Such a sad state of affairs, my mind is.

I'm not a huge fan of the act of mating. For one, I don't think my seed needs to be procreated anytime soon. But, I do enjoy the art of fucking. And fucking is somewhat of a pastime for me.

In recent history, I've slowed it down a bit, whereas, in years past, I've been downright promiscuous. I press on.

Now, before I go any further, I feel the need to provide somewhat of a backstory for the upcoming disquisition.

A couple months back, my friend Becky and I shared many times together. We texted each other with great frequency, partied a lot, hung out sober, waxed philosophical about that and this, and this and that, but before I knew it, for some odd reason, this girl took a liking to me. Pretty girl, this one is. Virgin, too.

To make a very long story short, it all comes to a head when, one night, we hang out with a couple friends outside my house. I, being the lush I am, indulge in some beers and a few shots of cheap vodka, as the night begins to turn into morning. 6am, about, and my friends have all but left. Leaving me with Becky. I invite her inside to my house because, what was I gonna do? Make her drive home at 6am? She obviously needed rest.

We relax on my bed, for what couldn't have been more than 10 minutes, before my intoxicated ass begins pulling out the bag of tricks. I went from first to third in such an expedient manner, it would've make Jimmy Rollins jealous.* And then, there it was. I take my funstick out and, with a smug grin, proceed to...well, deflower her, for lack of a better term.

45 minutes go by. Grimaces of pain on her face, beads of sweat dripping down my marginally-toned physique, and a whiskey dick that would put my Pragmatic Pigeon accomplice to shame.
Hm. Poor girl. This is her first experience with sex.

Now, fast forward a couple months and, this past week Becky comes over in the mid-afternoon. A beautiful autumn day, this was.
We sit down and chat for a little bit, share a cup of green tea, and I enjoy a smoke or two outside.

We walk in and I look at her and say, "We're gonna go upstairs and have sex, ok?"
She nods her head, knowing, full and well, what she was here for.
This time it's a little less awkward. I'm not drunk, and she's not a virgin anymore.

Without any hesitation, we're both naked. Tight little body on this girl, I must say.

After showing off my oral skills, I figure her pussy is good and ready to play hostess to my dick.
5-6 minutes go by until I finally get some form of penetration. And...we're off.

(For the sake of not going into graphic detail, I'll skip to the climax.)

Now, I look at her and offer this question, "I'm gonna cum now, ok?"
God, I'm so chivalrous.

She nods her head and I put it into overdrive.
But wait. Somethings a miss.
It feels so good, yet...I can't cum?
"I'm broken," I say to myself.
And then, I realized what was the matter, and its the same thing that hindered my climax the first time we had relations.
So, as sad as this is, I put my head on her shoulder, close my eyes, and I pretend that she's my ex-girlfriend. And then, finally...release.

"GOD! You're pathetic," I think, almost outloud.

After this, we clean up, I have a smoke, I hug her goodbye, and she goes home.

I tell this tale because, this is where I find myself. Juxtaposed between going out and being who I once was, in terms of interaction with the female species, and holding on to a girl who is no longer mine.

And, it's safe to say that, in regards to the well-being of my mind, I choose the first.
And it will make for some good writing.

And, as of writing this, I get a call from a friend:

Lyle: "Fucker, we're drinking tonight."
Me: "Nah dude, I gotta go to Lisa's house. She offered me a 6 pack of Busch pounders, a blowjob, and a bottle of Captain Morgan."
Lyle: "Oh, yeah? Fuck that. Come with me, I need the pussy magnet."
Me: "Dude, you got the wrong guy."
Lyle: "Ha, don't kid yourself. How 'bout this, I can one-up Lisa."
Me: "And how, exactly, will you do this?"
Lyle: "I got 2 bottles of champagne, a bottle of liquor, a case of Beast, a spiral-cut honey ham and a gang of bitches that won't stop talking to me about you. I say, we start with straight shots...then pop bottles."
Me: "And then pop models? God. Sign me up."
Lyle: "I knew you wouldn't let me down. See you at 9, babe."
Me: "See ya then, sweetheart."

So, here's to promiscuous sex, being able to get whatever I want from a girl, and alcohol in excess.

It's a pleasure to be an American.

*Baseball joke.