Friday, 3 August 2012

A Sexual Drought, Rihanna, Viagra, The Shard and Mahatma Gandhi.

I've been experiencing a bit of a drought lately. I'm like a tourist destination that doesn't get any tourists anymore.
A bit like Margate or Iraq, only with a better frontage and a lot less dangerous.
It's not that I'm run down or war torn. I'm just feeling a bit "take it or leave it" when it comes to stroking it and feeling it. I'm hoping that sometimes we all need to step away from fornication to know what the fornication we should be doing with our lives.
Sex can be a bit of a distraction can't it?
Whether you doing it, watching it, planning it or screwing it, it takes time and effort and I've never been a Wham! Bam! Thank you man kind of guy.
I can't just drop my trousers at the drop of a hat.
I don't even wear a hat.
But I did used to really like Wham.

The odd thing is that I work so hard to make myself sexually attractive. I spend hours in the gym. I fret about every grey hair and then I fret about losing every grey hair. I wonder does my bulge look big in this when I know my bum looks big in that.
I cleanse, I tone and I moisturise. I exfoliate and I scrub and I've even been known to fake it and bake it.
But what's the use?
Who's it for?
Sometimes I'll look in the mirror and I'll think "mmm, not bad for an Oompa Loompa. Charlie & his Chocolate Factory would be proud" and then I go straight to the fridge and eat some chocolate.
Other times I'll stand in front of the mirror and I'll think "Umm, not bad if you were in a pub, under soft lighting and someone was as drunk as a teenager at a keg party" and then I'll go straight to the fridge and pour myself a gin and juice.
Then there are the times when I look at myself in the mirror and I think "wow, you actually look half decent. Someone is definitely going to want to undress and caress you".
And then I go straight to the fridge. I eat some chocolate, I pour myself a gin and a juice and I put on my pyjamas.
I literally cannot be arsed with going out and trying to get arsed.

I know sex is supposed to recreational but how I feel about it at the moment is exactly how I used to feel about the playing fields behind my mums house when I was growing up. They were called "recreational grounds" - but we used to call them "The Rec".
Mostly because they were overgrown, dangerous and full of burned out cars.
I'm not overgrown. I can be dangerous and I have been burned out but sexually?
I'm just a wreck.
The only person I'm prepared to take my clothes off in front of is my doctor and the strangest thing is, whenever I go to see him, he finds a reason for me to undress and lay on his couch.
I went to see him a couple of weeks ago because I had a sore throat and he asked me to undress so he could look at my chest?
"But doctor, I want you to look down my throat?"
Doctors are like mechanics, you should never question them. You have a problem with your engine but the mechanic wants to look in your boot (trunk for all my American readers)?
Let him.
You have a problem with your throat but your doctor insists on looking up your arse?
Report him.
My doctor is the furthest from my ideal of a "Dr Love" anyway. He looks like Mahatma Gandhi in a bri- nylon suit but it's worth the flirt and the feel up because I want him to stamp my prescription.
I'll do anything to up my meds.

I know I've strayed from original theme of the blog which was sexual expression, sexual repression and sexual transmission but that's my problem.
I can't keep my mind on sex, even when I'm doing it.
Something always gets in the way.
A household bill, a deadline, a ringing phone, a knock on the door, world peace, world debt, the ups and downs of life, did Chris Brown really hit Rihanna? Is Rihanna a lesbian? Why do lesbians like cats?
And there it is. . .
What was once so up, just came crashing down.

I've even tried recreational drugs for sex ( I know you're now thinking, the wreck has tried recreational drugs over the recreational ground behind his mums house) but nothing really works.
Viagra worked but it made me go bright red and gave me a headache. You can't imagine how frustrating it is to have to say "not tonight darling, I've got a headache" when you could pull down your pants and bash a thousand tent pegs into the ground.
Do not mix Viagra and booze either, you'll go to bed with a boner and a headache and wake up with just the headache.
If your partner's that desperate to see a mammoth erection, take them up The Shard.
I actually got spiked with rohypnol when I was about 19. It speaks volumes about the guy that did it but it says a lot more about me when he told me  "I put a roofie in your drink about an hour ago", and I was just about to start doing high kicks across the dance floor. I've always had the stamina to be up all night, just not when it comes to the bedroom.
Sex and drugs will never mix!
(and the same applies for sex & rugs, especially if they are animal hair and dry clean only).

Enjoying sex is all about freeing your mind and I guess I'm never really totally free.
I still have thoughts that it's dirty, it's wrong, it's not right and it's not OK and that troubles me . .  .
But then when I really think about it I realise it should be dirty, it should be wrong and if it's not right then it's definitely OK isn't it?
Maybe I need a little help?
Maybe I need a guiding hand?
Maybe I should go and see a sexual therapist?
I just don't know what I'd do if I arrived at his office and said "Doctor, I really need to talk to you about sex" only for him to reply:

"That's fine Mr Warner, now take off your clothes and lay down on that couch" . . . . . .

5 comments:

  1. The fact that there is also someone affected in this repression aside from you, I think this is way too serious already. My husband once tried online viagra and mind you, it's really worth it.

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  2. Ha! I'm glad something worked. Dan

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  3. If my guy friends read this, they'd just tell you to go check an online drugstore for more viagra, or go check other "sites" (that's what they call them).

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