Libido

A window curtain of compasses, all pointing in different directions. The faded light bleeds through the window, and bathes this restroom in a pale green atmosphere. The light is off - the motion detector has been acting like a complete bitch. So I have to poop in the dark, even at eighty degrees in here, and my shirt is drenched in sweat. Beads roll off my forehead, and the windless heat does not bode well the smell of shit to disappear.

The room is illuminated by the light from my iPhone 5 - portraits of beautiful women on Tinder, many of whom I insert into my fantasies - having nothing better to do as I wait for my toilet logs to plop. I imagine them riding me like cowgirls, and then using my head to steer while I eat their lady sandwiches.

And then my heart palpitates, and I try and try to think about something else - haunted by my insecurities. Dating is so much work, it's too difficult.

I still think love is bullshit, because it involves so much lying. Lying about nearly everything. Pretending to be happy, and that you're just an invincible hunk of a man, and nothing damages you.

I'd really like to just have sex with someone without knowing their name, but that's dangerous. And I'm still fat. I'm still a virgin.

So.

Instead of actually trying to date someone, I just masturbate constantly, hoping that my lack of intimacy won't negatively affect my future. I might just buy a Fleshlight and see if that works.

I've read online that there's this drug called Zoloft that kills the sex drive, and I've thought a lot about that. Back when I was going to to church every week, I often thought about chopping off my penis.

In the meantime, I'll still be watching porn.

But every day I long for something that I don't have.

💩