At any rate, I'd start to have thoughts about dating, girlfriends, and, of
course, sex. It felt, for some reason, like something
I ought to do at some point, and hey -- girls are pretty sexy. I do
believe I was of the general idea that I was too young
for that sort of stuff, though; but decided that some good old
masturbation never hurt anyone. So that's what I did:
I masturbated like, well, a teenager. With Internet access getting more
and more widespread, access to pornographic material
was anything but scarce; I'd secretly (or not so secretly as the case may
be -- I think in retrospect my parents must surely
have known) find something suitable and whack to my heart's content.
After a while the years crept up on me and I found myself in what the
yanks call senior high, and I started getting the general idea
that other people were going at it like rabbits already. With a libido set
to "haywire", half a century worth of collective family values
and ideals compressed to half a decade and crammed into an already
overloaded head, and an attractiveness quotient somewhere
below that of the garden variety snail, I was heading for disaster and
ended up doing what way too many people do: I latched onto
someone and was, of course, brutally crushed in the end by a ton of
reality crashing down. It's a pretty sordid and boring story
and I'm not going to go into more detail; but it left me in a state best
described as "really fucking depressed".
Now, I'll be the first to admit that I was an angsty fucktard at this
point. No lame excuses like "my hormones got the better
of me" or anything. I was a prime example of a stupid angsty teenager with
way too much time on his hands, and I spent most
of it with my hands on my dick. I use the past tense because I got over it
-- the angst, not the masturbation.
Later in my high school years I got into a relationship of the internet
kind. I don't know if my desperation was beginning to show,
or if it was some kind of compensation after my earlier rejection, or if I
simply enjoyed it; but that's what happened. I was still
an angsty fuck, though, and very demanding at that. In the end, she broke
it off and I ended up even more depressed. Maybe
I was still too young, but the angstiness was far from overcome.
Right, one final bit of backstory before we get to the core of the poodle.
Fast-forwarding through senior high and onto early
university studies, I did end up in a manner of an affair. Once again I
won't go into great detail; but it was another internet deal,
filled with ample situations for sex of the cybery kind. That was... fun,
I suppose. She really seemed to like me and all that. But,
in the end I got cold feet and broke it all off. Proceeding on our amazing
journey through time and space, we arrive at the
present date, where finally I've gotten this whole mess that is my sex
life sorted out.
I realized something about myself during that last relationship. The woman
in question was rather attached to me, to the point
where I was beginning to feel that I would need to devote more and more
time to her in order not to hurt her. This hurt me, on
the other hand; I felt conflicted between doing the things I liked and
doing things for her. What's worse, I noticed a rather
unsettling conflict between the idea that I should like doing things for
her, and the fact that in reality I didn't like it so much.
In the end I broke it off because I wasn't ready to deal with that kind of
The next part of this transformation occurred after this relationship had
ended, when I had more time to think about things.
I got to thinking about questions such as "Was she wrong to expect so much
of me?", "Was I wrong not go give it to her?",
and "Am I even ready for a relationship of any kind?" And then it struck
me. The answer to all these questions was so damn
simple, it was strange that I hadn't thought of it before. No, she wasn't
wrong, and neither was I. I don't have to like doing
things for other people. I wasn't ready for a relationship, and I was
never going to be.
Let's play with the thought for a while, and envision the perfect
relationship. The woman would have to be sexy and smart; all
right, fair enough, there are people like that, even though the likelihood
of one ending up with me is slim at best. She'd have to
have no demands on me whatsoever, and I would have to be able to get
whatever I wanted whenever I wanted it. She'd also
have to love being with me anyway, and enjoy the things I wanted when I
wanted it without being in my way when I didn't.
See what I'm getting at here? This person does not exist, and if they do,
I'll be very, very frightened.
This relationship does not exist. People simply do not work like that.
Some might say that my standards here are too high;
to which I respond, "Too high for what?" You see, in all this is a kind of
culture-implied maxim that you, You, each and every person,
has to at some point be in a sexual relationship. It's somehow imprinted
in our society that this is the normal mode of operation
for people, to the extent that even the relatively deviant tend to follow
it. But why should things be that way? Who came up with
that rule? In fact, the very thought that one can be "ready" for a
relationship implies that it's some kind of inevitable future that
you just have to prepare for enough before you can take it in.
Screw that. The reason I couldn't be in a relationship is because
relationships aren't for me, and they never were, much like skydiving
or ornamental carpentry aren't. Modern culture had imprinted itself on me
to the extent where I didn't question it. A relationship is
always two-way, and that's, for me, just too much hassle to bother with.
