Drum roll, please...

Fri, 27 Aug 2004 07:47:48 GMT

And here it is. At the insistence of my sharkie goddess [isagungan], in all of it's marvelous, awake-after-work glory.

Took a long walk last night with a long-time friend. We talked about hating people in general and how society is built on a foundation of shallow tendencies that, by all logic, should crumble inexplicably. And we joked about how perfect we were for each other [though, her dream man is a black-haired cop who speaks German, and my dream woman is... well... Keira Knightly], griped about politics, and then mourned shamelessly over lost love [her more than I]. And I confessed to her how I missed having what I've lovingly dubbed the "high school spark", and she confessed to how she's never once orgasmed during sex.

And come to think of it.. how many women out there do orgasm during sex? I mean... constantly. As a regular occurrence. Oral sex doesn't count. Isn't a woman's sexual peak their 30's? I'd like to think I've made women orgasm, perhaps. And if you judged by the more-likely-than-not feigned yelps of girls in the bedroom [a la, "Godddddd!!! I'm coming! SHIIIIITTT!"] I might be led to think that I have. But.. really, I can't be that good. I'd say... some of those screaming, shake-the-earth-I'm-going-blind orgasms were probably faked. Staged. A big charade. And I'm okay in saying that. Because there have been times when I have come close to not orgasming, and in fact, on occasion, have not come at all. And since really all a man needs to get off is a free hand and a vision, I would think... that... it would take much more for a woman to get off. And to think that in every single quickie or half-assed drunken fuck these girls are orgasming their heads off is.. false. But I could be wrong.

And please, forgive the nonsensical-ness of the above two paragraphs. I might be a bit delusional right now.

Also, why do women do that? Pretend to climax when they don't? Is it because they're sick of having sex? Is it because they don't want to come [because you know, ladies, men aren't going to know we're doing something wrong if we think you're coming each and every time]? I honestly think it must be one of those two options. No other options even seem remotely feasible.

Anyway, the above actually had a point - and moving on, here it is. Coming home from work today I've discovered a blister on my foot - undoubtedly from the walk last night. I'm not sure if it's more disconcerting that I have a blister [which, naturally, means that I haven't used that particular part of the foot (namely, the "long walk" part) in ages, thus, I'm a lazy bastard] or that I didn't notice it was there until nearly 24 hours later.

But so I was going to explain how me getting a blister was some sort of ironic metaphor for my entire life, but now I've sort of lost where I was going where it. It had potential to be greatness, though.

And darling, dream of hamsters with wings.

Million Dollar Trooper

Drum roll, please...