party hats people!
Today is day 1,000!
Yes it’s 1,000 days that’s 24,000 hours/1,440,000 minutes/86,400,000 seconds since the guy writing this post has had his dick inside a woman.
January 5th 2010. That was the last time I had full sex with someone. Now I can tell you my dick hasn’t been a stranger to the odd adamant woman’s mouth (“I bet I can get it up”) or hand but never hard and never for long.
Think of the last time you went without for a while and now imagine it was for 1,000 days. See why I’m so messed in the head right now? Seriously, I want to fuck every woman I know and see that is of legal age and that I’m not related to.
A landmark indeed.
rehash and repeat
By now you know me. You can spot a poorly written article a mile off and see past that to see me for the dirty enthusiastic story teller that I am. It’s what I do. I enjoy telling a story and relish little things like details. Now although this makes for long winded accounts (I’ve read the criticisms) it’s just how I am. A 1 minute story takes 5 as my anecdotes have anecdotes. So why would this ever change? When people don’t fucking listen.
I have friends and acquaintances and maybe it’s just me but when I hear something, I remember it more so than reading something. This is due to an illiterate childhood where I did the bulk of my learning by remembering things I’d heard so now I can hear a line off TV or from a song lyric and it’ll stick…there’s probably a name for that. Audiographic? Sonographic? Someone find out for me. I don’t think it’s a requirement though for the issue I find myself faced with when bumping into old friends.
“Hey I lost my testicle, can’t get it up.”
You won’t be shocked to learn that’s not how I broke the news to most folks, it was a self indulgent yarn replete with swearing, first hand detail of the situation and whimsical elements (like asking the GP for a dinosaur shaped prosthetic). I have mastered the story over the 2 years since it happened and there is none better than myself to tell it.
So last week I bumped into an old friend. We had worked together for a small amount of time about a year ago and I let her in on the issue. She replied with the usual though still sincere expressions of sympathy and curiosity. I answered her when she asked what the doctors had said and we hugged it out. That was a year ago, you can imagine my annoyance when Saturday she seemed utterly fucking clueless about the whole episode. She told me, “No, I’ve not been having loads of sex at all, I’ve been with one guy in the last 7 months (incredible as this girl once went through a dozen guys in two weeks) I bet you’ve been with more than I have.” I made a joke of it saying I hadn’t been with any guys at all so she was beating me but I could tell from her facial expression that she hadn’t remembered. All the effort gone into cultivating this grandiose tale of a rather traumatic time in my life that I seem quite comfortable sharing with all of you as I have no face on here but still can’t tell my own family in the real world. In fact only a small amount of people are remotely aware and these are people I trust. So should I expect them to remember?
I didn’t correct her as there were others around and although I knew them from the same environment as her, it didn’t feel right to tell them a year ago and nothing had changed Saturday. Sometimes I do remind them and their expression shifts with horror as they immediately regret not remembering. It happens. Sometimes I give them a small chance to remember and they still look at me perplexed. Is losing the ability to get it up so common that my version can be discarded with ease? It is far simpler for my closer friends to remember as they spend more time taking the piss out of it. Last Thursday I was in a bar with a friend when we both spotted this cute brunette so I told him I was going over to get her number to which he replied “Why bother? What if I wanted her? I mean it’s not like you can do anything with her or is this another girl you’re going to take home and get her to beat your flaccid cock while you sit crying at the foot of her bed?” This is the humor I like. I got her number anyway, went back to hers and ate her out because I don’t like being told what I can’t do.
There it is though. The newest update on my physical disability. I spend the odd moments reacquainting myself with old haunts and faces only to repeat myself over and over. When my NHS appointed shrink forgets about it, then I’ll know I’m in trouble.