maybe I don't think about sex too much in my rambles here because I am usually writing within a few feet of a fifteen year old girl and I've trained myself to stop lusting after fifteen year old girls (or maybe it's cuz her body is unappealing to libido, but for propriety and decourum and all those good things people seem to like and demand no less, let's accept the first bit of reasoning and leave it at that... hmmm?)... and then there's the older woman (who is the fifteen year old's grandmother and equally unappealing to libido) who is in the next room that distracts, though she is not here often but happens to be here this morning... or perhaps it's the timing of the roommate walking into this writing space almost assuredly every time I feel like delving into my psyche or some subject that might be frowned upon in mixed company or polite society, especially in the midwest, which is most everywhere these day...

but all those distractions and realities and excuses and something something's aside, I don't think about sex too much in my rambles these days because I don't think about sex too much these days (never too much, right?)... I mean, there was a time when sexuality was everything, ever present in my mind and body and all around me... it is probably still all around me, but it does not seem to rise to consciousness nearly as often as I it did, say, just last year... am I going through menopause?... I know, that's a female thing, or so we are told... so why is it called men-o-pause?... pausing from men?...
the intelligential among you will probably want to tell me the word is a derivative of menses, which defeats the whole purpose of the previous paragraph's play on words, so do us all a favor and don't... and everyone else, ignore this paragraph, ok?...

anyway, we were rambling on about sex, or the lack thereof, in my thoughts and rambles of late... and by sex, I do not necessarily mean the perverse and sometimes painful fantasies of the confused or innocent minds (huh?), I mean the good old fashioned healthy fondling and foreplay between two consenting people who are hopefully not taking advantage of each other and are mutually enjoying the experience of sharing bodies... and perhaps a little active flirtation and painless fantasy (no S & M, please) on the side...

the question, I believe, was what about sex? and more specifically, I was leaning toward contemplating wondering about where the thoughts of sex went (as opposed to measuring the quantity and quality of my sex life), since I am noticing, for the moment at least, a decrease in the frequency of sexual thoughts in recent times (months, at least, I think)... if you must know, or for background but certainly not for superficial titilation (certanly not, of course), I still masturbate regularly, though I've noticed that I may go a day or two forgetting that pleasure (which is a new experience for me as daily masturbation has been part of life as I've known it ever since I discovered my genital area, at least consciously, and probably long before that... and with partner, rarely did a day go by without sharing bodies as often as possible... what is over-sexed, anyway?... but that's another story)... it is the thoughts (and fantasies) that appear to have decreased of late, which may be a contributing factor to my increasing feeling of boredom and on and off general malaise...

the recent detachment from feeling physical (these last few months of skipping the gym, for instance), is most likely the chief contributing factor leading to the decrease in sexual thought in my brain... I am hoping the blood pressure medication doesn't have such a stupid side effect, since if it did it would be defeating the purpose it's taken for since decreasing exercise of any kind is the polar opposite of the intended purpose of taking said medication... and the age or male menopause idea, while it may have some scientific merit, doesn't appeal to me to be taken seriously cuz I still feel about four years old in my head often enough (which would be most of the time) and the decision to never grow up (never surrender) remains unwaveringly as permanent as anything gets in this temporary world...

maybe I write too much?...

of course being that I do most of my writing at this laptop, which sits on a pillow on my lap, there's no using the writing as an excuse cuz I could easily flash some visual stimulation across the screen and enjoy the pressure of the weight of the laptop on the pillow with the added bonus of the vibrations from the fan and tapping of the keys, but there the obstacle may be lack of privacy as I don't recall the last time I actually secretly masturbated in public (a frequent hobby in grade school), though I just realized where this entry came from with that thought...

yesterday (last night, about twelve hours ago as the crow flies), we went to Precious' high school play (which was actually two plays as they did both To Kill A Mockingbird and It's A Wonderful Life right after each other in one evening (same cast)... they cut To Kill A Mockingbird down to less than an hour (something about competition, or something like that), which made if almost amusing (and that's really strange, since that story is anything but amusing and shouldn't be if it's point is to be made) and left Ju-Ju's petals out of It's A Wonderful Life (among other things, but I belabored that omission enough last night), but that's not the point of this thought...

