Why Women Talk To Cats

I have always wondered why women talk to cats? Ever since I was a child I have took note of this strange phenomena. My grandmother would sing in Yiddish to every cat she passed by and often formed relationships with certain ones that she would invite over to her house on Sundays. Both my mother and my sister always talked to cats and I remember growing up with the both of them more preoccupied with talking to our two cats then they were with talking to me. I became annoyed with my sister and mother at a young age because whenever they would begin a conversation with cats it would be in a whiny childish high pitched tone that even as a young man I found concerning. But as I grew into the man I know seem to be today, I noticed more and more women who talked to cats.

Maybe there is a closer connection between the feline constitution and the feminine constitution? Maybe women are more tapped into the sensitive and delicate world of the cat? I have always thought of cats as very emotional creatures, and if it is true that the female is the most emotional species on the earth than this would provide an interesting connection between cats and women. I often wonder why it is that women have always talked more to my cats then they have to me, and I am just starting to learn that the answer to this may be less mystical than I have always imagined.

I have had girlfriends, wives and mistresses all of whom talk in strange childish tones to cats. They stop everything that they are doing and talk delicately with the cat as if it is their baby. They ask the cat the same questions that they would ask a human being. “How are you doing today Lilly?” or “Do you like the way the tree smells?” my wife always asks our cats. I think to myself, “does she expect that the cat is going to say I am fine thank you, and yourself?” or could this be a sign that my wife may be loosing touch with reality (since Alzheimer’s does run in her family). However, I try not to judge and I just presume that she feels good communicating with cats, just like all the women I have ever known.

Today I was walking home from the bookstore when I happened upon a rather attractive women dressed in a tight black skirt who was talking to a cat. The cat rubbed its feline fur all over her ankles as I heard the lady saying, “why are you such a nice cat…why are you such a nice cat? How come you are so beautiful and smart?” I waited for a moment to see if I could not hear some kind of response from the cat, but I heard nothing. My curiosity got the best of me and as I passed her I stopped and said “Excuse me, do you mind if I ask you a question?” “No not at all,” she kindly replied. “Why are you talking to a cat?” I said. She seemed surprised for a moment and then provided me with a vague answer, “because I love cats.” I thanked her for her vague response and continued on. As I got a few feet away from her she added, “don’t you know that cats are a woman’s best friend?” And then everything made sense to me.

If dogs are a man’s best friend than why not assume that women should also have a four legged creature to call their own? Cats are not only independent and patient but they also embody some of the finest qualities of the female species. They are not only graceful in their movements but cats carry themselves with a kind of confidence that seems to be a familiar trademark of most if not all women. Cats are proud and seem to embody a certain warmth that I have only found before in the womb and women. If cats share certain qualities in common with women that define their relationship than what may this say about man and his best friend- the four legged beast?

So women talk to cats because they have something in common. They share a spiritual alliance with the feline species that no scientist could ever understand. Both cats and women get something from one another that no other source can provide. What this is I am uncertain, but I am willing to admit that it may have something to do with love and respect. When I returned home from my walk to the bookstore I found myself greeted by my two cats, Lilly and Monk. Before I realized what was going on I found myself asking them both how they were doing and what they were up to. Suddenly I realized that I too was talking to cats!! For a moment I contemplated what this realization could mean- but I sat down with both cats upon my lap and they both began to tell me about how men and women have more in common then I might think.

I Swallowed My Wedding Ring, Part 2.

I returned home from the hospital a few hours ago. It was a minor procedure. Since my own digestive system was incapable of removing my wedding ring I had to rely on modern medical techniques to do so. I was subjected to a metallic probe (with a camera) that was inserted in my anus and then loitered around my intestines until the wedding ring was found stuck in a pocket of my colon. The probe delicately latched on to the ring, dragging it out from my system in the same manner that a baby would be removed from the womb. The pain was slight since I was heavily sedated (and still am) and I was kept in the hospital for a night following the procedure to make sure my colon did not go into frenetic spasms.

My Doctor has asked me to spend the next few days in bed. He wants me to drink plenty of fluids and remain lying on my back for at least twenty hours a day. His concern is that since my wedding ring was stuck in a very narrow pocket of my colon there was some bruising done. The colon is a very sensitive organ and his fear is that it may become swollen as a result of the trauma. This is why I am only allowed to eat fruit and drink water for the next week. When I was leaving the hospital my Doctor asked me if I had learned anything from this experience. “I have learned to keep my wedding ring out of my mouth,” I said. He looked at me as if he was waiting for a more insightful reply. Did you learn anything else?” he patiently asked. I thought for a moment and replied- “to love and care for my wife for the rest of my life.” This answer came from some place deep in my gut, rather than from my mind. It was as if the Doctor had implanted in me the knowledge that I had been given a second chance to make my marriage work. “Swallowing your wedding ring may have been a blessing for your marriage,” the Doctor said with a smile and then disappeared from my room. As my wife pushed me in my wheelchair out from the hospital I could not stop telling her how much I loved her.

I am still very tired and must return back to bed. I have only gotten up to write this brief entry. I wanted to let you know that this terrible story has had a happy ending. Even though I am still high on various pain medications, my wedding ring is back upon the safe confines of finger. My wife has been caring for me and despite my weak condition- we have made love twice. I have pledged my renewed love to her over and over and thanked the heavens above that this chapter in my life has had a good ending. While lying in bed I have often thought about what would of happened had I never swallowed my wedding ring? I may have not just lost my wife, but also this love which now floods my heart- in holly matrimony ofcourse.

I Swallowed My Wedding Ring.

This evening while I was sitting on the couch reading a novel, I accidentally swallowed my wedding ring. You may be wondering why, or how? Well, I believe that I suffer from certain oral fixations or obsessive compulsive disorder. When I am writing or reading I seem to need to have something in my mouth- constantly. Tonight I pulled the ring off my finger with my lips and sucked on it in my mouth as if it was a candy. I stuck my tongue through its hole and ran it around along my teeth. I was not terribly aware of what I was doing since I was so engrossed in the book I was reading.

My wedding ring is made out of one ounce of white gold. It is a thick ring that rests on my finger like a small weight (reminding me of my eternal commitment). How I managed to have it in my mouth without noticing boggles my mind. I first became aware of what was taking place when I felt the metallic sensation of the ring passing down my throat. I choked for a moment and then started to cough when I realized what I had just done. Panic came over me and I ran into the bathroom and tried to make myself vomit. I thought that I could die as a result of swallowing my wedding ring. I thought about my obituary- man dies by swallowing his wedding ring, as my whole body began to shake. When minutes passed and I was still alive but unable to regurgitate my wedding ring, I called my wife into the room and told her what happened.

As she stood in front (I was on my knees in front of the toilet bowl) of me aghast at what I had done, I felt the a cold metallic sensation skipping around in my intestines. I was not sick but terribly uncomfortable. “You are so absent minded! You forget to turn off the heat, to feed the cat and now you swallow your wedding ring!! When are you going to get it together- you need to wake up!!!” I knew she was letting off steam so I allowed her to freely vent. She had spent her last two thousand dollars to buy me this ring and now I had just swallowed it. As far as she was concerned the ring was gone, buried in the penetralia of my intestinal regions. “Baby don’t worry, I’ll either shit it out or have it surgically removed,” I said to her as she dropped to her knees. “When are you going to wake up!!” she kept repeating as I sat on the floor with my hands on my stomach and a feeling of anxiety in my chest.

