Tuesday 29 October 2013

sixty-nine being nothing but a number

Bend over and twerk me, force me down and hurt me. Straddle me, get on your knees for me. Stimulate or tease me. Stammer out the words s,s,s,s,sixty-nine? if you resist it will be the only time. Degrade yourself to please me. In the moment you belong to me.

That is what I want.

I trust you were happy to allow to me to park all of my trademark sensitivity for a moment. It's still here of course but right now it is being steamrollered into submission by my selfish sexual appetite, animal noises and filthy fantasies.

All men have secrets and here is mine, so let it be known. I want to rut with her. I want to lay with that girl. I think I even want to make love to some of them. I'm telling you I don't want sex with one person, I want sex with literally millions of people. Why should I limit myself? I'm not sure I've got the stamina to reach the full seven figures but when there are men so old that they need scaffolding to maintain their erections still having sex, I'm happy that at least time is on my side.

For any women readers out there who might pretend to think I'm crazy when I talk about the scale of the male sex drive I will try to illuminate my point a little. Every single day I'm faced with new people coming into contact with me or cutting across my eye-line. I am always going to have an initial instinctive reaction like, 'what are they doing here?' or 'what can they do for me?'. Now here is the controversial bit. With every single one of those people my first instinct is to ask a question: 'Can I fuck it?'. Assuming an affirmative answer, a second, and potentially more important question is posed: 'Would I fuck it?'. You might be surprised how often the second question returns a yes.

It's in our nature, all of us, to want sex. To want good sex, with the people we're attracted to. Even at inappropriate times and places. Unfortunately, at some point this fact seems to have gotten perverted to the point where it is dangerous to admit the truth. We all get horny sometimes!

It's degenerated to the stage now were a man can claim an addiction to sex for compelling him to cheat on his wife. It's not Tiger's fault, he has a medical condition. It was the same for Michael Douglas. He didn't want to have sex with all of those beautiful and willing ladies. It was simply a case of a relentless addiction taken hold. My opinion on all of this is a little different to the conventional. If these guys are sex addicts because they wanted to have sex with a seemingly endless line of women the I'm sorry to say that almost all men are sex addicts. I'm a sex addict. My friends are sex addicts. Your boyfriend is a sex addict. The difference between men like Tiger Woods and an average Joe is availability and risk assessment. Be realistic guys, if you had drunken women throwing themselves at you like you were a premiership footballer do you think you wouldn't try to have your cake. Most normal guys also have to consider whether it's worth the risk to lose out on the regular sex in exchange for the possibility of some extra sex.

Girls! Girls! listen to me. Your virtue doesn't lie between your legs. It lies in the better part of you. The bits that make up the person you really are. So, take this as a call to arms because I'm not going to judge you. Girls! If you feel like you want to have sex then why don't you just go ahead and do. Do it as often as you like. Ya wee skitter!

The truth is, it's the constant search for all the sex I can find that's really been holding me back all this time. Here I am blaming it all on drinking and depression when perhaps the problem is that I drink to give me the confidence to go chasing ass and then get super depressed with everything when it doesn't happen.

If I were truly in love with someone. Then maybe things would be different.


Tuesday 22 October 2013

23/10/2013

Bring me Miley's wrecking ball. I would like something to smash through my scull right now and it seems like the implement of choice at the moment.

So, shall I go ahead and pour out the melodrama? Once again I feel like letting the whole production crash down around me. Drink myself into oblivion, fuck the college shit into the bin, push my stupid head through a cattle grill and sink into self indulgent madness.

Man, I have issues. Big, ugly, inflammatory, elephant sized issues. If I step back for a second I can see them there in all there suffocating glory, squeezing the oxygen from my lust for life. I suppose they make me what I am. A needy, neurotic loser. A shit scared bottler that takes one risk a decade and lies awake at night questioning why he hasn't made it yet. A stuck in the friend zone motherfucker with an habitual fondness for choosing the wrong one.

If I'm correct, self pity is a very attractive trait. But of course I am wrong (Perhaps that's why the Jews have never been considered a particularly attractive race). Luckily I don't want to play that card today. I could and in the past I most certainly would have. Maybe I would have crawled into bed for a month and refused to talk to anyone, grow a beard and loose a stone. I've snapped out of it before I settled into it.

If I could focus for any longer than the length of a 10 minute porn video I think I could probably have worked myself into someone quite smart or successful by now. Instead I move from one interest to the next before the had work begins because I don't want to run the risks that success may bring. Feeling unloved and overlooked, I've been looking for ways to confirm that theory. Unsurprisingly, it ain't in no way hard to find them! At least when everything crashes I can say I got what I really, really was looking for...A chance to build a tree house of self loathing and climb inside.

