When I’m asked why I’ve been celibate for more than three years I’d like to reply that tis ‘cause I’m not into people, but that basically invites presumptions of bestiality or tuber abuse. What I really mean is that almost all humans are weak and boring, to be blunt. Sure, I’m still a man and boobs are great, but they almost always come at a cost that just makes bad business sense.
What would (eventually) (hopefully) wet my whistle is a bona fide Nietzschean Übermensch – preferably both buxom and sans boner.
‘What a right wanker,’ you might say, and you’d be accurate in at least one way. In another you’d be a judgmental prick though, as my stance could be a biological impulse, an ideal of enlightened self interest, or both. That’s right, I bet deez nuts are both base and benevolent, and while my baby batter cannot be bought or bargained, that doesn’t make me adverse to decorating the interior of the right rumpus room/s – although reproduction is most likely out of the question. There’s far too many of us already and my bloodline has a few bugs. But before I digress too far, let us get back to being balls deep…
Sex with somebody changes everything irrevocably, codependence went out of fashion last millennium and comfort is our frenemy. While crushing pussy sure can be fun, too often I’ve seen a root sooner or later result in a rut. Neither gender is guiltier than the other, for as they say, a bitch is a bitch.
Too many expect too much already, and humping heralds the imminent arrival of further expectations. But before you girls get all Germaine Greer on my ass, this isn’t an issue of commitment, rather one of risk vs. reward: temporary pleasure is not worth the potential pain.
‘Meaningless’ sex could be considered worthwhile if it didn’t come with consequence/s, but humans are by nature erratic and emotional animals. In simpler terms, what has been fucked cannot be unfucked, and truly letting go is a lesson most still have to learn.
..Which leads us back to the idea of the irresistible Übermensch. For those who haven’t spoken to Zarathustra, such superwenches would live to perceive, strew golden words yet perform still more than their promise, and be free both in spirit and heart.
While this might seem like a recipe for Captain Planet, think about it and be honest – with a pair of chest puppies and a makeover you’d totally hit that tight blue body too.
Without truth we lose, freedom is the best thing in the world, and integrity gets me wet. Subsequently, there’s nothing sexier than a hot girl who also happens to be honest, honourable, curious, open, and not secretly plotting to peel the skin off my penis* (that’s a metaphor).
Such discerning discipline when it comes to dicking most probably won’t end my drought for a while, but I’m willing to wait. I’m also willing to become a role model unless you’re religious and trying to taint children more than you do already.
I know there’s posthuman poontang out there somewhere – there just has to be. If 100 typewriter wielding monkeys would eventually bash out the works of the Bard, and Sarah Silverman is somehow fucking funny, female and Jewish all at once, anything is possible.
* if you happen to fit this description OR would like to lease a passable penis with low mileage, contact author. Conditions apply.
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