My grandmother always told me that if I was going to be a reader of fiction, that I should prepare myself for not being in the world. What she meant was that a symptom of reading fiction is being absent minded in day to day life. My grandmother felt that fiction readers (and poetry readers) lived in a world of thought and fantasy rather than reality. I disagreed with her until I was in my ninth year of reading fiction every day. I started doing stupid, absent minded things like rear ending cars and forgetting to pull up my zipper because I was thinking about the plot of a book. But now I have swallowed my wedding ring. This act of mine makes me feel like my grandmothers words were a prophetic warning.

My wife was able to get control over herself and called a poison control center. They told her that if I do not poop out the ring by tomorrow morning that I should go to the emergency room. They recommended that I eat prunes and lots of fiber to move my bowls. My wife slowly came to a state where she could take pity upon my state and began to treat me like a man who needed help. She made me prune tea and put a blanket over me while I lied flat out on the couch. She has been rubbing my head and cynically uttering comical comments like “you are so silly.” I am yet to poop out the ring but it is my hope that after a few more cups of prune tea and a good nights rest that I will be wearing my wedding ring by lunch time tomorrow.

The Sex Life Of A Man Without One #19

I never imagined that a naked woman behind glass could be so gratifying and theraputic! How had I gone so long without considering this form of sexual interaction? Not only is it considerably cheaper to talk and mutually masturbate with a woman behind glass (than say go to a strip club or massage pallor), but it is a wonderfully safe form of sex. It is amazing that no one had told me about this. Like most interesting things that I have learned about in my life…I had to stumble upon this one on my own.

It was around 9 p.m when I finished writing my previous blog entry (Shakespeare and I). It was one of the better entries that I have written in some time and I felt the need to reward myself for my efforts. My home was lonely and cold, the wife was at work (she picked up a second job waiting tables at a very hip and formal restaurant in Downtown Oakland) and I was in need of entertainment. I took a quick shower and dressed in a black suit with white converse all star tennis shoes and decided to take a drive into San Fransisco- the city of the night. After a quick drive across the Bay Bridge I entered the womb of the city like a man with a great deal of anticipation in his heart. I parked my mumbling car on a small street where many lives were squished together in nineteenth century apartment buildings. I lit another cigarette and decided to walk, to see where my feet may take me.

I spent an hour or so shopping around in my favorite bookstore, City Lights Books. I read the first pages of dozens of novels by African, European and Latin American Authors. Nothing captured my attention. I decided to buy a book of poems by Jack Kerouac and then to go across the street and drink a beer in an Irish pub. The pub was once home to many Bohemians whose pictures still decorate the walls. I sat at the bar where I had once had a drink with Allen Ginsberg and order and stout. It was close to midnight as I drank black beer and waited for the poetry to fill my mind with a reverent awe.

I left the bar and walked down Broadway. I was a man alone with himself and happy to be filled with the sights and sounds of a city at night. I wondered into an establishment with a blinking neon sign that said Naked Girls Behind Glass– Come On In! Inside a few punk rockers greeted me from behind a counter. I wondered around dark hallways filled by glass windows covered by curtains. All kinds of men wondered the hallways searching for an open window. On the doors besides the windows were pictures of the women who sat on the other side of the curtain. I walked around in anticipation waiting to find an open window. I peed in a bathroom that smelled like urine and I watched a fifty cent porno film in a booth that was sticky with semen.

She knocked hard upon the glass and I could make out her lips saying “hey you, come here!” She seemed to be pointing at me so I followed her index finger and entered the closed door which she sat behind. Inside the cubicle was a black telephone. The room was dark and I could hear a voice shouting “pick up the phone.” I did so and was told to place a five dollar bill into the money slot. When I did this a curtain was pulled back and the room was illuminated with a red neon light. A young women dressed in revealing black and pink lingerie was spread out on a mattress that was covered in red silk sheets and surrounded by mirrors. She held the black phone in her hand and said “my name is Silver, what is yours?'” With the black phone up to my ear I scrambled to make up a name “Zoey,” I said. “Hi Zoey, Welcome to Silver’s Temple. Why don’t you whip out your cock and stick twenty dollars into the slot.”

I was slightly nervous. My conscience was playing in the back of my mind. “You degenerate sleaze ball,” it kept saying over and over. “You can’t take out your penis in a room that smells like cum and is filled with various forms of disease,” my conscience told me over and over, but there was a problem- Silver was hot. Her breasts and stomach were filled with a youthfulness that was yet to see the decline of the flesh. Her face looked like an image that could have created been created by Leonardo da Vinci. She had straight long hair and long silken legs with smooth manicured feet which pressed upon the glass window. When she turned over and showed me her sculpted behind with a small tattoo of a butterfly I immediately began to pull money from my wallet. “What would your wife think of you now,” a voice said into my left ear but I told it to be quiet and leave me be, as I stuck a twenty dollar bill into the money slot.

Music began to play and Silver opened up her long legs revealing a treasure chest between. I stared without concern for the look on my face. “You look like you have never seen a pussy before,” she said. “It has been some time since I have seen one like yours,” I replied with a hint of anxiety in my voice. “Well then Zoey, come closer so you can see.” She took out what looked like a long plastic turkey baster, but was a dildo made out of rubber. She stuck it into that sacred spot that was making my heart rapidly beat. I felt the immediate power of the hole that brings forth life, with a reverence that made me want to fall to my knees. My nose pressed against the glass. I was staring directly into her majestic hole which she played with like a child. She made various sexual sounds and continued to ask me to take out my cock and cum with her. But I could not move. With my nose pressed against the glass all I wanted to do was climb into her vagina and return to the womb which I so fondly remember.

I had to hold back my tears. I understood now the reverence that a religious disciple feels for a sacred object. As Silver played with her dildo I slowly unzipped my zipper and let my pulsating penis leap out into the dank air. “Yes, please play with it for me,” Silver said as she watched me watching her. “Stroke it, stroke it,” she demanded. I felt a little uncomfortable about masturbating in front of the sacred object but the more she demanded that I cum the more I became intoxicated by her sirens call. Silver than sat up and brought her perfectly painted face up to the glass so that she could look directly at my cock. With the black phone in her hand she kept repeating “cum on my face…cum on my face dady,” and like all good disciples I eventually did what the idol demanded. I released my sperm onto a glass window.

