So I’m at Mokabe’s and I see this really cute chick with a big ass. And I’m thinking my god, how nice it would be to fuck her. Doggy style. Cowgirl style. Whatever. It would be nice. She’s cute. Then I realize: this is what the fuck I’m talking about. This is the witch I have to drown. This is the dragon I have to slay. This urge. This desire that reduces women to body parts and sex acts.
Because in reality, while I’m sure she’s a good lay, she’s probably at best only marginally better than anyone else. And when you divide that differential by the time and energy it would take to get her in bed, provided that she is A. available, B. not celibate and C. not a lesbian. Then there is the very real chance that even if she meets all the above criteria, that at some point before I seal the deal I will say something or do something that will turn her off to me forever. When you put all these probabilities into a cost/benefit analysis, you realize that the time it will take to go from total strangers to sex partners would be better spent reading plays by August Wilson, or brushing up on recent changes in US income tax law, or learning the Bible. No wonder so many people end up having affairs with people they work with or otherwise already know. There just aren’t enough hours in the day to invest in new relationships on spec.
damn. getting older sucks ass. (or doesn’t)
Man, I want some days of fucking who I want when I want.
Isn’t that the arrangement with you and your girl?
In any given situation where I want to have sex with someone other than my girlfriend, there are three people who must sign off on the plan.
You’re forgetting one of them.
HA HA! I’ve always said, being poly is kinda like being Mormon. Sure, you can have as many wives as you want, but they all gotta be Mormon. It’s like being a kid in a candy store, but your diabetic.