Look at me. I’m all holy and shit. Instead of masturbating at night, I rub my Buddhist prayer beads and silently chant “Omituofo” in my head. As if that’s somehow going to rub me more pure. This religion stuff is seriously making me feel a bit crazy. And not even in a bad way. Or a good way. It’s just… way. Like, totally tubular! No way! Way! Crazy. I don’t know.
I was a bad Catholic. I mean, I’m not particularly Catholic and lets face it. I never was… When mom forced me to go to church as a kid, I would sing the hymns loudly. Only instead of singing the words in the book, if I was feeling particularly ornery, I would sing the words on the plaques against the wall instead.
In dedication to… blahblahblah. In memory of…!
When she asked me to pray the rosary (or whatever you call the ritual) with her, I begrudgingly obliged. The rosary is friggen LONG. Each bead represents one Hail Mary or Our Father or I don’t even know. I would rush through my prayers and talk like one of those speedy infomercial guys that would read through all the disclaimers.
I don’t know about you, but that’s way more effort than saying “Omituofo!” for every bead I rub.
I like the word rub. But every time I type it it’s making me feel a little bit hornier. Rub. Rub. Rub-a-dub-dub. I’m a genie in a bottle, baby. Gotta rub me the right way, honey. Actually, rub-a-dub-dub makes me think of Bert and Ernie. Way to go word association and wandering minds mixed with stream of consciousness writing! But I bet Bert and Ernie were gay, weren’t they? That’s some nice rub-a-dub-dub action. Showers are immaculate. Cleanliness is next to Godliness. Wink, wink.
I used to live with a gay couple. I’d hear them having sex sometimes and then I’d smile like Amelie and think about how many other people were getting it on and having orgasms at this exact moment. I like it when I hear other people having sex. Like in hotel rooms on the other side of a very thin wall. It makes me smile and laugh and maybe even rub myself. Ha. This entry is pretty much filth and I love it. I could use a little more filth in my life. All this purity shit is making feel unbalanced. Instability in too much stability. Something like that.
Before I came here, I vowed I’d be completely celibate. As in, no masturbation. You know how celibate (as in, no dick in vagina) I’ve been? Long enough for me to go crazy. But not as long as one of my exes (five years!!), who is waiting for that special someone and super picky and trying to woo a super Christian Nepali girl who doesn’t want to have sex until she gets married. I only mention she’s Nepali because I don’t think many Nepalese are Christian. Way to go, proselytizing Christians! That’s +1 for the Christ team!
Anyway, good luck with that, buddy. We still talk online, sometimes, and it’s this weird relationship of whose “breasts looked so hot I wanna suck them” and “you don’t even have a chance with him/her!” and fuck no I’m not giving you a second chance, don’t even think about it. We talk about stupid shit a lot.
I guess I’m super picky too, but I don’t want to wait. As in, I don’t want to wait for Romeo or Knight in Shining Armour dude or whatever ridiculous fairy tale I’m supposed to buy into. I ain’t no damsel here! I’m living my own life. I don’t want to wait to have sex, either. I’m trying to transcend. Except, I’m not even sure of what. Dicks in vaginas? Masturbation? Romance? Relationships? Love? Sex? Desire?
They feed me desire. Desire is the cause of all suffering. Second Noble Truth. I guess that’s true. Sure. But why can’t I have desire? What’s so wrong about suffering? Sometimes I enjoy it. Men are worth a little suffering. I want to shake the boat a little. The waters are too calm. I need some drama in my life. That’s what I think. But there’s a part of me that also thinks I want to transcend all this drama. That I don’t need any one and that relationships are futile and full of suffering and why even bother?
How do I merge my two extremes? Converge them into something healthy. How can I be so sexual and yet so born-again virgin? I don’t even get myself sometimes.
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