“Wow!!” Silver said. “Seems like you have not had sex in a long time,” she commented in response to the large amount of semen that came forth from my penis. “It has been some time, yes,” I said recalling that it has been over a year since I had had sex with my wife, or any women for that matter. “Must be difficult being a married man without a sex life,” Silver said to me as she looked at the wedding ring upon my hand. “It is not so bad, I just can’t seem to figure out how to be intimate with a woman that I love,” I said as I pulled my limp penis back into my pants and zipped up my fly. “Yeah, that’s difficult for a lot of men. They seem to be only able to have good sex with women whom they hate,” Silver said as she turned back around onto her back. I was surprised by her statement but I understood what she may have meant. “Once a man loves a woman they get her confused with their mother and then sex goes out the window. It is all because men are afraid to love,” Silver said. “Maybe so,” I replied not really feeling honorable enough to voice a response. Here I was, with my cum splattered all over a glass window which separated me from the object of my desire. Maybe Silver was right, maybe I was afraid of love.

“Have a nice evening and make sure you come back and see me soon,” Silver said as she shut the drape and turned off the light. I walked out of the establishment with my head down and a feeling like I had just done something that I was not allowed. Outside on the cold and quiet midnight streets I lit a cigarette and began to walk back to my car. Garbage men collected trash on both sides of the street and stray dogs wandered into dark corners searching for food. I looked up at the black sky and observed the sky scrappers which surrounded me on all sides. I am a man in love with the city at midnight. I was twenty five dollars poorer now, but for that price not only did I get to have a pleasant orgasm and watch a beautiful woman play with herself- but I also was able to learn a little something about myself.

Sex Life Of A Man Without One #18

She called herself the “Divine Back Scratcher.” A whore with this kind of vernacular struck an immediate interest in me. Despite the fact that I had pledged to stay away from prostitutes for a time, the itch was returning. For a man this itch is the equivalent to a nuisance which never seems to go away. For a time there will be some quiet, a respite but like all biological imperatives- it returns with a vengeance. I have learned to accept this eternal return, with the calm acceptance of the Buddhist I feel I may be becoming. I realize that everything is as it should be in life. I try not to get in the way.

Once again I began my day by doing a little meditation and then immediately going on the internet to see who was on the Craig’s List Erotic Adds page. I searched trough numerous pictures with an erection that felt like kundalini rising in my lower spine. I was delighted by various adds that mentioned daily head specials or lunch time hand specials. The photographs were mostly unappealing but the few that struck some interest in my eyes were like shots of ecstasy to my brain. I had been too long without my girls.

I have been meaning to talk to my wife about my sexual expeditions and obsessions. My therapist decided that if I had not done it within the month that she was going to call my wife and tell her. I knew my therapist was only innocently threatening me with her pledge (since it violates patient privacy rights)- but now I fear that she may do it. So I have an allotted time left to indulge my fantasies before I have to face the music (which may turn out to be a rehabilitation center for sex addicts). This morning the sun was out, I had money in my bank account and could foresee no reason why (other than guilt and shame) I should not investigate my curiosity with regards to the Back Scratcher. Cumm Let me Scratch your back and make you purr, the add said and the photograph I could hardly resist.

She was only seeing clients at a hot tub establishment that was not far from my abode. I quickly dressed and decided not to put on underwear since I assumed I would be going into the tub nude. Over the phone she sounded rather unfriendly and belabored. I tried not to take this personally by telling myself that I was not trying to make friends. I just wanted an erotic hand job in a hot tub. My appointment was for 1:15 p.m and when I arrived at the establishment it seemed as if it could be closed. A homeless man stood outside and there were no cars upon the vacated industrial street. Other than a few famished alley cats and a sign that said Health Spa I seemed to be in the middle of nowhere.

I rang the buzzer and was greeted by an older Asian man who had a cigar in his mouth. “You here for girl, yes?” I did not know how to answer. What if this was a sting, a trap to catch perverts like myself? This has been going on a lot lately. “You here for girl?” he said again with a frenetic energy that made me feel pressured. I threw caution to the wind and nodded yes. “You sit, she almost through with nother client.” I sat in a yellow chair that smelled like a thrift shop. I looked at desperate fish floating around in a neglected fish tank. One orange fish watched me watch it. I wondered if he understood. There was a picture of the Buddha on the wall and a few oranges and a banana were placed in front of the picture. Food for the Gods.

A very fat man walked down the hallway. His step was heavy enough to rattle the chair in which I sat. He was breathing hard and seemed to be perspiring a great deal. His face was beet red and when he said good bye to the Asain man, I thought I heard him say “what a back scratch!” I was nervous and hesitant when the Asain man said to me, “Okay you go,” and directed me to walk on down the hall to the open door with white light shining out of it. The hallway was dark and lined with straw mats that made me feel like I was visiting a whore house in a third world. If it was not for the smell of chlorine and tobacco, I would of thought I was walking away from the living and towards the light.

The room was dark, and I was greeted by a long legged women dressed in a black corsage. Her hair was long and ruffled and she seemed to be developing dark bags under her eyes. None the less I found her very attractive. She reminded me of a fallen angel. “Welcome,” she told me after she mentioned that I should get undressed and lie on my stomach on the mattress upon the floor. I noticed that in the room there was no hot tub. “Have you had your back scratched lately?” she asked me. “I have not,” I said like a shy school boy. “Well this one you will enjoy,” she said as she ran her long pink nails down the front of my bare chest while making a sexy sound. “Oh look,” she said surprised as I stood naked in front of her, “your cock is ready to go!” I looked down and noticed a pulsating erection hanging off my shaking groin. “This is what happens when I’m nervous,” I said.

I gave her the agreed upon sixty dollars and lied down on my stomach. The mattress smelled like a mixture of semen and perfume. I buried my face deep into the pillow and tried with all my might not to think about how I would tell my wife about this. She would never believe these degenerate journey’s I go out on. Her life is clean, composed, starched and blessed. This kind of experience is not upon her radar screen nor does she think it’s upon mine. While she is hard at work I am at home looking for work, is what she thinks. As I was thinking about what not to think about I felt the Back Scratcher sit upon my bare butt like she was straddling a horse. I took a deep breath as she gently began to run her nails down my spine. She made strange chanting sounds which had the effect of really turning me on. She then ran her nails over my head and into my ears. My anxiety fell away and turned into a relaxation I had never felt before. Even though I wanted to see her naked (and was willing to pay more) I was completely resigned to the moment. I surrendered and turned into a floating cloud. Her fingers ran up and down my spine and shoulders with a motion that felt like the wind. I was hypnotized by her scratches until she placed one of her hands upon my testicles.

I am easily surprised. I live my life trying to avoid surprises because it makes me feel like I have little control in my life ( I am having difficulty accepting the laws of chaos). When she placed her warm and tingling hand upon my testicles, I made what sounded like a pre-pubescent chirp. My body vibrated and she asked me if I was okay. I was more than fine I told her, “I had just had an orgasm.” She laughed and said, “you came already, I did not even do anything!!” “It takes so little,” I said. All she could do was laugh and ask me if I wanted a cookie.

Ever since I was a young man I have suffered from premature ejaculation. Many a women have left me because of it. I have done what I can to develop my locking abilities but the older I get the more I have just learned to live with my disability. I have read books, taken a seminar (“The Multi-Orgasmic Male”) and even saw a counselor for this ailment. To no avail. I have been told that the problem is the result of years spent frequently masturbating, neurological and genetic. I just think I am a very horny man who can not hold back all the intense pressure I keep blocked up during the course of a typical day. When I explained this to the Back Scratcher she told me she understood. “My last boyfriend was like this so I can relate,” she said. “He usually came before he even stuck it in.” This made me feel better, understood. Once I was fully dressed I told her that during the back scratch I had reached a state of relaxation I had never achieved before. “See….. whores are good for some things,” she said as she counted her money and then looked at the clock. I could not have agreed more.

