It occurred to me the other day that I had stopped enjoying sex.
Not to say sex wasn't enjoyable-- it was, as far as it goes. What I noticed was that, enjoyable as it was, I was less and less there as it was happening.
There I'd be, in bed with some wonderful girl or another, and my mind would be elsewhere-- the passion, the fire, would be elsewhere. For a while, the only thing that really worked for booze: properly drunk, I would bowl a girl over like a far-sighted caveman, drooling and slobbering until I got my last "grunt."
Not my best performances, I'm sure.
Truth was, and is, I had been in a sexual funk-- no interest in hunting Big Game and, if a deer happen to stray into the line of my phallic metaphor, no real interest in pulling the trigger either.
Worse yet, I didn't even want it alone. Every orgasm was a limp cough, a fleeting spark without a fire. The worst time to be disappointed in yourself is when your masturbating.
So I got an idea. And by "got," I mean stole.
Some guy had posted in a forum about how he had gone without an orgasm for an entire month-- no sex (he was married, so it wasn't hard-- har har), no masturbation, no nothing.
Eureka.
Since yesterday, August 19th, I have gone without touching myself and will do so for 30 days.
And you, lucky readers, will be along for the ride.
Like smoking, I hear the first week is the hardest (har har): so, a week from now, I'll report again on how my thing fares.
As for right now, I don't feel any different. No blue balls, no leering at high schoolers, no morning wood. But, my friends, we shall see.
If I don't report back by the end of the 30 days, assume I've gone on a killing spree.
(by the way, how is this about masculinity or feminism? Seriously, a 30 day fast from sex? What better way to find out what a man truly is... when he's not trying to get laid.)
Not to say sex wasn't enjoyable-- it was, as far as it goes. What I noticed was that, enjoyable as it was, I was less and less there as it was happening.
There I'd be, in bed with some wonderful girl or another, and my mind would be elsewhere-- the passion, the fire, would be elsewhere. For a while, the only thing that really worked for booze: properly drunk, I would bowl a girl over like a far-sighted caveman, drooling and slobbering until I got my last "grunt."
Not my best performances, I'm sure.
Truth was, and is, I had been in a sexual funk-- no interest in hunting Big Game and, if a deer happen to stray into the line of my phallic metaphor, no real interest in pulling the trigger either.
Worse yet, I didn't even want it alone. Every orgasm was a limp cough, a fleeting spark without a fire. The worst time to be disappointed in yourself is when your masturbating.
So I got an idea. And by "got," I mean stole.
Some guy had posted in a forum about how he had gone without an orgasm for an entire month-- no sex (he was married, so it wasn't hard-- har har), no masturbation, no nothing.
Eureka.
Since yesterday, August 19th, I have gone without touching myself and will do so for 30 days.
And you, lucky readers, will be along for the ride.
Like smoking, I hear the first week is the hardest (har har): so, a week from now, I'll report again on how my thing fares.
As for right now, I don't feel any different. No blue balls, no leering at high schoolers, no morning wood. But, my friends, we shall see.
If I don't report back by the end of the 30 days, assume I've gone on a killing spree.
(by the way, how is this about masculinity or feminism? Seriously, a 30 day fast from sex? What better way to find out what a man truly is... when he's not trying to get laid.)
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