Sunday, 26 April 2015

Water, Water Everywhere

114 days porn-free

I am having a sex drought. It's nearly three months since Montreal Girl and, while that was undeniably awesome, it was and remains f***ing ages ago. It's now getting desperate.* I need to get laid and get laid soon.

* It's actually way beyond desperate. I will explain below.

But here's the thing: drought begets drought. The painful irony of the situation is that the longer you go without the sex, the less likely you are to get it. Because the longer it goes, the more you reek of desperation. Women can smell this from a hundred feet away and there is literally no bigger turn-off.

Part of the problem is that I work nights, so I don't get 'amongst it' till pretty late in the day. The other problem, though, as I have gone into in detail, is my painful lack of game. I'm not a bad looking man. Not a stunner by any stretch of the imagination but neither am I a total ug. My features are all in the right place, I am tall and I am in shape. But none of this matters if you (I) don't have the cajones to go over to a woman and start a conversation in the first place!

When you're having sex regularly, everything is fine. To paraphrase Martin Amis (the prick), there is no surer guarantee of success with opposite sex than success with the opposite sex. This is when you are 'on a roll': confident and attractive and bouncing from one woman to the next like a latter-day Casanova, living the single life and loving it.

But what about when it dries up? When, for one reason or another, you don't get laid for a month or so. Sometimes this happens and it's fine; just a hiccup along the way. Other times it happens and one month becomes two and, before long, a major drought sets in.

I have been through sex droughts before and they almost always break down something like this:

The first two weeks: Not a drought. You're still riding fairly high from the last time and there seems to be nothing really to worry about. Perhaps, at the end of the two-week period, it might cross your mind that you have no prospects but, at this point, there is no need to panic.

Weeks three and four: mild panic. By the end of the month, you're starting to wonder if this could be the onset of a drought. The afterburn of sexual magnetism from your last bit of sexytime has now fully worn off and you will now need to rely solely on your wits to get you back in the sack. Still, it isn't that long and anything could happen.

Weeks five and six: Panic. Ok, it's been six weeks. Is this going to happen? Am I still attractive to women? Evasive action needs to be taken before this descends into a full-on bout of involuntary celibacy.

Weeks seven and eight; Desperation. That's it. You're panicking. You're looking everywhere for sex. Every woman becomes nothing but a piece of meat and every interaction nothing more than a possible pathway to sex. Obviously, there is very little less attractive than a man in this phase and the harder you try, the further you get from the gold.

Weeks eight, nine, ten... Acceptance (of a sort). You give up. You become asexual; a basic eunuch. You look at women from a distance, as if they are another species and view the possibility of congress as some kind of abstract concept which happens to other people. You wonder if this could be the onset of years without sex, or that never having it again is a real (and terrifying) possibility.

That's where I am right now. A sex-less non-man hovering about at the fringes of bars hoping to hell that a woman just grabs me and hauls me out of there. Honestly, that seems like the only thing that can save me right now. I've even been reading articles on the internet about picking up. These are usually written by A1 douchebags who advise 'being confident' and 'taking control.' Not likely, bud.

Another terrible thing is that it's led to porn cravings. I haven't had these for weeks but it's always when you're at your lowest that they start to come back. If I've got porn, I don't need to have sex, right? Wrong, of course, but it's definitely been more difficult to stay off recently than it was for months before.

A friend of mine talked about the need, in this situation, for a 'slumpbuster.' It's a terrible term but a true one. A slumpbuster is a woman who picks you up and helps you get back in the game. Just one that reminds you that you can do it and who reawakens your dormant sexuality. I gotta tell ya, though I've needed one worse before, God knows I need one now.


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