The Resurgence Of Absurdistry

I thought about dumping this site, but once again it was saved by a reader. At times I feel as if the words that come out my fingertips go against my deepest principles. I feel ashamed of the things I write and wonder if I should really share this with the world. Then there is this tempestual voice in my head that says, “to hell with principle- this is literature you are creating and in literature there are no limitations you self righteous son of……..” So I will carry onwards, offending myself at every turn. I will continue to learn things about the demented mind that sits on top of my neck and seek out new ways to turn Absurdistry into a immorality play that may serve human kind in some incomprehensible way. The world is not rid of me yet!

“pee, pee.”

THE GREAT LEG TRAP.

I wonder about women wearing short skirts? Women wear short skirts, with bare legs and then condemn me with sinister glances when I stare. I wonder if on the unconscious level the short skirt is a device that woman use to find out who among them maybe filled with lust or inflicted with perversions. They can then stay clear of those men or women who may be hazardous to their sense of respectable self. Maybe this is to auspicious of a generalization but tonight while I was staring at a women’s legs that were long and wild like a river, I received a scolding that I am still unable to look up from. Granted I was salivating over the clarity of her skin and the subtler tones which shaped her thighs. I was worried for a moment that she may be unreal, man made- but when I saw the various tattoos, that decorated her ankles, I was almost certain she was human. The skirt that she was wearing barely made it beneath her butt and I was surprised to notice that she carried herself with a certain unpretentious confidence. Everywhere her legs walked my awe struck eyes seemed to follow.

Maybe I was being too intrusive. Or maybe I was simply inspired by the legs. I will admit that I had not noticed anything more about her until she approached me and I had to calmly look into her eyes. I denied any kind of disrespect that she was determined to staple to my forehead. Her claim that I was looking for lust in all the wrong places was one that I found equally disrespectful. I pointed out to her the perfection of her legs but her frustration only grew as I refused to apologize for swallowing up her legs with my lustful eyes. The public which had gathered around us began to listen to the scolding which was developing like a well formed plot. I was a man in love with her legs and her refusal to give them to me would cause my exile and eventual declined. I wanted to remain the gentleman who was unapologetic for his love of women, but when her lover joined her side, I began to understand the degree of my offense.

Maybe it is only gay women who wear skirts to detect the threat of a lingering male pervert? I had never encountered this kind of indignation before. Legs were there to be seen, absorbed and sometimes carried home. Enough legs had been offered to me that I felt I was privy to such long stares. Legs had caused me little problems in my life, until these superior legs which snatched all sense of composure from me. Her girlfriend told me that men were animals always lusting after the objective fantasy of the female- all I could do was reach out and attempt to calm her waving hands. When I told the lover that her girlfriend’s legs were the most beautiful appendages I had ever seen- I received a loud defamation and an invitation to step outside. I had never fought an angry lesbian lover before and I did not want to do so now. I thought about asking for the legs to be mine (she could keep the rest of the body) if I won the fight but instead I excused myself from the tense space I was in and felt the heat of vengeful words landing up on my embarrassed back. Outside, in the cold night air- I put on my winter gloves and walked into the city without any idea that I had just fallen into the great leg trap.

Sex Life Of A Man Without One #14

Even hookers have to work when it’s raining. I have spent the past three days desperately searching for employment. My dedication to the search surprisingly took my mind off things of a sexual nature. My lust went into remission and I experienced a calm that always follows a terrible storm. This morning I awoke to the tapping sounds of a torrential downpour which seemed to also awken my lust. Once my wife left for work, I went to my computer and started reading the sensual and x-rated erotic adds on Craig’s List and by mid afternoon I had and erection which refused to leave me alone. Outside my small window rain was coming down without apology. It was creating a small flood in my mind which made it hard to breathe. My mood was melancholic and I knew of two remedies for this. I could either masturbate or seek out the professional help of a whore. I decided the I would spend the rest of the afternoon looking for a different kind of job.

Despite the fact that the rain was relentless I knew that hookers still had to make money even when it rained. I was privy to certain information that some hookers preferred working in the rain because they were less visible to cops. They could stand in bus stops for long periods of time without being cited for lingering. All they had to say is that they were sheltering themselves from the rain. With this information in mind I dressed without putting on underwear and ventured out into day. Three inches of rain made my car appear to be swimming. The whole street that I lived on was flooded. I would not of been surprised if Noah’s Ark came speeding around the corner. It had been raining for days. For a brief moment I thought that I best not venture out because my tires had no tread and my windshield whippers had long ago ceased to work. I was taking many risks if I drove my car, but as usual my lust spoke louder than my pragmatic mind.

I listened to John Coltrane on the stereo and drove slowly through the puddles and torrential downpour which made the city seem like the sea. As I smoked a cigarette I used a towel as a make shift windshield whipper. Rain blew into my car causing a chill to run through my spine. However, I was determined to find a whore. I drove around the areas of Oakland that hookers were normally stationed. Because Oakland is a city that is going through large amounts of gentrification, the police force has strengthened their commitment to remove prostitutes from the city so that they can make Oakland more respectable to incoming residents. Despite the purging of prostitutes there were still specific locations where they popped up. Whores are like flees- just when you think their gone, they appear some place knew.

I drove around and around the ghetto, with the inharmonious sounds of a saxophone encouraging me to go deeper into my desire. I whipped water and grime from my windshield as I drove around back alley ways and across barren train tracks. Rain covered my windshield quicker than I could wipe it away. And then as I turned a corner with the belief that I had spotted a whore with a black umbrella and tight white skirt, I was disappointed to find that it was only a phone booth. Hours passed and the inside information that I was privy to seemed to be rendering me no results. Gas on my car was going low and in America gas is no cheap commodity. I passed a few crack whores that desperately stuck out their dark tongues at me and screamed “hey baby, save me from the flood!!” but there were no hookers wondering around that looked as if they could step inside my fantasy.

Just as I was about to surrender my search- I noticed a Hispanic looking lady standing on a corner wearing a tragically sexy tight black dress and black boots. Her hair was long and dyed red and her eyes were shaped like sex. She was holding no umbrella and allowed the rain to cover her body without any offense. As I passed her a second time she smiled at me and made a gesture that I pull over. I stopped my car around the corner and with my heart rapidly beating in anticipation I unlocked the passenger side door so sex could come in. She climbed in my car wet with rain- and asked me if I was a cop. When I said no she told me to show her my penis. I was a bit apprehensive but when she insisted on me showing her my penis again, I decided to do so. I did not want to let sex get away. There was something strangely exhilarating about showing my penis to a stranger. “Stroke it twice,” she said. I was stupefied and excited. “What?” I said acting like I was uncertain about her demand but in truth, I wanted her to repeat herself. “Do it, quick,” she said looking out the back window to see if there were any cops. “Do what?” I pretended. “Stroke your cock!” Ah, that was all I needed to hear. I did what she said and immediately got an erection. “You are horny?” she said. I assumed that her question was rhetorical. Why else would I be driving around in circles through a crazy downpour looking for a whore? Yes, I was the horniest married man with no sex life, living!

