Meaningless Fuck
So I was sitting around the other night, filling another empty vodka glass with tears, when I realised that I’m heavily conflicted.
Okay, so I’m conflicted in so many ways that even dozens of posts harbouring my neuroses can’t scratch my surface. But here’s another.
I hate exercising my primal urge to fuck hundreds of girls for no real reason. I hate hating to exercise that urge, but the urge is there – I just don’t act on it. I’ve attempted to explain my apparent masochism in various ways to people, but you know? I’m just talking crap. Observe:
1. Maybe I can’t distinguish between sex and love.
Oh, I’ve told so many people this one. I’m not lying to them, either. Sometimes I really believe it. When I start to love a girl, I want to sleep with her – fine. But it also works in reverse with me. When I sleep with a girl, I find it very hard to suppress feelings of love for her. I don’t like sleeping with girls I’m not in love with – it just seems masturbatory and trivial. What’s the point? Where’s the amazing feeling? It’s nowhere without the right connections, and a purely physical one isn’t enough for me.
This, to the point where I will *make* myself fall for girls I’m about to sleep with or have slept with. Just to get that transcendental feeling. Just to make it worthwhile. I’ve also slept with girls thinking that perhaps they’re like me, and would fall for me if I did it. What a fucking trauma that game turns out to be - *nobody* is like me. I just end up more in love and they thank me for the fuck and leave. My own fault.
So, really, it does seem like I can’t separate sex and love in my head. But it’s not true. I’ve had ‘just sex’. How else can I know to avoid it? I’ve banged away at dumb trollops and never looked back – but it’s happened so rarely, and I like to dwell on it so little that it just *feels* like every time I’ve given a girl a good shafting, I’ve been in love.
So sure, I’ve had sex, and I can distinguish it from love. So why don’t I just do it? My next logical step is to try and figure out why I do the casual sex thing so rarely. I’ve got a good excuse for that. Observe:
2. I’m just not confident with the ladies.
This is *the* excuse, and precisely what I tell anybody that asks. I even wrote an entire post about it here. It just seems so true! When I’m in public and see a girl standing by the bar or sitting on a bus that I’d like to talk to, I just never get up the urge to start speaking to them. Nerves, surely?
No, unfortunately. Even though this is my stock reason, I know it’s not true. I’m totally confident. With anybody. If anything, I’m too confident. Put me in a situation where I *must* talk to people, and arsing hell, I *will* talk. So if I’m so cock-sodding-sure of myself, why don’t I approach girls? And when they *do* talk to me, why I do burble like an incoherent fuckwit?
It’s because I’m *lazy*. Seriously, seriously lazy. Bone fucking idle. I just can’t work up the wherewithal to talk to girls that I’m *not* going to have a relationship with. I don’t find it interesting or fun to approach strangers at a bar and have to make small-talk for fifteen minutes whilst they acclimatise to my character. I lack the determination to put my brain into high-gear when talking to someone on a bus that I’ll never see again. No… I’m not shy, per se, I’m just self-destructively lazy.
Give me a girl that I genuinely like, and think might lead somewhere other than mindless chit-chat at a bar and a meaningless fuck on her parent’s couch, then sure - you’ll see my confidence. Until then, though, you just see the burbling dolt that my lazy mind lumbers me with when I’m not paying attention.
So now what? I can distinguish sex from love, and I’m too lazy to get some, even though I go home and wank furiously every day. The contradiction in me becomes more apparent with every reason I give for not taking a lovely blonde from behind with no-strings.
3. Meaningless sex just doesn’t interest me.
But it does! Oh god, it does. There’s nothing quite like the power-trip associated with ransacking a girl’s dignity over the course of a single night.
4. Oh, I’m just not confident when it comes to fucking strangers.
Except, of course, when I’m in bed with a girl the confidence I mentioned in reason (2) multiplies by a factor of, oh, three hundred?
5. But I’d want to see her again!
Ah, the web of lies runs thin now… I covered this reason in (1).
6. I must be gay!?
I’m not gay, end of story. Why am *I* calling me gay, anyway? Christ.
6a. Well, you’re confused *somehow*, you fucking FREAK.
