I have always been a hypersexual being and have rarely given
as many fucks as others as to how that was perceived by the masses. Being a
person of such a nature, the thought of abstinence never crossed my mind as a
me thing. I mean really? Why the fuck would I want to try that? I have never
really had a lack of confidence so the emotional implications of sex were of
small consequence and I have no lack of willing, safe, and available
partners. Hooking up or in a
relationship, sex was part of my relaxation ritual. Today, hell has frozen
over, the penny has floated back up from the floor to be fixed firmly between
my knees, and yes, I have decided to practice abstinence. Thank
you! Thank you very much ladies and gentlemen! For the first time since I lost
it to my best friend on a bunk bed who was supposed to be babysitting his little
brother, my vagina is closed for business.
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I bet you really don’t care why I would make such a life
altering and drastic decision but I’m going to tell you anyway (because that’s how
I do!) I was happy once. Had a loser boyfriend that I waited on hand and foot
with delusions of wedding bells in my sights. I was going for the brass ring
and it was a magnificent run for the finish line. I figured out how to find a
new adventure each week scaling massively strenuous hikes or trying to eat more
than I could eat with my pitiful beau to keep the excitement going. My approach to cleaning the house was more streamlined
that that of a man with a pay by the hour high priced hooker. When it came to
the bedroom, I garnered the strength of The Hulk to stay on top in various
elevations for at least thirty minutes before having to change positions and
the flexibility of Olympic Gymnast Nadia Comaneci to deal with what came after
(so I guess I was a Romanian Hulk in the sheets.) I also had a happy and
healthy work life and felt, like many before they fall from great heights, I
had made it. Then one day something was different. The center of my universe started to move askew
and blame shifted out of balance and always onto me. I was usurped.
Bad Beau(as we will now call him, BB for short) and I decided
to finally tackle a hike in one of the last
area parks we had not trekked. I felt the challenge on my misshapen body on the
initial accent but was determined not to show it (like a boss.) as we reached
the summit of the hike, I inhaled the view of the Meramec in all of it’s
polluted splendor and thought that the only thing that would make the day
better was a swim. Pussy ass BB wouldn’t
get in his clothes so we put a pin in it and headed to the closest redneck bar.
As I walked into the dimly lit shit hole, I spied the posters on the walls
which were mainly advertisements for beer, Meat Shoots, or fraternal club golf
tournaments. I walked toward the bar and
as if to put ever old white man in the place at ease, the bartender (think fortyish
blonde that has seen some things in her day) proclaimed that I was her sister
coming into drink. She seemed unaware that I am a black Latina, or maybe just didn’t
give a shit because she said I was her sister. These are the situations I willing walk into
with BB. We ordered up a couple of pints of Stag and two whiskeys (our normal
order which we still do both order separately now) and hit the pool table. Despite
my overwhelming inability to play any sport that requires a lot of hand-eye
coordination, I somehow held my own poppin them balls like Pringles. At the end
of the game an older gangly looking man walk are way and ask “wanna see a trick
shot?” to which we most definitely replied “yeah!” we were all pretty drunk by
then but kept at it till we got it. We said our thanks and walked out of the
bar and around the corner to a heavenly smelling place that sold ice cream and
chicken. We ordered some chicken to go
and stepped out for a smoke and talked about how amazing the day was. Driving
home, on highway 40 nearing 270 going west (I remember seeing the rock wall
along the highway that I’ve always enjoyed looking at in those parts), BB
turned to me with a sick look on his face. I asked what was wrong and he
replied “I talked to my ex girlfriend a few days ago. I haven’t talked to her
in ten years. We are going to have to break up.” A tsunami sized wave of
emotion ran over me as my life came crashing down around me. I went from Flying close to the sun to sifting
through the raw sewage that was the remnants of my heart.
My new apartment is set up for maximum comfort because of a
smart decision to create a space where I
could relax, combat loneliness (heated mattress pad on a futon feels like you
are sleeping next to someone), and have people over for beer when the bars
close at three. I had to face living
alone head on. Something had changed in
e as I started to plan my first hookup. I simply didn't want to. It didn't feel
right. Frustrating feelings of confusion started to rise in me as I went
through a second set of batteries and then did an emergency run to Patricia’s
for a new vibrator. What was this witch craft? Why could I not hook up and what
of keeping my on the hook? What happened to the days of happily eliciting jizz?
Giving it deep thought was the only thing I could do. Then it dawned on me. I
was now older and more mature and looking for a committed relationship sooner
rather than later. It made a twisted sort of sense that holding out a bit longer
would somehow magically get those results sometime in the not so distant
future. Who the fuck would have thought that I could come to this conclusion?
Fuck me! Or rather, don’t.
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