at the performance, and especially before and between and after the performances, there was a plethora of stimulating bodies standing and running around the auditorium... most were rather excited (and altogether too young, from a legal standpoint, and if nothing else, the first play did bring up the subject of the laws of the land) and a few rather in my face as I looked around... I found myself recalling just how attracted I am to petite sizes (and pondered once again if I was perhaps meant to work in a clothing store for petite sizes, but then, that's a running gag for anyone who knows me well so if this is the first time you've heard it, which is probably the case, well now you can feel like you've known me longer than you have and if you enjoy that concept, then welcome a little further into my world... obviously, to bring reality into the playfulness, my current profession demonstrates {to me at least} that while libido has little qualms about crossing legal or ethical or sensible lines, I don't find such crossings sexually stimulating... but why am I disclaiming anyway?... ah, the gentle and not so subtle art of distraction... who remembers or really wants to explore the original point of this entry now?)...

so there we were finding ourselves back in the old school setting with hundreds of not quite nubile bodies wrapped tightly in skimpy cloth standing and running all around, some within a few inches of my face at times (like when the girl behind me asked me to reach under my chair for the cell phone she dropped and I turned to hand it to her and her friend was standing to present her small, firm, tightly wrapped buttocks within an inch of my nose and had I not suddenly halted the progress of my head there would have been an amusingly embarrassing moment wherein excuse me would have been said a lot)...

and of course, me being of parental age, I was expected to be parental and of course, I was (so there was no erection, by choice, if you were wondering and required such bluntness to satisfy your curiosity), however I found old habits smiling down at me from the shelf upon which they rest in my psyche and I laughed as libido wondered...

we went to the Macaroni Grill for dinner afterward (and I don't recommend the dinners there as they do not do meat or veal too well and at least last night, their portions were rather skimpy, however I do recommend the create-your-own-pasta bowls which do not skimp and being made to order, can satisfy your individual taste buds momentary desires) and then home to listen to, at Precious' request, the soundtrack of Ragtime (her current favorite musical as it was the musical her school put on last) while her dad went to bed leaving (his mom awkwardly sitting on a kitchen stool and me to quietly nudge Precious to clear space on the couch and clear a path in her room so her grandma could choose a more comfortable place to spend the night than a kitchen stool), followed immediately by his mon (who did sleep in Precious's bed), leaving she and I awake (as usual) to listen the show tunes (we eventually nodded off, her on the couch, me in my big green chair, and somewhere in the night I wandered into my room and bed)...

and then I woke, rather pleasantly amidst a rather fine dream that lead to a bit of wonderful orgasm (that was completed physically in that semi-conscious state Tinkerbell tried to remind Peter Pan about at the end of Hook, if you recall the reference) and came out here to sit and ponder the question that started and titled this entry...

Precious sleeps on the couch, G-ma sleeps in her room, Raspy wanders to and from the fridge for Diet Pepsi and returns to his room, and I sit here contemplating my navel (and regions south)... so now that we're all caught up on the events leading up to this entry (and the logistics of real-life the immediate environment), is there any wonder why i meander in my entries, especially when I might be delving into the secret recesses of my long sleeping subconscious... I mean, I might be some perverted ax-murderer down in the darkest dungeons of my mind and we wouldn't want to find that out with someone sleeping on the couch just a few feet away, now would we?...

ah, my wonderfully elastic imagination and irreverent perspectives combine to amuse me once again... I can only hope you are in some way amused or enlightened as well, since you spent all this time reading this rambling, peobably expecting something very different if you came to this page based solely (or even mostly) on the title... the joke is on both of us, since I really don't think I got to wherever it was I thought I might be going when this entry started... but then, I hear sponteneity and impulsiveness are good qualities in a lover, so maybe there is some point to all this after all...

ultimately (as if there is such a thing), I miss sex less than I used to these days (but then, I used to miss it approximately 86,399 seconds each day {or 31,535,942 seconds each year, except on leap years when I'd miss it approximately 31,622,342 seconds, except when I was actually experiencing it, solitary activities included}, so the reduction in the missing time might still seem kind of ridiculous to mention since it's still probably way too high to be openly exposed {or even discussed} in typical human social situations at this point in human cultural development {I mean, erections and moist crotches are still not exactly welcome in public mixed company without frowns or snickers [and I don't mean the candy bar], right?} so we might need to put this in perspective) and that might be a point of concern if I have not given up on life and creating children or other such occasional human activities...

so what about sex?... well, there's a major difference in my mind betweem sex and making love and while life contains (or should contain) both, to be right for me, the creating children and family path requires the true love and making love experience... but then, this entry was not brought about by any desire to procreate, it is evolving simply because I was wondering why there isn't more shared sex in life, particularly my life, in recent times (as opposed to ancient times, I suppose?)...