Yes, this – really – is the only reason that covers it. I think, having written that self-abusive process of deduction down, that I am a very confused person. I want to fuck people meaninglessly, but I don’t – for some reason. It’s probably something to do with evolution, which is always a cunt. But more likely it’s some fucking neurosis that {insert name of wench here} has given me.
Perhaps one day I’ll be able to print out all these posts, hand them to a team of psychologists and have them fix me. I’m not holding my breath.
Okay, so I’m conflicted in so many ways that even dozens of posts harbouring my neuroses can’t scratch my surface. But here’s another.
I hate exercising my primal urge to fuck hundreds of girls for no real reason. I hate hating to exercise that urge, but the urge is there – I just don’t act on it. I’ve attempted to explain my apparent masochism in various ways to people, but you know? I’m just talking crap. Observe:
1. Maybe I can’t distinguish between sex and love.
Oh, I’ve told so many people this one. I’m not lying to them, either. Sometimes I really believe it. When I start to love a girl, I want to sleep with her – fine. But it also works in reverse with me. When I sleep with a girl, I find it very hard to suppress feelings of love for her. I don’t like sleeping with girls I’m not in love with – it just seems masturbatory and trivial. What’s the point? Where’s the amazing feeling? It’s nowhere without the right connections, and a purely physical one isn’t enough for me.
This, to the point where I will *make* myself fall for girls I’m about to sleep with or have slept with. Just to get that transcendental feeling. Just to make it worthwhile. I’ve also slept with girls thinking that perhaps they’re like me, and would fall for me if I did it. What a fucking trauma that game turns out to be - *nobody* is like me. I just end up more in love and they thank me for the fuck and leave. My own fault.
So, really, it does seem like I can’t separate sex and love in my head. But it’s not true. I’ve had ‘just sex’. How else can I know to avoid it? I’ve banged away at dumb trollops and never looked back – but it’s happened so rarely, and I like to dwell on it so little that it just *feels* like every time I’ve given a girl a good shafting, I’ve been in love.
So sure, I’ve had sex, and I can distinguish it from love. So why don’t I just do it? My next logical step is to try and figure out why I do the casual sex thing so rarely. I’ve got a good excuse for that. Observe:
2. I’m just not confident with the ladies.
This is *the* excuse, and precisely what I tell anybody that asks. I even wrote an entire post about it here. It just seems so true! When I’m in public and see a girl standing by the bar or sitting on a bus that I’d like to talk to, I just never get up the urge to start speaking to them. Nerves, surely?
No, unfortunately. Even though this is my stock reason, I know it’s not true. I’m totally confident. With anybody. If anything, I’m too confident. Put me in a situation where I *must* talk to people, and arsing hell, I *will* talk. So if I’m so cock-sodding-sure of myself, why don’t I approach girls? And when they *do* talk to me, why I do burble like an incoherent fuckwit?
It’s because I’m *lazy*. Seriously, seriously lazy. Bone fucking idle. I just can’t work up the wherewithal to talk to girls that I’m *not* going to have a relationship with. I don’t find it interesting or fun to approach strangers at a bar and have to make small-talk for fifteen minutes whilst they acclimatise to my character. I lack the determination to put my brain into high-gear when talking to someone on a bus that I’ll never see again. No… I’m not shy, per se, I’m just self-destructively lazy.
Give me a girl that I genuinely like, and think might lead somewhere other than mindless chit-chat at a bar and a meaningless fuck on her parent’s couch, then sure - you’ll see my confidence. Until then, though, you just see the burbling dolt that my lazy mind lumbers me with when I’m not paying attention.
So now what? I can distinguish sex from love, and I’m too lazy to get some, even though I go home and wank furiously every day. The contradiction in me becomes more apparent with every reason I give for not taking a lovely blonde from behind with no-strings.
3. Meaningless sex just doesn’t interest me.
But it does! Oh god, it does. There’s nothing quite like the power-trip associated with ransacking a girl’s dignity over the course of a single night.
4. Oh, I’m just not confident when it comes to fucking strangers.
Except, of course, when I’m in bed with a girl the confidence I mentioned in reason (2) multiplies by a factor of, oh, three hundred?
5. But I’d want to see her again!
Ah, the web of lies runs thin now… I covered this reason in (1).
