I haven’t masturbated but twice in four days. For some reason my sex drive is shooting through the sky, I can barely think clearly. I’m sitting in the waiting room at the doctor’s. Do you know the mory feeling in your chest when you love somebody deeply, as if something inside your thorax was somehow vibrating in harmony with all your surroundings? I feel just that way – but I feel it all around my dick.
Hearing test, once more. I’m not confident. In fact I’m terrified, but the intensity of my lust makes it clear to me that there’s no way I’m not going to try to fuck the lewd redhead right at this place. And as I imagine it, something is very different from the last times I was sitting here. It has always been a fantasy, to be indulged in. Now the vision is real and my body is preparing itself for the trivial movements that would be necessary to take her. Trivial yet untrained.
My body craves her, yet I do not even know if she is here.
I follow her into a room. She asks if my hearing is better and I demand she whisper something in my ear to test it. Whatever you want. She doesn’t, but she gets where I’m going and skillfully deflects with humor. I’m trembling on the inside; can there possibly be any more relishable feeling than this tension?
We do some tests; apparently my ears are good.
I touch her hair.
“Is that a real red?”
– “I wonder why I’m so into it…”
She bows away, over the computer desk. I lay my hand on her back and lean in behind her ear. I have not practiced speaking very manly, so I just say it.
“Have you ever been fucked at work?”
“No? And it’s not ever going to happen.”
I realize one of the problems offorums. . She could have said this in a way that would have encouraged me and she could have said it in a way that would have repelled me. Instead, she said it in a somewhat surprised, tad shocked and humorous way. Doesn’t matter, my penis is controlling me and in the heat of the moment, I simply will not lose my frame. At least that is my perception.
– “What do you think I am?” (that sounds promising!)
– “A woman with needs” (touching her lower back, somewhat ineptly)
– “I’m sure there’s a lot of other women who have more urgent needs than me. Believe me, I’m quite well attended in that matter.” (I believe her. Tattoos.)
I don’t feel like I’ve lost yet, but I’m realizing that this situation calls for some verbal finesse that I lack. I say nothing and take my arm off her back. Maybe I will try to kiss her when she turns around.
She takes the paper out of the printer and hands me my patients card, tells me to go see the doctor now. I merely grin broadly at her and she smiles back, as if we had an inside joke. Usually, this would be good, right? But women sometimes smile and then they’re totally weird. Confusing.
I go see the doctor. Long minutes pass as I wait for him. But good, I’m finally healthy. I enter the main hall and loudly announce my health. Thank you! I’m healed! Arrivederci! My enthusiasm hits all but my favorite girl who unusually quietly and shyly says Bye.
I’m defeated. Yet another girl alienated.
I should have done better
I feel as though the devil is pulling me into hell after having sinned. Feel like a piece of shit, worthless. My mind keeps saying you should have touched her the right way, you shouldn’t have stopped. She was playing with you. But maybe she wasn’t. Well, you did do something at least. But it was pathetic. No one would have dared to do this. Yet she spoke so casually; she should have been in awe. Maybe your idea was not that special, after all. And I failed it anyway.
My mind races and searches for a positive angle on this. Please, I need some proof that there is something that is worth this pain. I feel guilty for imposing on her such a meek attempt. Guilty for making her feel uncomfortable. When a movie hero does this, it’s funny, because everyone’s on his side. But no one is on my side here. I am a reject, a loser and I’m alone in this. I crave someone to pat me on the back and say: Well done, lad. But no one’s coming. But there has to be a good angle on this; you’re the good one. She thinks I’m pathetic. I went in with the wrong mindset, that’s why I failed. I just need to think enough about it and some day, I will reach a point where I can not fail.
Desperate attempts of my brain to stop the formation of pathways that associate my desire and nonchalance with a profound feeling of emptiness. Go after girls and the heavens will punish you, just like you deserve it.
And then it strikes me.
This isn’t the feeling of being evil. This emptiness is a judgment on myself. I’m pathetic. I failed. It’s the feeling of failure. End of the story. Suddenly my mind is liberated. Thoughts slow down.
But I did well until… why should I care. This emotion of defeat is not going away. I failed. I’m pathetic. There’s no need to fabricate some bullshit narrative about a virtuous hero. There’s no need for a pretense of self-esteem. I failed. I’m pathetic. And that’s okay.
And I start to understand men. Who cares about your fucking number close or kiss close. Dick in vagina or no dick in vagina. Yes. This is not about being hard on yourself. This is about leaving failures behind. If I let my brain search for good angles to boost my confidence, I will end up with fake confidence – after all, how can I possibly know if this or that move was good. I’ll end up rejecting the pain.
No, I’ll not lose thoughts over this. I give my brain an excuse to stop thinking:
Brain, stop thinking, it’s not worth it. I’m pathetic. I failed. You can’t save me and you don’t need to.
And my brain answers: Thank you, Tom.