Sometimes I wonder if a castration would just be easier.
A chemical one, like they give sex offenders,
perhaps, in lieu of all that mess.
Or a lock box...what did they call them?
Chastity belt. For a man.
Or just go in for neuro-surgery and
cut out the response centers in the brain.
At this point, it's like an appendix or a little toe;
it serves no purpose, so what're we keeping it around for.
Really and truly, I am Over It.
Gone beyond the mountain and come back again.
It has been so incredibly long since I have
known the touch of another,
and I think everything down there has gone Turtle;
it has slid back in, honey.
"You're not gonna pay me any mind? Screw you, I'm leaving
this party alone!"
Kiss it; don't miss it.
Some things increase the pain;
like, just for instance, the fact that my decrepit 75 year old
mother is knocking boots more often than me.
Yes, I wish I didn't know either, trust me.
I think if I saw a live-and-in-person naked man
at this point, I would do one or all of the following;
A. Fall out laughing
B. Pass out from fear and confusion
C. Stand gaping and drooling, unable to interact
D. Start screaming hysterically
I shit you not; I am a fagging basket case
at this point. I am so socially gummed up now,
so out of practice even talking to other guys,
certainly out of habit of knowing any gay men...
it has become a cluster fuck.
Or, a cluster non-fuck, as the case may be.
I know that pornography has kind of
ruined the whole sexual connection of the
average workaday world, but really, I prefer
porn with its pristine and unrealistic images,
it's ability to be 'muted' on a whim, the
ability to lay where you're at when through and
not have to entertain (or rate, or listen to)
No 'when are we getting together again' horseshit.
No unexpectedness or pain.
Maybe I'll hang on to my junk for the near future.
It's one of those things; not easily rectified once
done, so perhaps some discretion is in order.
Like anything else; the minute you get rid of it,
that's exactly when you'll find a need for it.