Monday, June 18, 2007

Not This Year, I Have A Headache

Okay. This is an interesting development.

Several times this weekend, a thought crossed my mind unbidden: I'm not going to have sex any more. When I was hanging with UnFortunate at Folsom Street East yesterday, I said it outloud.

Quoth UnFortunate, "Say what?"

But yeah.

And it's weird.

I just feel like I've been offered something that previously I thought was great, but now, not so much. Like, "Hey! Today you can eat ice cream for breakfast, cherry pie for lunch, and fudge for dinner!"

Even yesterday on West 28th Street, stunning examples of masculine pulchritude everywhere I looked, looking but not touching did me just fine.

Luckily (!), no one has been knocking on my door lately. But I honestly think that if that were the case, they'd be chasing me around the proverbial sofa like on a '70s sitcom. I am seriously not interested in getting it on.

Now of course, me being me, I've been mulling and thinking and plumbing the depths of this existential conundrum.

My first line of the inquiry was that it had something to do with my job situation. Or the lack thereof. Nothing quite kills a boner like lack of financial security. Especially when you're in your forties.

But maybe not.

There is the whole New Years' Resolution thing. That 2007 would the Year Without Love. I've written before about how eerily easy it was to let go of that. O that quitting smoking was this easy. And although Romance was the only item I intended to jettison, it seems that Gettin' It On went with it.

But that shouldn't be a surprise.

I've always found sex without love to be deeply unsatisfying. And of course I'm not talking about love in the sense of "let's spend the next decade or so sitting on the sofa eating take-out chinese bickering about what to watch on Pay-Per-View." But just that sense of really liking the guy, feeling that he likes me, and having my imagination catch fire. That's not impossible to sustain. At least not for more than an evening.

Too, I've grown awfully comfortable with my own company. The idea of getting in my Jeep, driving all the way up to NYC to spend an evening standing on the roof of the Eagle Spiegel hoping for something to happen... That's easily trumped by sitting on my porch enjoying a cigar and watching the fireflies. And of course, I'm not missing the rejection and heartbreak.

Now, I hope I'm not coming off as despairing or downtrodden about this.

Because i sure ain't.

I stand in the same place I've always stood. If the right man comes along, I'm ready for him. A man I can have fun with. All kinds of fun. But he doesn't have to be in a rush. I'm enjoying myself too much to rush into anything.

1 comment:

'bastian said...

Funny how celibate times can creep up on you. I went 18 months in my late 20s. It is actually pretty easy after the first few months--and you can really focus on yourself and your friends.

But one little warning, when you do it again for the first is OVER. VERY OVER. Your body will wake up all over again.