6. I must be gay!?
I’m not gay, end of story. Why am *I* calling me gay, anyway? Christ.
6a. Well, you’re confused *somehow*, you fucking FREAK.
Yes, this – really – is the only reason that covers it. I think, having written that self-abusive process of deduction down, that I am a very confused person. I want to fuck people meaninglessly, but I don’t – for some reason. It’s probably something to do with evolution, which is always a cunt. But more likely it’s some fucking neurosis that {insert name of wench here} has given me.
Perhaps one day I’ll be able to print out all these posts, hand them to a team of psychologists and have them fix me. I’m not holding my breath.
posted by Juliet is Bleeding... | 6:53 pm
I love that post - fucked up, comical and personal all in one.
Scientific studies have been conducted that found women are more likely to feel and express the feelings of love that occur after sex. Such a female is ultimately rejected after confessing to last night's fuck that she is in love with him and can already picture their perfect wedding, as well as the beautiful children they will one day create. No man is going to appreciate the crazed chatter of a newly-fucked-and-in-love bitch who thinks she is gonna tie him down. No pussy is worth that kind of headache, if ya know what I mean.
To be honest, the only men I picture admitting they can't distinguish between sex and love are those who reside in a nice place with padded walls and lots of 'behavior-calming' pharmaceuticals—those who are Looney Toons enough to be committed.
Oh god, here we go.
>You're in a state of self induced cognitive dissonance >fuelled by a need to avert pain.
Mmmhmm... Isn't that just a disturbingly pretentious way of saying 'you're in denial'? Thanks, doc, tell us something the post isn't all about next time.
>It's too painful to admit you're never going to get >anywhere with anyone, ever. But the need for a sense >of hope or control over your fate is a requirement to >get through the day.
I can admit to never getting anywhere with anybody a trillion times a week without breaking sweat. There's a good example of it somewhere, uhh... Oh yeah - all my posts you arsewit.
>So you create an internal dialogue which suggests that >you're actually still in control.
Where on earth did this happen? Did you even read my post? Isn't the entire point of it that I'm not in control? Isn't every sentence constructed to indicate how I lie to myself and other people and end up with the conclusion that I am (and I quote) "confused *somehow*, you fucking FREAK"? Gee, yep - looks like it. You fucking freak.
>For a second there, you thought you were just a no >good pariah - funny story - turns out the reason >supermodels arent falling at your feet is because of >some bizarre inner conflict you've been having!
That isn't what I said. The reasons supermodels don't fall at my feet is the same reason they don't fall at yours. Except I'm less grotesquely ugly than you. Oh, and I don't misinterpret entire posts just because I'm a total cockface.
>Wow, things weren't as bad as you thought! Great! And >if you've been doing this to yourself, then all you >have to do is figure out how to stop tripping yourself >up. Once you've done that, then imagine the >possibilities! You've been *choosing* not to bang five >cheerleaders a week! Wow, isn't that funny! It was >*you* all along!
Not what I wrote about. I don't choose to not bang five cheerleaders a week. But I have balked at casual sex before and I'm trying to figure out why. Why you need to make a sarky comment about me making excuses for why I don't shag cheerleaders is beyond me, though I get the nagging feeling it's because you're a great big annoying bastard.
>Maybe you need to post to LIAC. Yep, then you'll be in >control. You might figure things out! Yeay! >Yeaaaaaaaay!
Again, not what I said.
>*blah blah blah*
First of all, don't fucking repeat half my post in your reply - how about not being a lazy cack-stain on the pants of LIAC and write something more well-thought-out? I'm only copying your 'style' because, well, because you're a twat.
Second of all, don't misinterpret posts into some problem you've been having. It's pretty clear from what you wrote that you can't get laid if you tried - perhaps you're a virgin? Tough break, kiddo, but you know, why not post about it yoursoddingself rather than turn my own into some sick parody of your life?
At the very least, read it properly. This isn't the first time you've misconstrued posts - are you a little dumb, or just an annoying wanker?
hmmmm
You didn't meet me in a bar. Nor did we fuck. And you've never been nervous. So obviously you're meant to marry me. End of story.
I'm afraid that you've omitted the logical connection between your points and the 'fact' we need to get married. Are you on drugs?