I found myself idly staring in the mirror at the expressionless, loveless shell of a man that I had become. Where did it all go wrong? I wasn’t so sure of the answer to that question. Nonetheless, something was amiss and change was a need that surfaced within my very soul. A different woman every night. If not a woman, then the demonic, fork tongued women of the internet. I needed release of how far I had fallen. Is love even real anymore? “Why can’t I feel!” I yelled into the mirror. “What’s wrong with you?” I heard a voice come from… where was it? God? Was that God that had said that? I wasn’t sure, I was quite drunk at the time. The question, however, came again and I was able to pinpoint the source. David, my stepfather had evidently overheard my fruitless cries of agony. “Oh, uh, nothing. It was nothing. I just hit my arm pretty hard on the door and couldn’t quite feel it. That’s all.” Thank God I thought up such a blatant lie. All in order to avoid an uncomfortable, possibly tear-filled, confession of my torn soul and how I had a certain doll under my bed that I nicknamed, “Maggy”. The lie worked; however, the need was still in me to change. Abstinence all the way, mother f***er. Surely, this will cleanse my spirit and bring me back to the realm of sanity.
Some time had passed since my last sexual act. Oh, how much longer will this take? I continually asked myself this very question. The answer came to me, and the answer was simple; until I no longer ask that question. I didn’t like this answer, but I pressed on with my life. I checked the calender to see how many days had passed. I had only one thing to realize, however, that it had been but a mere four hours. Curses! In weakness, I reached for the phone, “1-900… TITS!” I yelled to the heavens. The voice dialer on my blackberry asked me to repeat the request. I understood that in order for this to work, I had to do away with my phone, as well. Not just because I had almost dialed a 900 number, but because the cold, heartless, robotic, womanly voice of my blackberry’s voice dial had somehow aroused me. Given, I really hadn’t thought this through, perhaps I need to go out for a drink. As previously mentioned, I may have already had a few but such dedication to my no sex pact required the use of alcohol. Don’t ask me why but that’s simply how I rationalized it, in my already drunken mind.
So, I took a drive to one of the bars I often frequent, to get my mind off the things that plagued me. I forgot to take into account that it was, in fact, a stripper bar. Perhaps if I were sober, this mistake wouldn’t have occurred. I walked up to the bar, “Mr Daniels, on the rocks, please.” I said to the topless bartender, who attempted to strike up a racy conversation with me; until I told her I was a gay man doing a report on straight bars for the gay community. Which, at first, that seemed to make her even more interested. So I urinated in my own pants. The truth was, that yes, I really did have to pee and no I didn’t want to walk 12 feet to a crowded bathroom. Also, I really needed this bitch to stop hitting on me. As is my style, I killed two birds with one stone.
After many hours, I seemed to had forgotten two very important details: One, I was setting myself toward a life of abstinence; and two, I had pissed myself. The nicest woman I had ever seen walked up to me, one rounded breast sloppily falling out of her bra as the other one was tucked neatly within the cup of the bra. She stumbled a bit in her footsteps, which told me something. It told me she was drunk. “This woman is for me!” I said to myself. However, not realizing, that I had actually yelled it. Funny how you do things like that when you’re drunk. She walked toward me, nearly tripping a few times and running into bar stools and tables more often than not. “Hey baby. Twenty bucks for a good time.” She said to me, ever so sweetly. “Yes ma’am!” I said in delight. As the lap dance began to commence. I couldn’t help but notice a distateful look in her eyes. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Do… do you smell pee?” She asked, in return. That’s when it all came back to me. The decision, the abstinence, the unwillingness to walk to the bathroom. It was all there. That’s when I looked around, threw up my hands, and said, “F*** it! Hey, you wanna bone?” So, we went to the back alley and did our stuff. I went home, parked the car somewhere between the beginning of the driveway and the front door, and passed out on the lawn. I came to the realm of consciousness and unwelcome soberness the next day, and walked into the bathroom, cleaning myself up. I found myself idly staring in the mirror at the expressionless, loveless shell of a man that I had become. Where did it all go wrong? I wasn’t so sure of the answer to that question… and it began, again.