blogs when this year comes to an end.
I’ve been shut down for the day in central Oregon since my delivery still has another day until I can show up. After spending a day catching up on laundry, watching some old western movies, watching videos on server side scripting language and falling in and out of random naps I decided my blog needs a little more flavor.
Though some may tell me otherwise, my life isn’t as fulfilling as I want it to be. At least I don’t think so. There’s a few stories I could tell that could make the most un judgmental person reconsider their stance but I have to be careful. What if the mother of a former partner in crime read this? I’d feel bad for the impact it could have. Plus I realize that although I don’t really care what really care what people think of me, I still have a reputation to guard that doesn’t need the scrutiny of prospective employers or clients.
So my most popular topics so far have been about sex, yoga pants and surprisingly a one paragraph post about needing a co-pilot in life. Runner ups include my feelings on military, war and my thoughts on religion.
I don’t use a prompt to write, nor do I base a majority of these posts off anything mainstream. At least I try not to. A part of me wishes I lived a little more deviant adolescence in which my story could have some more worth. I read some blogs about some really fucked up people and I must say, I’m hooked on their story. The sex addicts, former heroin junkies, cutters, psychopaths, super sluts gone single mother status, self proclaimed missionaries… The list goes on and on…
I wanted to write about sex. I mean, something to really get a reaction out of my readers. Which by the way, for not advertising my blog I am amazed at the number of people that read this out of the blue. It’s why I write. The readers. The masses. Anyone that can get a grasp for what I’m trying to do here. Anyways, onward to sex.
I’ve had my fair share. I’m sure I’ll get some heat for what I write here from my future wife but anyone of importance in my life want judge at all for my past. What’s my number? Hahahah, you think I’m going to admit that here? Ok, well it’s twenty two. And no, the rule of threes doesn’t apply here. (When guys tell you how many you typically divide by three, when women tell you you multiply it by three).
There is a reality I want to share about how I feel about sex but first I will say that every single woman I’ve been with has been extremely important to me in their own special way. No matter how meaningless or ill performed it was (on either side), it helps me realize more and more of who I am.
The reality is… It’s just not what it used to be. I used to hold women on a pretty high pedestal. Part of the motivation was simply to get some action. A bigger part of it was because I really thought that something amazing could come out of meeting the right one. Maybe I’m just jaded from the handful of them that have screwed me over. Maybe it’s because there are some out there that I couldn’t quite get into the sack. My belief is that I’ve accepted the fact that I am allowed to have standards. Not just shaved, cleaned and taken care of either. I mean someone who fits my mold. Someone I don’t have to wonder about. Someone that doesn’t leave a shadow of a doubt in my head when they leave for a few days. I think I’m getting bored of the game.
Sure, I’ve got some baggage. Who doesn’t? My family situation is a huge sore spot right now and my social circle has turned into a pizza baked on the oven rack without a pan. I’m a fairly quiet guy without a lot of weird idiosyncrasies. I try to be accommodating and supportive. I’m self sufficient, good with my hands and can hold my own with any new learned skill. I’ve got hopes and dreams. I may not be super tall but I don’t think I have short mans complex. Enough about me…
Whether I’ve had sex with a woman or not, I’m finding myself frustrated. Sure, she’s got a great ass and that wonderfully kissable neck, but does she have the temperament to live a life with a person like me? Is she still trying to sow her wild oats? Is she simply at a pit stop in her life and is patiently waiting for something better?
Reminds me of being in a strip club while in the military. I actually didn’t look forward to going most of the time and when I did, I was quite bored. I’d watch the women on stage dancing all sexily-like while they stared off into oblivion… Kind of like a drone sitting at an office cubicle. I actually only really liked one stripper. No, not the one with t-rex sized arms. She came and sat on my lap asking if I wanted a lap dance. I was never hesitant to inform any of them if I didn’t have money, and I told her just that. “I’m just here with my friends and I don’t have cash or money to spend… Sorry”… She was cute and all but I figured when I told her that, she would get up and go to the next one. Funny thing, she stayed with me… Sitting on my lap of course. The whole night she turned down guys asking her for dances and she only left me to go dance on stage when it was her turn. She came right back. Now I’m not that naive to realize her game here, but why on a busy night would one of the better looking strippers be sitting on a guys lap that hasn’t spent a dollar on her or anyone else for that matter? I asked her why and she simply said she didn’t feel like dealing with the clientele in there and would rather be sitting talking to me. I took that with a grain of salt… I ended up staying until the club closed down and she probably made a whopping $40 that night. I was in love with a stripper and I never even got her name… And no, I didn’t go home with her and I never saw her again…
What I realized from that night (which was one of my last times in a strip club) was that regardless of who they are or what they do, a girl wants what a girl wants. Would I ever date a stripper? Probably not… Would I have sex with one? Probably not… At least not while they are practicing the profession. I don’t judge but I also have abstract limits to what I’ll do.
Back to another realization of that night, even though she was getting nothing from me at all, she made me feel good about myself. Maybe she was assuming I’d come on payday and spend every last dollar on her, but I think I made it clear to her that I wasn’t the kind of guy to frequent these places. Anyways, my point here is that I’ve met few women outside of this anomalous situation that have actually made me feel truly wanted like she did. Yes I know, the reality of it was that she was a stripper and her job was to be nice to guys like me… Thats not my point here…
I’ve spent a lot of money on (non-stripper) girls. A lot. Where has it gotten me? Sitting in the back of a semi truck in Central Oregon writing about how screwed up I’ve allowed my life to get. I’m surprisingly ok with that however, because I’d rather be sitting here writing about the downfalls of my personal life than spending it with someone who has a perpetual look of ‘I’ve got somewhere else I’d rather be’ on their face.
Sadly, there always seems to be some sort of deal breaker… She’s got ex issues, I have a gypsy soul, she’s a raging alcoholic, I’m emotionally guarded… Or we’re simply not attracted the way we’d hope to be. One of us seems to want something just a little bit different.
So here I sit at this point in my life… As if I was back in that chair in the strip club. I’m not throwing anything out there to attract the flies but patiently waiting for someone to come along and we’ll both know its right… Then maybe sex will be something I really look forward to again.