“My name is Ladina,” she said. I asked if I could see her tits to make sure she was not a cop. “How bout I lick your cock, to show you?” she asked. “No, no I am not interested in that,” I said. “What you interested in then,” she asked as she pulled down her top and showed me perfectly shaped breasts with small areolas and hardened nipples. As I was about to reply “a hand job,” I had to use all of my strength to not have an orgasm while looking at her breasts. I clenched my jaw and squeezed my anus to prevent the squirt but I had not developed the muscle control needed to refrain. As I released sperm into my pants, I cupped her breast in my hands like it was the last thing I would ever touch. I utilized all my reserve to act as normal as possible so as not to reveal the biological process that was taking place in my pants.

It is amazing to me how quickly lust vanishes after an orgasm. Like rain after a storm. What was once so desirable and rapturous becomes flat and an annoyance. It is as if with the release of sperm- desire, lust and awe are also released. What is left is a space for guilt and shame to sneak in and fill the heart. I told Ladina that I was feeling a bit nervous and needed more time to think. “Ah, come on man lets have some fun,” she replied, inept to the fact that I had already had my fun. When I told her I needed more time to think, she gave me a strange look and then dismissed me with the slam of my car door. Relieved that she was gone from my life, but feeling the guilt of just having left a fellow human being stranded in the rain- I drove my ark back to the confines of my home where I would spend the rest of the evening looking for a reputable job.

The End Of Absurdistry

I just wanted to let my readers know that this site will be taken off the air in a day or so. Thank you for all of you comments and support. The good times were memorable. I hope I unhinged a few inhibitions, or what Therapists call “repressions.” If by chance you think it is or is not a good idea to take Absurdsitry off air, please feel free to leave a comment.

The End.

P.s…..

I tend to suffer from confusion which causes my mind to sway back and forth like a pendulum that is out of balance. So, today I have decided against the end of Absurdistry….and will carry on.

The Looser.

“You are such a looser,” my wife said. It was a truthful judgment. I am a looser. I could argue with her no more than I could argue with my mother about my birth date. “I am getting so tired of it,” she said with a defeated look on her face. “I just don’t know what to do about it, in fact I do not think that there is anything I can do about it.” I stood there solemnly listening to all of her contentions. It is true that in the past week I have lost my house keys, my wallet, our cat, my job, my hair and a very sentimental guitar pick that my great-great- grandfather left for me. Ever since I was young I have had a particular tendency to loose things. As I have aged this tendency has grown into a full blown psychological disorder. It is true- I am a looser. I loose everything.

“The cat, your wallet, the house keys, all in the past three days!” my wife puffed at me. “It has got to end, you can’t keep being a looser. What is it going to take for me to feel like I can trust you with my things? What if we have a child and you loose it??” The week before I had borrowed her car and forgotten where I parked it. It took me hours to find it. “I really think that the problem is a chemical imbalance in my brain. I am simply forgetful,” I said. “Well get both of your feet back on the ground because I need a husband who can be accountable for our things!” I did not disagree with her even though I was angered with her for the way in which she was registering her complaints. And then the thought occurred to me….I could loose my wife. I pictured my self as a lonely man waiting for no one to come home in a desolate apartment without any love. My bones shivered and my eye lids went cold. I could not allow this to happen. I could loose everything but I did not want to loose my wife. I looked at my wife with an unmistakable look of seriousness and said, “I will try my best not to be a looser. I’m just so used to loosing things.” “I understand baby,” she said “but I know you can do better in life than being absent minded looser.” “Where there is a will there is a way,” I said with a determined look that hinted at my ability to change. We hugged and exchanged a sweet marital kiss and then I decided to head off into the evening and look for our lost cat. As I was walking away my wife yelled, “now that I think of it- you are actually a winner.” “Oh yeah, why?” I asked. “Because you have me.” I smiled and continue to walk on into the night.

The Sniffling Whore.

 As I grow older my memory seems to constantly be letting me down.  Just today I had an experience which I am already starting to forget. Strange how this happens- all while we are awake. Slowly time just seems to disappear. I guess this is why I write. To remember. I want to have stories to tell my children when they are salivating in their cribs. If I don’t write it will all vanish like a cloud of dust.

Again this morning, I found myself out of work and bored. I just received an unemployment check so I had a few bucks to blow. I went and studied with my meditation teacher for an hour or so and then returned home. As I was driving my car which is like an old man with one leg, I saw out of the corner of my eye a very attractive prostitute walking down the street. I was not feeling particularly horny, but something deep in my gut told me that I should pull over and see if she was in her hour of need. On my radio I was listening to Some Kind Of Blue. The rain was coming down in puddles and I thought that picking her up was the least that I could do to compensate for all my sins.

I did quick u-turn and drove past her at a slow pace. I waved and directed with my aging hand that she should meet me around the corner. I was still a distance away from her, but from what I could see she looked untethered by the life of a whore. She was wearing a short black skirt and a tight t-shirt that said Oakland, California on it. I guess she would never get lost.

I pulled my car into a tight spot on a small tree lined street. I unlocked my passenger side door so she could climb in. The moment she did so- I noticed her nose was bright red and her nostrils were flooded with mucous. I know it is all part of being human but I was instantly turned off. “How are you doin baby?” she said with a glib look upon her face and used tissues in the palm of her hands. Her voice sounded like chirping birds and I could smell the cinnamon in her mouth. “I am fine,” I said looking at her legs which showed some restraint when it came to eating lots of fatty foods. “What you looking for,” she said leaving out the are. For a moment I considered maybe asking for a quick hand job, but my degeneracy was not showing up. She kept sniffling and blowing her nose, and frankly it was taking the lust out of prostitution. She looked at me with a guilty face and said, “I know, I am the sniffling whore.”

I could not help but let out a deep laugh. I appreciated her humor and felt that she was intelligent enough to satirize herself. She laughed as well and then asked me if she could smoke in my car. We both understood that nothing kinky was going to take place at that point. “Can I give you a ride some place?” I asked. “It’s freezing cold outside you know?” she said while lighting her cigarette. “I do,” I replied. “Well if you would not mind giving me a ride downtown to the bus station, I would appreciate that.” The bus station was only a few miles away and I asked her if she was leaving town. “No,” she said, “it is just a place I can sit and get warm and let the sniffling in my nose dry out. You know having a sniffling nose ain’t good for my business.” I laughed again and told her that I thought its got to be rough having a cold and being a whore. “It could be worse,” she said. I asked her if I could bum a cigarette and I turned the heat up for her. We drove toward the bus station and on the way she said “you sure I can’t give you a blow job while you drive?” I was sure.

