Work. Get a job. Get a job so you can get money so you can fuck. Lift weights so you look good enough to fuck. Learn shit, have funny and interesting things to talk about, so you can fuck. Go out so you can fuck, stay in online so you can fuck. Get good sources for drugs, stock your house with alcohol, learn how to cook so your second date can be at your house. Go to parties and spend money and talk to people and who gives a a shit what any of them say unless they’re girls you can fuck, guys who might know girls you can fuck. This is a disease of our libertine society, we are told. Used to be you’d get married young and your first time would be on your wedding night. You’d be monogamous for life. Bullshit. No one ever did that. The men were always fucking something. Hookers, donkeys, little boys.
I’m gonna hang my nuts in a car door and slam it shut. There will be pain, but it will be brief. It can’t hurt as much as a lifetime’s worth of all the stupid shit I do for pussy. The drinking, the drugs, the time spent away from what might be constructive labors. All that shit but especially just being a machine walking around with the aim to hurt human beings. I don’t end up with one night stand type women. No strings attached sex in which both parties are up front feels sick to me. I need to pretend, and maybe even believe, that we’re gonna speak again. That maybe she’s my future wife, or at least we’ll be friends. And then I need to fuck her and never speak again. I’ll get a couple rounds of texts saying “hey what’s up.” They like me, these girls. I’m not that good looking and I can’t fuck for shit. But I have personality.
If I lived in the 70’s I’d have a hundred bastard children. Nowadays they can track you down. Better pull out then. Used to be you could fake your own death. Driving to another state was like sailing off the edge of the world. Now you jaywalk in Idaho and they’ll arrest you in fucking New Guinea.
Used to be you could fuck someone and leave and maybe they’d be pining for you but you’d never know. She’d look up at the moon and think: you were under that same moon. Maybe you were thinking of her too. Now they know. They see you on facebook wrapped around some other horny drunkard. No illusions anymore. You can fuck now more than you ever could but you can’t escape consequences. You are accountable.
You fuck, but still, you barely get less desperate. You just get desperate for increasingly nitpicky shit. I used to be desperate to get laid. Now I am desperate to fuck a white girl under the age of 20 with perfect bone structure and no moles. I am desperate to rawdog an ovulating woman I’ve never met, tonight, and have her leave afterward. I’m desperate to get laid via “incall business” without the hassle of typing an OKCupid message. Without walking a block to the bar. Without calling anyone I’ve already fucked. Without responding to any texts. I want it to just materialize, like a fairy fucking godmother. And then dematerialize just as quickly when I ejaculate so I can drink alone and play video games.
Your desperation will just crank itself up until what you want is impossible. There is no winning. There is only giving up. Letting it go until it readjusts. After a few weeks it goes back to: I will fuck any non-mutant woman under 30 who responds to OKCupid copypasta. Anyone who talks like an easy first date score. Anyone who merely bores you instead of actively grating on you with every word.
But you can’t let go altogether. Life without fucking is spent on the edge of suicide. Men who go without pussy slowly morph into the Virginia Tech shooter. Surly self-pitying weirdos. Getting laid isn’t the addition of pleasure to your life. It is the removal of a punishment. The brief absence of a voice chanting “you’re stupid you’re ugly you’re fat no one will ever love you.”
Jesus, look at me. It’s seventy degrees and sunny. It’s the weekend. I’m about to go sit by a pond and watch frolicking ducks. What’s got into me, that I’m thinking like a grim-faced nut.
Must be time for a new piece of ass.