Goin’ Down West

I had two dates in the past week. Both went down on me before it was over. Both used an approach that not only disappoints but is almost uncomfortable. Imagine someone trying to kiss you without using lips. Now add a vigorous side-to-side motion that resembles blowing raspberries on a belly. Initially innocuous, the resulting effect is me pushing away from the sensation. If given the opportunity I offer instructions but, for the most part, I strongly encourage hand stuff. I know how to get off and it usually doesn’t require saliva. I know I taste good. That’s no reason to forget your manners.

I was rarely consulted on what makes me feel good in my past. My parents kept me abreast of what should make me feel good. My peers offered a variety of things that make them feel good. I often mistook other people’s good feelings for my own. Vicarious joy only operates around at 60% of actual joy potential. People that survive off the energy of others are doomed to a low wattage existence, never realizing fulfillment or actualization. Much like getting buried alive or trapped in a coma, the dull hum of mediocrity constantly threatens to overwhelm those without purpose.

Discovering myself involves not enjoying everything. Liking everything is as boring as disliking everyone. I’m not sure what I’m aiming for at the end of all this but I’m certain it won’t be boring.

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