This is why I write. It is moments like these that I never want to forget. I want to tell these stories to my children and have them in my mind for days when I am stuck in bed. Even though my memory seems to be fading away with each passing day, the experiences of my life can be preserved by the immortality of words. The one thing that time can not defy, is the power words.

Sex Life Of A Man Without One #9

A naked prostitute in a tree!! This was too much. Yesterday I had seen a ghost for the first time in my life and now this! The days are just getting more interesting as I go on. What will tomorrow bring? For today was one of the stranger days in my life.

My wife and I have been fighting a lot lately. It is not a malicious fighting with raised voices, but rather a silent frustration which is expressed through various passive aggressive maneuvers. When we fight I do things like ignore her, sleep on the couch and seek out sexual deviations. This morning as soon as my wife left for work I decided to seek retribution for all the stress our clashes have cost me. I went straight to the Craig’s List Erotic adds and almost immediately happened upon an add that said “In calls In A Tree.” I was curious so I pushed on the link and saw a spicy picture of a beautiful blonde swinging from a tree branch in the nude. Her breasts were small and shapely and she had shaved off all her pubic hair. Below the picture was a caption the read Today I am doing in calls in my tree house, come on over and swing me from a branch. I am offering lunch time specials.

I could not contain myself. I had never heard of a prostitute doing in calls in a tree. I had nothing going on for the day other than a willingness to have an unusual experience. I called her number and scheduled a time for us to meet in her tree. When I asked her how to find the tree she said, “It’s easy baby, it’s the tallest redwood across the street from the Shell station on Hinterland Ave. Just park your car and you will see a sign that says pussy and an arrow pointing up. Just climb the wood blocks that are nailed to the tree.” “Okay,” I said “I will see you in an hour.”

I took a shower and dressed hurriedly. My stomach was fizzing with butterflies, all the result of my great anticipation. It always amazes me how quickly life alters its course. One moment you are experiencing joy and contentment and the next minute everything is turned upside down and you are standing in tears beside the death bed of a friend. Or in my case you are filled with anger and despair and the next moment you are as excited as a kid and filled with the most tantalizing anticipation you have ever felt. There is no such thing as security in this life. Everything is in flux, always changing. This makes human beings afraid, and so out of this fear we have created the illusory notion of security.

I stopped at the bank and withdrew $60.00 from the ATM. I could not help but notice that my balance was less than $300.00. I stopped myself from worrying about my financial future and just stayed focused upon the naked blonde waiting for me in a tree. The redwood tree was easy to find. I saw the sign that said pussy with an arrow pointing upwards. I climbed up ate least 150 wooden steps until I could hear the prostitute saying “you are almost here.” I was out of breath when I arrived to the platform which she called her home. There was a futon covered in red blankets and a green carpet all along the floor. I noticed a rack which had a bundle of clothes dangling from it and a shelf upon which was food and books. She offered me some water and asked me to have a seat. I was having a difficult time catching my breath and slowing down the rapid beating of my heart.

She was gorgeous and had a perpetual smile upon her face. She told me her name was Dawn and then asked me what I do. “I am an unemployed Blogger and Teacher,” I told her and she laughed. “What is a Blogger?,” she asked. “Someone who wastes a lot of time in front of a computer writing things for people that he or she will never meet,” I cynically replied. “So then why do you do it?” she asked. “Because I don’t have anything better to do, and besides it’s a good way to connect with strangers.” She looked at me curiously and then I decided to change the subject. “So you live in this tree?” “Only part-time,” she replied. “I come up here when I work and when I want to be alone. It is a good place to work because the police will never catch me and it’s a good place to be alone because I am above it all.” I looked around. There was a beautiful 360 degree view of the entire bay area. “I found this tree fort one day a few years back when I decide to climb this tree for fun.” “You mean you just happened upon it?” I asked. “Yes, I guess you could say that…although I think it was a gift from the gods.”

Dawn began to undress. “So you want to fuck?” she asked me. I was nervous and unsure what I wanted to do. She could detect this. “You don’t want to fuck, do you?” she said with sad gloating eyes. “No, I am a married man and can not fuck another woman, but I am wondering if I could see you in the nude and maybe get a hand job?” I said feeling ridiculous about my question. “A hand job, that is all,” she said surprised. “I am yet to meet a man who has climbed all the way up here for just a hand job.” “Well today’s a special day,” I said with a slightly twisted smile upon my awkward face.

She took off all of her clothes, and I took off all of mine. I lied back on her red blankets and felt the afternoon wind crawl around on my bare chest. Squirrels rummaged through the branches and quails sat on tree branches and watched the entire show for free. Dawn did a little erotic dance for me and then started to swing from a tree branch. She wanted me to masturbate as I watched her show, but I felt a bit awkward doing so. I was worried that the tree branch would snap and she would fall hundreds of feet to her death. She did flips and twirled around like a gymnast on that tree branch. “She kept yelling “rub your cock for me,” but I was hesitant. She then came over to where I lied naked on the futon and lay down next to me. I could feel the silk sweat on her petite body. She kissed my nipples and rubbed her long blonde hair along my bare chest. I looked up into the blue sky, and as I saw a large airplane make its way overhead I felt her warm comforting hand begin to caress my cock.

My semen sprayed all over the place. I was embarrassed and quickly dressed. I helped her to clean it up and was very apologetic. She smiled at me and maternally said, “you have not had sex in along time, have you?” “It has been awhile,” I replied as I rubbed the wet towel over the semen stains on her red blanket. “Does not your wife pleasure you,” she asked as she put on her red lace underwear and bra. “In ways that are not sexual,” I replied. “You have got to fix that baby or this may not be the right marriage for you.” I knew that what she was saying was true, but I did not want to get into it. Two squirrels chased each other quickly over a branch above my head as I handed Dawn the $60.00 that I owed her. I kissed her cheeks and thanked her for the wild experience. “I loved the way that you twirled from that branch,” I said and we both laughed. “I do that all day for exercise. Takes my mind of all the stress,” she replied. “On your way down make sure you step slowly and hold on tight to the wood spikes,” she said as I began my descent. Once I had made it down to the ground the feeling of anticipation I had earlier felt had turned into guilt. As I got into my old car I knew that it was now time to return to my real life. However, I could not deny the slight smile upon my face as I thought about Dawn- the prostitute who lived in a tree.

The End.

Sex Life Of A Man Without One #5

I am in the midst of a slight predicament. Lately I have been seeking out pleasure more than normal. I have heard it said that this is what human beings do who are in the the midst of suffering. As of late I have been spending more time in the bathtub than normal. My bathroom is lined with blue tiles and the rusty faucet drips small oval water drops into the warm bath water. I will sit there until my heart starts to palpitate and think so many thoughts that my head is spinning when I get out from the tub. The bathroom at midnight is the most quiet place in the world for me to contemplate my life.

Lately I have been looking at the Craig’s List erotic postings more than normal. I have been drawn to not only the pictures of scantily dressed women but also the the titles of the add. “Best Head Doctor In Town,” “Three Sexy Holes For The Price Of One.” It seems as if the titles are exciting me more than the actual erotic pictures of women. And then yesterday it occurred to me- I am obsessed with the fantasy. My life has become so mired in struggle that I am escaping through the mechanisms of fantasy. I am becoming a man obsessed with naughty words.