ok, why less... I do not exercise as often as I used to and drag around about thirty extra pounds (which are 90% torso), so that gets in the way of my sexual appetite and interactions (because I do not enjoy sharing this body when it is bloated and feels like it's dragging and I do not find much satisfaction in doing things when I am not enjoying them optimally... though I am starting to wonder if I miss the pure physical release of shared orgasm enough to overlook my diminished enjoyment {nope, not really}, there comes the next point on this path)...

and I do not have a compatible partner close enough in physical space to share sex these days... applicants may consult with my libido who, for a limited time only, is offering a two for one discount (oh come on, I was supposed to be taking this entry and the question that started it seriously... oh dear... should I feel reprimanded now?)...

ahem, ok, so I don't have a compatible partner at the moment (just what composes a compatible partner is probably another very long entry, but if you shop in a store catering to petite women, you're definitely on the right track, at least physically... also anyone up-tight, control freaky, dishonest, overly possessive, incapable of unconditional love, out of touch with the inner child, or offended by body hair, perspiration, or other natural body functions should probably walk on by), or even a current fantasy image, which probably contributes even more to my forgetting to masturbate daily (or several times a day, as I used to) of late...

why no compatible partner?... I talk too much? (oh, cruel laughter and knowing winks, why doesth thou haunt me now?... just consider this then, those who talk a lot must have well exercised lips and tongues... so there)... I write too much? (consider the finger stamina and dexterity, if you will, as the laughter continues)... ah, perhaps, as laughter subsides (to prevent pains in the sides), we come to the real reason, I am too picky... and will that change?... of course not, but at least we've come to a more seriously answer to one of the questions that the first question lead to (there was a first question?)... and then (tossed in casually as an afterthought, of course), there is the hesitation borne of the last love affair that ended rather badly, but what's that got to do with sex?... well, for me, a lot, but that's way too serious for the irreverent mood I usually come here to share... so maybe I should get a job in a clothing store catering to petite women after all...

and besides, Rasputin just came out here, sat on the couch, and turned on the television (I suppose he figures it's time to wake Precious, or just doesn't care that she's sleeping on the couch)... actually, since his mom has been awake and moving around for a few hours (what?... you expected there to be no distractions in the space just cuz I rambled on a bit?), it's probably about time he spent a little time with her... but before you think this is a complaint (or insurmountable distraction), after flipping through dozens of stations Raspy paused on Down With Love (and while Rene Zellweiger is not high on libido's list of faces, her personality and body appeals in many ways, which leads right back to the cute buns that filled the auditorium last night {remember?} that lead to... do you really need a map?)... and even though the film is an exquisite parody on both human sexuality and silly sixties (as in 1960's) films that could lead to a whole other entry about social games and cynical stuff, I might remain focus here for a few more minutes in spite of the constant channel hopping...

really?...

ok so it is not always easy, in fact, it can be hard, but if we can come back to the bottom line (and ignore or enjoy the multiple puns), back to being inspired by buns...

we were anylizing my sex life, or lack thereof, or something like that (were we really?... or were we just trying to get this diary more attention from the googlers by seeing how many times we could include the word sex and other innuendos and sensual terms?... subtle, no doubt)...

so anyway, shared sex, requiring a partner, is not happening much because there's no partner today, but what about sex?... I mean, why don't I think about it as often as I used to and why don't I play with my own body as much as I used to? (yes, down from several times a day to several times a week, shame on me... I may have to turn in my credentials as a full fledged member of the over-sexed teenage boy club)... couldn't just be bordom, I think... it is mostly likely a combination of lack of partner (and repressing the hunger cuz the hunger gets old when it goes too long unfulfilled... of course I could write about how lonely I am and be the next generations answer to Hank Williams, Elvis, Michael Jackson, and Madonna) and the lack of privacy in this apartment and the distractions of this living space... yes, there'a a catch... seldom do I find a block of quiet time to contemplate anything, no less navel lint and the body that is sometimes collecting the fluffy stuff, no less the deeper functionings of the psyche that I suppose creates the me I and the world know as me...

and perhaps this rather lengthy entry is one way I am confronting myself about the things in this life I might like to change... or at least something to do until I remember that it's Saturday morning and I am running out of time to set all my fantasy sports teams... in any case, I enjoyed the way I woke up this morning and miss that and more, miss sharing that sort of carnal waking up with a compatible body/mind/soul person and so I just wanted to tell you (and the world) that I woke up alone and horny and had a lot of fun pleasing myself but would have rather been pleasing two... I mean, you did come here to find out what happens behind the candoor, didn'tcha?...

so was this whole entry a personal ad for a sex partner?...

hmmmm (as Bugs Bunny used to say), it's a possibility...

. o O ( NOTES ARE THE NEW HAPPY PILL ) O o .
(just let me know you were here)