I had a dream that I was in a lesbian relationship.
“What the fuck?” My Friend exclaimed. “You were in a relationship?”
But when it came down to going down, I couldn’t do it and the relationship ended.
“It may be the first time that sex has ever stopped me from doing something,” I pondered.
And then I woke up.
Friend ignored me. “Do you want to go get sushi for lunch?”
I kissed a girl once out of eighteen-year-old innocent curiosity. But I didn’t like it. It happened in a toilet cubical of a nightclub bathroom, our boyfriends were waiting outside drinking beer and possibly hypothesizing why girls always need to go to public restrooms together and we were interrupted by someone requesting toilet paper.
When I told my then-boyfriend that his fantasies were a reality, he wasn’t mad.
“Would it have bothered you if I had been making out with a guy in the bathroom?” I enquired.
“Of course!”
If nothing else, it is nice to know that there is a loophole in monogamy.
I have never been interested in bisexuality. Part of me thinks that it would be too confusing to bare and the other part of me thinks that it is just one step away from bestiality. A very big step, but a step none the less.
One small step for man, but a giant leap from mankind.
So to speak.
“The closest I have ever come to real bisexuality was when I was attracted to a grown man dressed as a pussy cat while I was watching “Cats” the musical.”
“When was the last time you had sex?” Friend was flabbergasted over the sushi lunch. “Sdfkjsldfkjlsdf,” I mumbled.
“Pardon?”
“Over A Month Ago.”
“A dream about lesbians, attraction to felines and now no sex for a month. Who the Hell are you?”
“Numb.”
After one hasn’t had sex for a long time (Aside: Long Time = Three Weeks Plus), everything starts to appear attractive. Twenty-year-olds, thirty-year-olds, redheads…
“Sometimes it really bothers me that I have standards,” I said in between mouthfuls of fish. “Sometimes I just want to be that fire-breathing whore that I am often perceived to be. It would certainly make life a lot easier.”
“What about Him?” My friend turned into My Pimp, pointing to anyone in the restaurant with a penis. “Or him? He looks starving and artist-like. Or him? Oh him?”
“No. No. No. No. No. And Hell No.”
“Ok then Miss-Suddenly-I-Have-Run-Out-Of-Men-And-Like-Men-In-Leotards. What about her?”
I stared at the girl in question. I took another bite of sushi and swallowed.
When I gave up alcohol for a month, I learnt so many important lessons, felt liberated by the process and considered staying sober for the next seventy years. Over thirty days without sex, however, is a little bit different. For one thing, smoking a joint is actually going to work in the opposite way. Ironically, sex was my distraction from alcohol. And, right now, there isn’t enough scotch in the world.
I am [obviously] a huge advocate for the importance of sex. I think it is fun, refreshing, appealing, lovely, exciting, enjoyable, hot, interesting, challenging, intense, aerobic, joyful, energetic, romantic, hilarious, educational, fun, fun, fun, fun and anything else that is even remotely an adjective for Fun. As far as I am concerned, everyone should be having sex all the time.
Why not? No one questions if someone watches television for three hours every night. Why would anyone have the audacity to question the act of [very frequent] sex?
But with absolutely no sex in sight (sound, touch or taste), I went for a run.
“If NASA gave me a good iPod playlist and a pair of ADIDAS, I swear I could run to the moon right about now.”
“So…What is stopping you?”
It would be one small step for man. But a giant leap for mankind.
So to speak.
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