My wife is fed up with me because in the midst of this obsession I am failing to take care of real responsibilities. Rather than spending my days searching for the raunchiest title I can find that will throw my depressed body into spasms of ecstasy (yesterday I found an add that caused me to immediately gesticulate- “Petite Young Pussy Wants To Snuggle Up With Lonely Cock“)- I should be paying for bills, exercising, cleaning our home, taking the dog for walks and looking for work. But instead, I have become a man stuck in a limbo of pornographic memorabilia.

In the bathtub I use all my might to stay away from my penis. It is not an occasion to indulge my need to orgasm. Taking a bath for me is a time of meditation, of renunciation. I sit there trying to cultivate the silence that alludes me all through out the day. My wife (who is suffering from a chronic cough) will knock on the door every ten minutes to ask me how I am doing. The answer is always the same (“fine, thank you” or “still simmering in hell and high water”). Occasionally I will take a whiskey straight into the tub with me but as of late I have noticed that this simple pleasure has created more suffering for me in the form of uncomfortable irregular heartbeats.

Last night while sitting in the tub I started to think about if there could possibly be a way out of this predicament of not having sex with my wife and being obsessed with the Craig’s List erotic postings. The therapist that I have been seeing has told me to remain patient, “to accept myself as I am without judgment and strive to make little choices that will make my life a lot happier.” She is a Buddhist and is always quoting from the Buddha. The other day she told me, “the Buddha said, seek not pleasure from pleasure but pleasure from suffering.” “What is that supposed to mean?” I asked her. “You seem to be caught up in a cycle of trying to seek out pleasure so that you can escape from your deeper feelings about your life,” she said looking me straight in my eyes. “Yes,” I replied, waiting for this to make sense. “When you can begin facing your deeper feelings, being present with where you are at and feeling it, rather than running away from it by seeking out sexual fantasy, than you can begin to start cultivating pleasure out of where you are at!!”

I have been confused by this, but last night while soaking in the tub I may have experienced a revelation. While sitting there in the nude- I noticed that deep down were feelings are felt I was experiencing discomfort. My innate reaction was to reach for my penis and create a feeling of forced pleasure. But rather than masturbating I decided to just sit with my discomfort, to be present with it rather than run away into fantasy. Everything started to come up- all my months of dissatisfaction and failure. There I was naked in front of it. Now I was able to start to process all this heavy baggage that was beginning to cause me real physical discomfort in my body.

And then just today while sitting in front of my computer staring at a brunette who has sticking her index finger up her vagina and smiling for the camera, I got it. Seek out pleasure from suffering. This means- be present with my discomfort and learn how to transform it into pleasure rather than run from it and go shopping or look at pornography (or whatever my means of escape may be). Just be with the pain…..feel the pain.

So I have been doing this all day and have now broken out into a rash and have a slight fever. My wife says that something is coming out of me that seems to have been stuck deep down for a long time. She has been bringing me hot water and lemon and warm soup. I look at her and smile and realize that there may be a possiblity that I can learn to really make love to my wife. Last time she brought me hot water I thanked her and said “do not worry, sweetheart- I am only in the midst of a slight predicament.”

Sex Life Of A Man Without One #4

  It is raining out. There is a calm contentment in my chest. The air is pleasant to breathe and I am home alone. I was looking at clever erotic adds on the internet- “Sexy Freak 4You” “Young And Eager To Please” and as I was going through the adds my wife called to tell me that she loved me. She also told me about a new form of therapy, called EFT, which she thought might be good for me. I was in a bit of a hurry to get off the phone because I felt guilty about the naked brown haired lady spreading her legs on my computer screen. This throbbing lust seems to rarely leave me alone.

Last night I decided to venture out into the city on my own. I parked my car and wondered around the Tenderloin. It was drizzling. There is something magical about a city when it is raining. I met all sorts of characters from the streets, including a man with a moving nipple (whom I will talk about at length some other time). I sat in a dark smoky bar and drank ginger ale and decided that my body could benefit from an Asian Massage.

I had been thinking about doing this a lot recently but I was always unwilling to spend the hard earned money. However I was able to sell a few paintings the other day for a large sum of money- so I decided to celebrate.

Next door to the bar was a joint called “The Sun Spa.” I rang the rusty buzzer and was greeted by an older Asian lady dressed in a white dress. She offered me a cup of tea but I declined. I was shaking and a bit apprehensive about the situation I was walking into. “Did I really need to do this,” one half of my brain said while the other half shouted, “Yes…Move forward and Relax!” A line of scantily dressed Asian women lined up before me and I was told to pick which one I wanted. It was a hard decision to make because my anxiety would not allow me to see straight. The ginger ale rumbled around in my stomach as one of the girls said, “he is so tall and looks like a movie star.” I thanked her but she giggled and looked down at the ground.

I choose a woman who was dressed in black gown, which revealed her nicely shaped breasts, which hung like adornments from her chest. Her hair was black and straight and pulled back into a ponytail. She took my hand and lead me down a long hallway and into a red neon lit room. She went over to the shower in the corner and turned it on. “You like water hot?” she asked me in a high-pitched accent. “I do,” I said as I took off my pants. There was a small mattress on the floor covered with clean white sheets. Floor to ceiling mirrors surrounded the room and there was a long bar which hung down over the bed. By the side of the bed I noticed a table with all kinds of lotions and towels.

“You shower and I be back soon.” I did what she said and washed myself well from head to foot. I could feel my heart rapidly beating and I started to think about “what if I dropped dead now and my body was found in a massage parlor. What would my wife and family think!!” This thought made me even more anxious so I quickly washed the soap off my body and stepped out from the shower.

I wrapped a towel around my waist and sat on the side of the mattress awaiting the masseuse’s return. She came back into the room holding more towels and a cup of tea. She offered the tea to me and said, “I noticed you shaking, tea help you calm down.” She then set down the towels and told me to go ahead and lie on my stomach…., which I did.

I was starting to feel more relaxed as she walked on my back holding herself steady with the bar hanging over the bed. She walked up and down my spine saying “do you hurt” “is this okay” and beneath the pressure of her weight all I could do was say “yes…fine…fine…” I looked in the mirror and watched her hourglass shape walk up and down the length of my anxious body.

She then rubbed baby oil all over my legs, back and arms. She asked me if it felt good and I then asked her what her name was. “Amy, I know next you asked me where I from,” she said in broken English. “Yes, where are you from?” “Vietnam.” She continued to gently rub my arms which created a release of stress so great that I was finally able to be very comfortable in the present moment. She pulled on my fingers and toes, pounded my back (which made me burp) and did some sort of acupressure on the bottom of my feet, which made me laugh. “You ticklish?” she asked with a smile. “Very,” I replied.

She massaged my legs and testicles and stuck her fingers between my butt checks. I was not sure how to respond to this but it felt good so I let out a little mone of pleasure. “You like balls rubbed?” I took a deep breath, how was I to respond other than to say, “it feels very nice, thank you.”