Anyway, the here and now. I'm a fuck up. I'm so fucking angry and depressed with no effective outlet that my brain is hurting inside my head. I'm rejected, again. I'm feeling old, getting older. Running out of time already! All that shit isn't good, but it really isn't so horribly bad either. I mean, I have managed to get this far without disintegrating completely. It's like this, I just can't be bothered with the wasted time anymore. Yes, today I feel shit but I don't want to feel sorry for myself feeling shit.

Fuck sake! What are we doing with these emotions? It would be nice not to get the bad ones but then I guess we wouldn't ever get the good ones.

P.s. Actually not bothered by what I've done this time to put me here. It wasn't a mistake.

Friday 4 October 2013

Commitment issues?

Okay, it's friday night and I've work in the morning so try to keep up because I would like to make this post a quick one. Otherwise I don't sleep enough, i get cranky and I'll be a complete cunt to everyone tomorrow.

This whole thing started with me vowing to try quitting drinking. I haven't done. I'm not even pretending to try anymore. Not yet at least. But now that I'm here and I have your attention I suppose I can leave the structure of the blog behind and just stick down what is on my mind.

I'm looking at myself and seeing a guy who doesn't want to commit himself to anything. Or more specifically anyone. It's really dawned on me recently because of some of the comical circumstances of my life recently, and I'm going to get to those, but it's been there all along. Fuck it, I can't even commit to myself with any conviction, I'm not committing to another.

This shit I'm going to tell you is all true. It's all nonsense, I admit but nevertheless it is true. I'm trying to describe why I feel like I have serious issues with committment. I supposes I'll start with the most recent and take it from there, however it come. Some of this is highly embarrassing stuff so I'm going to whistle through this like machine-gun fire and let the reader be the judge.

As recently as today I have been texting a lovely girl I kissed recently. But here comes the nonsense. I met this girl briefly while on holidays in Rome. She lives in Rome? maybe not the best girl to be texting. That's not even it. I met her in Rome, she lives in Vienna and is from Mumbai in India. I'd still rather text her than any of the girls in Newry.

That is only exhibit A

Then there was another holiday romance. This time a 37 year old Roman lady with breasts like Lola Ferrari(remember her? if not, use google). She were right good fun but didn't quite speak my language. Literally, she only had about twenty words of English. Using google translate on a mates phone to pick-up was a challenge but who doesn't enjoy a challenge like this. In the end the only thing I understand was, "you want the sex?" Yes, Yes I do. Alas it did not happen. Her friend cockblocked me. Wouldn't let us have sex in the back of her car!!! Bitch!!!

Over the years there has been many a daft crush. I was certain I was in love with a beautiful blonde haired Polish princess. This one could have been the one. Shame she was moving to London not long after we met and from there travelling the world. I think she lives in Stockholm now. Of course she does.

There was the one I was friends with but only decided to fall for when she was pregnant. Obviously at the time this was a no go in reality. Obviously at the time this is what really attracted me.

What about the girl i thought I quite liked in Ollies but then got into my head that she was sweet sixteen. Yes that would be joyous when she takes me home to meet her parents and I realise that I went to school with her father. Maybe that was the one that could have worked out.

Boyfriends seem to be a very attractive quality in a girl. An almost endless stream of average and stunning looking girls alike I've convinced myself were my only desire. All of them with boyfriends. It's funny though because it never took much to cure me of this sickness. They break up, she's single and I don't want her now. Second hand? Fuck no!

I've had a good go at trying to make things really awkward between myself and one of my best friends. She'll cringe at this but the blog was your idea, eh? This is a girl who would have said I was her brother. Nothing will ever happen between us. I knew this, so the pattern dictates I had to declare my love. Starting to think I enjoy this type of drama. Or I'm addicted to it.

Oh yes, how could I forget about my eastern european lap dancer. Clara, oh Clara. Bet that's not even her real name. Met her at work and thought, 'yeah this girl just can't get enough of me', I took her number and met her the next night, again at work and I mean her work if you didn't guess. This could be the future bride i'm sure. All she wanted was £80 for sex in a squalid Edinburgh apartment. Marriage material. Anyway it never worked out even when I text for a bit. It was the whole long distance thing again. Apart from that she was perfect.

I met a girl a little while back. We got on pretty well immediately and are on the same wavelenght on so many things. I wondered to myself what it was that made me approach her. But obviously by now I've developed a sixth sense for this sort of thing. A week or two later she tells me She might have to move back to Brazil very soon. That's when it all clicked into place.

In the summer I kissed a girl who lives on this island. WOW! The point is this girls fit, smart, good craic and fun too. For some reason these things don't seem to tick my boxes. I would much prefer to be texting random strangers from half the world away.

Ah fuck it, I'm bored now with this shit. Leave it by saying there are plenty more were that came from. I think I need a team of trained physchologists to analyize every single thought I have. Maybe they could find out what's wrong with me. Or everyone else It wouldn't matter, I'd still .be bull-shitting them.

Don't get me wrong though. It's all alot of fun and silly games. Keeps things interesting. I can't settle. No, I won't settle. Not yet anyways