So, then, do I feel a lack or longing for this relationship that
I can't have? No. Of course not. I would also rather much like to have a
million dollars given to me, but I don't expect it to happen,
nor do I grieve that it's not going to happen. See, therein lies the
secret; I've come to the simple conclusion that relationships are too
much work for too little reward, and not by any means something you "have"
Philosophical interlude: Thinking about it today, it all seems very
Nietzschean in nature; only after exercising the will to destruction and
on my own accord
breaking out of the relationship (as opposed to the other party breaking
it off) I had sought after for so long could I contemplate
myself and cross the gap to overcoming nihilism at the hands of
culture-imposed ideals. "Accepting" relationships as something obvious
would only have led to either a perpetual cycle of failed relationships,
or a lifetime of being trapped in a bad one. Either way,
nihilism abounds. You can see the traditional phases in overcoming
nihilism echoed in this; the immoralist phase (daring to jump away
from the relationship dogma, and wondering how a life without it can be
possible), the freethinker phase (realizing that it doesn't
really matter, and that I'm a free individual with the ability to do
whatever I damn well want); and perhaps even becoming something
like the ▄bermensch in some small way.
So let's keep talking about sex. Some of you might have already figured
out that I'm technically a virgin. That's cool, it only proves
that I got out of that mess in time before I did something stupid. Does
this mean I'm some kind of asexual blob with no lusts whatsoever?
My dears, nothing could be further from the truth. I get horny just like
everyone else, and I take care of business when that happens;
skipping the euphemisms altogether, I jack off like there's no tomorrow.
You might think that I lament the fact that I'm likely not going to have
sex with another person (short of one-night stands, which I
refuse to do for other, irrelevant reasons). I mean, after all, how can
someone go through a life without sex? Wait, doesn't this seem awfully
familiar? Didn't we just go over this, except we were talking about
relationships that time? It turns out that the idea that everyone
should have sex with another person, and that such sex is the ultimate
pinnacle of human existence, is yet another ingrained cultural
ideal. Once again I'd have to pay attention to the needs and desires of
another person, and worry about whether it's good for them,
and take care to do things right and so on; once again, way too much
hassle to be worth it.
Masturbation is convenient. I don't have to please anyone but myself. The
porn doesn't care if I blow too early or if I'm too tired to do
anything at all. The orgasm feels great, as it's supposed to; and for that
matter, who knows what I like more than I do? If I'm feeling
like trying some particular fetish, I can just scout for the appropriate
type of pornography; no need to worry about what some
hypothetical partner is supposed to get out of this. I don't have to worry
about STD's, and if I ever manage to get myself pregnant,
at least I can look forward to a future as a unique scientific study case.
You might ask, "but aren't you curious about what sex really feels
like? Surely a pussy must be much more comfortable than your hand!" Well,
sure, maybe it is. But is it really worth all that damn hassle?
Without actually having tried, I dare to conjecture that it is not; and at
any rate, it seems like way too much trouble to find out.
Finally, there's the issue of children. Any ten year old will be able to
tell you that if mommy and daddy don't fuck, there isn't going to
be a baby brother arriving any time soon. But that's okay. Conveniently,
my personal attitude towards children is much like that towards
relationships and sex: far, far too much trouble to be worth it. Besides,
with the world being overpopulated as it is, I feel it'd be nothing
short of purely malevolent to bring more resource-sucking leeches into it.
But, most importantly, it boils down to not being worth the effort.
Going through years of changing diapers, baby-proofing apartments, playing
inane games and pretending to be impressed with crappy crayon
pictures, followed by even more years of being all sensitive and
educational towards a creature that's basically just a more stupid version
of yourself, then dealing with teenage angst and rebellion, and so on,
just doesn't seem worth it. With some luck I'd be able to foster
just as cynical a being as myself; but it's so much more convenient to
work with existing material if that's what I wanted to do. Let's face it:
children start out tiny poop machines, and even given twenty years or so
to grow up, most of them don't change into anything that even
remotely redeems spending almost two decades tolerating their existence.
Some do turn out all right, but it's really too small a chance for me
to want to bother with it.
You might think that I'm lazy, or that I'm just not trying enough. I'll be
the first to admit that I am generally lazy, and that I'm not trying
at all, in fact, in this particular field of interest. Then again, I'm not
trying to be a professional athlete either, or a world chess champion,
or a renowned architect. I'm sure that I could be all those things if I
tried; but I really do not feel interested enough to put in the
effort required, as wonderful as they each may be. If you can understand
that, and I'm sure you can, then why would the same
principle applied to sex be so alien? Does one really have to pursue
something just because everyone else is doing it?
As for the rest of you, you may all go fornicate until your ears pop off,
engage in lifelong relationships and have a million kids. If that makes
you happy, hey, that's wonderful for you; but here's one who doesn't go
for that whole lot, and there may be more of you out there of
the same kind. I don't know. Maybe no one will ever read this. But if they
do, and if they think like me, they should know that they're not alone.