I have a wish for everyone who reads these words:
I hope you get thoroughly and deliciously laid.
I hope you get laid with a sweaty humid musk that lingers for days. I hope you ache from the waist up and down and have to walk funny for weeks. I hope you rediscover nerve endings and tiny muscles deep inside your naughty bits and awaken them with juicy tingling. I hope you invite more people, more accessories, and more positions into your boudoir than you ever imagined before.
You seen Amelie? There's that scene where she stares out the window and postulates how many people are having sex that evening and then turns to the camera and whispers something like, "Sixteen."? This past summer I spent many a night sitting on my roof postulating the exact same question. I am into month God-Knows-What of celibacy. This celibacy is not at all completely self-imposed; sometimes the heavens stack the odds against me. So I sit on the rooftops on the far Northwest Side of Chicagoland staring across bungalows and townhouses, sand traps and putting greens, pre-fab families and retirees, and hope to God someone's getting laid tonight. At work the parade of Wisteria Lane MILFs and back-to-school poptarts line up for their hourly fix, sharing their Louvre smiles and lascivious glances, and I hope someone is actually giving to them what my ribald mind has planned but my professional demeanor cannot. At rehearsal I flirt shamelessly on stage with women in a bar and joke dangerously with them on smoke breaks, and everyone can see the strings of my acting.
I'm not using my sexual energy. It's become a joke, a toy, a storytelling tool. Anything but a means to a loud, nail-shredding, arcing gooey orgasm. So I bequeath it to you. May you swim in the fallopian tubes of utter hedonism. Call a friend, call two friends, grab some lube and keep your minds open. Have sex so good it inspires you to sculpt, write, sing, make some art. Cause I'm not, and it'd be a shame for all this energy to go to waste.
What are you waiting for? Stop reading this, go out, and get some motherfuckin' ass.
Somebody's getting laid tonight.
3 comments:
Yep. Now's your chance. You're twice as sexy as before, if there's such a thing as possible.
Hah! Fuck that! Fun-nay!
Flattery will get you everywhere, mister.
Honestly, I'm not trying to flatter anyone. I'm trying to let go. I find the more I yearn and want something, the less likely it is to happen. So I don't wanna play that game anymore. If it's not happening, it's not meant to be. And I want to be cool with that and still have fun.
Celibacy can be fun, somehow... I just have to find it. In the meantime, that doesn't mean I can't hope that the rest of the world doesn't have a sucky lustless time. God, I hope you all get so full of passion your head asplodes.
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