While she continued to massage my body we had a small conversation. She told me that she comes to San Francisco for a few months a year to work for weeks straight earning enough money to return home and support her family. Her mother is dying and her father she said died at a very young age. I began to feel the guilt come over me but I stopped it as soon as she took off her clothes and asked me to turn over.

My heart began to rapidly beat again. This was the first time I had been in the presence of a beautiful naked body in some time. My first reaction was to reach out and touch her breasts but I was able to hold my self back. My erection was so strong that when she grabbed my penis in her hand and bent over to whisper in my ear “do you want to have fun with me?” I had an orgasm. I had lost all ability to restrain the biological impulse to cumm. It was something that happened without my own awareness, like the explosion of a valve. She was surprised when she noticed what was happening and let out a whooping, “mmyyyy gossshhh so quick!!!” I apologized profusely for my ”accident” and all she could do was look at me and say “you no have sex in long long time.” I shook my head and said, “no long long time.”

Amy was incredibly generous. She cleaned me up and led me back into the shower where I could get the residual sperm off my body. While I was in the shower she changed the sheets and told me maybe next time if I come back I would do better. All I wanted to do was get out of there and return to the bar and drink more ginger ale.

While I was dressing, she sat on the side of the bed and stared at the clock. “You still have ten minutes left,” she said. “It’s okay I feel good,” I replied for lack of something interesting to say. I then asked her how many times a day she has sex with men. “I have sex with ten to twelve men every day. Some days like today are good day. I see twelve men but today a few men like you. They cumm so fast, so no sex. Usually men stick penis in me and cumm fast, so no big deal. But sometime men take to long and it hurt.” I was surprised. “You have sex with that many men every day?” Yes,” she said with a sad giggle. “How many days in a row?” I asked. “I work for three weeks straight and take five day off. I do this for two or three months and then go back home to my family.” “That’s a lot of sex,” I said. “I know but its okay, I am young and like sex.” “How old are you?” She got up from the side of the mattress took the dirty towels from me and said without looking me in the eye, “twenty four.” I did not believe her.

She led me by the hand back down the hallway. I walked behind her looking at all the fish tanks filled with various kinds of fish and statues of Asian deities. I had not noticed this on my way in. I was more relaxed now and felt a calmness that only comes after the release of sperm. There was not an ounce of longing or lust present in my body. I was a man at peace.

She opened the gated door for me and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “ You such a nice man, make sure you come back soon…and have more sex with wife!!” I walked out onto the street and was trying to figure out how she knew I had a wife. Then I noticed that I was still wearing my wedding ring. I returned to the bar and drank ginger ale and watched a fat elderly man fall asleep on the bar with a cigarette in his mouth. In the corner two lovers kissed and smoked cigarettes. They were very thin and looked as if they had not eaten for days. I wondered if what I had just done could be considered cheating and the answer to that I am still as of yet unable to come up with. All I know is that as I am writing this I feel calm, all except for the lust that has returned. I know it is only a matter of time before my lust takes control of me once again.

Sex Life Of A Man Without One #3

Now look. I do not always remember things being this difficult. I once had a sex life and it was quite prodigious. I had girl friends, mistresses, prostitutes and strangers all engaging me in my various fantasies. When I look back on my twenties I am reminded of a passionate commitment to indulge myself as much as possible through the sexual act. I was a young man obsessed with ovaries, estrogen, clitoral crura, vagina, uterus, glans clitoris, labia, vulva, pereneal urethra, hips, rounded jaw, buttocks, thighs, boobies- basically all things female.

But as I have moved into my thirties, something has shifted. It is almost like when you ferment a pickle, its entire biological and physiological structure shifts. It trans mutates into something chemically different than it was before. This is what has happened as I have grown older.

The more I feel as if I have gained control over my sexual whims the less I seem to comprehend the core of my sexuality. This core is beginning to fill with rust and starting to control its subject without asking me first. I feel like a victim of my own repressed sexual drives which are starting to manifest in peculiar ways.

I started sleep walking shortly before I was married. I was found across the street by my neighbors who said that I was ringing their doorbell yelling out for “hot footsies.” I do not know exactly what this means but my psychoanalyst told me it could be related to a repressed fetish that I have for feet. I disagreed with her but then I remembered a time when I was in college and I had a fellow student stick her large toe up my anus. We were drunk and had done everything else “sexual” together. This idea came into my head only because she had a particularly long big toe. It was long enough that she was able to write my name on my chest in fine cursive with a pen and her left foot.

After I was found yelling “hot footsies,” on my neighbors porch- my neighbor and I began avoiding one another. It seemed as if they became afraid of the “strange man across the street.” Then another episode occurred. About a year ago I was pulled over by a police officer at 4 a.m. while sleep driving in the nude. I was violently awoken by the sound of the sirens and the flashing lights. Shock, would be the only word that I could think of that could describe my reaction to finding myself driving my wife’s car in the nude. I immediately stepped on the brakes which caused the police officer to rear end me. I was frantic and tried to explain to him that “I had no idea what I was doing, I have a sleep disorder!!” The officer looked at me as I stood in the early morning suburban street in the nude pleading with him to take me home. The officer was bereft at how to respond to this so he parked my car on the side of the street and drove me back home. The following morning my wife received a phone call from the police department recommending that I receive psychiatric attention and that she hold on to my car keys.

My psychoanalyst was certain that these episodes of what she called noctambulism had something to do with my sex drive which she felt was being locked up behind bars. I needed to find ways to set it free with my wife, or at least with my wife’s permission. So I asked my wife how she would feel if I received a hand-job from a prostitute, got a lap dance at a strip club or had a little tiny affair and the conversation was one of the shortest we had ever had. “If you do sexual things with other women, why can’t you do them with me?” What was I to say to this? I had no answer.

The episodes seem to halt for the past few months. My wife had found me taking a shower dressed in a t-shirt with a picture of Sigmund Freud on the front (this was the t-shirt I felt most comfortable sleeping in). Other than this and a few minor episodes, no great sleep walking ordeals had occurred until last night.

I woke up when I landed on the floor, beside the bed. I noticed that I was again naked (which was strange because I went to be with my Sigmund Freud t-shirt and sweat pants on). My wife was standing above me in her black night gown yelling with a gasping and bitter tone in her voice “what are you thinking, what is it you are thinking!!!” I did not know how to respond because I did not know how I ended up naked on the floor. I looked at the clock which said 3:13 a.m. I recalled glimpses of a dream where a strange middle aged women was showing me her finely trimmed pubic hair and asking me over and over “do you like it?” I was puzzled. Dreams and my wife’s pleas where spinning around in my brain. When I asked her what happened she yelled back in tears, “you were humping me in your sleep!!”
Today my wife and I went to a Somnambular sleep clinic where they treat various sleep disorders. My wife told the Doctor and I that she was awoken by me thrusting my penis in between her thighs. She sleeps on her stomach so I was lying on back of her, humping her in between her thighs. “It was like being molested by a dog,” she told the Doctor. I sat there holding her hand and silently felt the consequences of being a man without a sex life. We left the clinic an hour later with prescription medication and the recommendation that I masturbate every evening before going to sleep.