Thursday, August 28, 2008

Sex Blog Thursday: God damn you shrubbery

This is a piece for the Sex Blog Thursday Group.

I’m not a promiscuous person.

Not that there’s anything wrong with promiscuity, if people want to engage in sexual activity with a high number, and wide variety, of folks, then that’s their business and has absolutely nothing to do with me, no matter who, what, or how they want to stick what when and where.

I strictly limit myself to fucking only those people who want to have sex with me. If there’s no one around who wants that particular job, I have no problem having sex with myself; I’m not one of those people who goes around forcing his penis down everyone’s throat whether it’s been requested or not, or, as they’re called in the parlance of our times, Evangelical Christians. Those people are promiscuous. I’m just an opportunist.

For any women who are reading this and wondering how only sleeping with the people who want to sleep with me is in any way discerning or discriminating, you should know that, as men, very few women will try to sleep with us over the course of our lives, maybe a few dozen at most; unlike women, whom are constantly hounded by everything with a penis including several breeds of small dog and more than a few of their drunken uncles.

Of course, this doesn’t count if you’re wealthy or famous; if that’s the case, then you may as well be a woman for the number of people who try to fuck you.

My selectivity can lead to some problems. Namely, in that there are times when it’s best not to put your penis into everyone who requests that you do; I learned that lesson the first time my second grade teacher, in a moment of desperation, after realizing that she accidentally forgot to take a whole month’s worth of birth control pills and was now most likely infected with the kind of parasite that a state agency paid her to teach, whispered, “Fuck me” while she stood near my desk; or when you’re otherwise monogamistically linked to a person that doesn’t share your views on the harmlessness of having sex with their close friends and relatives.

I’ve only ever successfully turned down sex once and I’ve cheated on every woman with whom I’ve ever been romantically involved. When you add that to my disdain for personal hygiene, extensive porn collection, and love of all things anal, you can see why most women don’t often ask me to have sex with them; however, it does happen from time to time, and I have only ever once said “No.”

Well, that’s not true, I said no twice, technically, but I only ever really meant it once and the other time I was just posturing because I was too young, idealistic, and stupid to do what I would regret doing had I done it, but probably should have done at the time. I suppose that’s what you get for having principles.

The first time I turned a girl down for sex, she was drunk, I was sober, and that didn’t seem fair. You can talk drunken people into doing all kinds of things that they wouldn’t ordinarily do, including degrading things such as having sex with someone like me.

The other time I turned someone down for sex, it turned out that she was a virgin and I was the first boy she ever kissed. Not wanting that kind of pressure, I gracefully bowed out and let someone else spoil that poor girl. I may be a monster, but I prefer to keep my monsterism to the already ruined.

So, short of discovering that an orifice was filled with razor sharp teeth, or pus oozing sores, there’s not much, as various small animals, pool filters, and microwave heated jars of peanut butter can attest, that would dissuade me from putting my penis into a warm, wet place, which is nice if you’re the kind of person who wants to have sex with me, but not so nice if you’re the kind of person that doesn’t want me to have sex with anyone else; namely, my wife, or various sixteen year old girls’ parents.

Unfortunately, once I’m having sex, I’m almost always disappointed. I grew up in a home where sex and sexual imagery was only acceptable when there was laughter to be had; for example, if one of my parents, on the first day of high school, were to show up and loudly ask, in front of my peers, if I could explain the box of Kleenex, bottle of hand lotion, and thousands of rock hard tissues they found underneath my bed; the rest of the time, my pornography was routinely confiscated and I was not allowed to have girls in my room without the door staying open; therefore, I never remember anything about sex because I tend to lose interest in it before long thereby making it a regularly disappointing experience (although, probably less disappointing for me than it is for any of the other participants).

I do, however, remember all the horrible things that have happened while having sex: a girl mistaking my penis for a finger, my partner vomiting en flagrante delicto, my grandmother’s coffin, behind which I was hiding, choosing the exact moment of my climax to tip over.

There’s nothing important about sex and there’s nothing particularly special about it, which is why I no more remember each sexual encounter than I do every handshake… well, that’s not entirely true either, because I don’t have to cover my hands in latex before introducing myself to someone… anymore.

Human beings, like most other animals, know that fucking feels good, but, unlike our primitive cousins, we possess the consciousness and understanding necessary for engaging in the kinds of sex about which zebras can only dream; unfortunately, we spoil that by inventing imaginary deities with rules about who, how, why, when, and where we can fuck when really there’s no reason why two, or more, consenting adults, upon realizing that they have five to ten minutes to kill while waiting for a bus, dinner, movie, taxi, school bell, or police response, shouldn’t just strip off their clothes and start fucking wherever, however, and whyever they so please.

If people relaxed about that sort of thing, then the world would probably be exactly the same as it is now, because human beings can’t ever leave well enough alone and enjoy a fun aspect of their existence, but at least we’d all get laid a little more.

Just try not to be promiscuous.

Sex Mahoney for President

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