Nuclear Polio Vaccination

My Christian upbringing kind of fucked me up. All that repression and guilt about masturbation had me conflicted. I can remember being 16 and making deals with God, “Please lord, if you can bring my cousin home safe from prison, I swear I’ll never even look at my penis again”

Two days later after taking a good shower—maybe I washed my balls a little too good– “Sorry Cuz, don’t drop THAT soap!!” If I didn’t have a dirty sock handy to wipe off with I’d do the old “Tuck ‘N Roll”–you know, just tuck it back in my underwear and roll over and fall asleep (I am ashamed to even consider the cumulative sum of my lifetime I’ve spent watching porn. I still can’t decide if tossing off 8 times in a day is an all time high or an all time low. I’m on the fence about it).

Every encounter with a female I was attracted to was (to me) like a game of football. I imagined myself as the 1989 San Francisco 49ers and every female (opponent) as the ‘85 Bears Defense. An inch here, a yard there, but unlike the 49ers (led by the great Joe Montana) my “Offense” usually stalled in the red zone.

I couldn’t punch it in. I settled for lots of field goals early on, or just straight up fumbled, and killed many promising drives by saying the wrong thing, or being too aggressive when easing up on the throttle would have been the right play call.

I wish my parents would have talked to me more about sex. My dad only told me to use a condom, and my mom just walked into my room and threw a bag of rubbers onto my bed and said, “Here, just in case you ever start having sex.” That was the extent of it.

They never explained to me that just because you are physically ready to have sex does not mean you are emotionally and mentally ready. I should have been properly socialized before I started having sex. It would have saved me a lot of grief growing up.

There is no better indicator that a lifestyle change is in order than uttering phrases like “Thank God its not herpes.” or “Woooohooooo. It’s only the clap!” or “Man its some hot fucking chicks here at the abortion clinic.” If you have found yourself saying any these things, it means that you were failed at some point in your life. It’s okay. These things happen. Believe me when I say this, no experience is more eye opening (literally) than having a Q-tip shoved down your dick hole because you caught something.

I wish our country were more open about these topics. My life would have been a lot different had I grown up in a country where I could be watching G.I. Joe with a Public service announcement at the end of the episode with this kind of scenario:

” Yeah girl, lemme get dis rubber on and then I’m gonna wear dis pussy out.”
“You don’t need a rubber to get dis pussy daddy!”
.. (sound of glass breaking)
“Hold on there Bobby. You might wanna rethink that.”
“Quick Kick!!!!!”
“Don’t take that trifling bitch’s word for it. Just cuz she looks healthy doesn’t mean she isn’t sick. There’s a live environment inside that hoo-hah of hers. No telling what kind of critters are breeding in there. And if you plan on eating the kitty you better use this.”
“Whooooooaaaaa dental dam.”
” That’s right Bobby, even if you’re just eating at the Y, you need to use some sort of protection, oral sex can still lead to STD’s like hepatitis, herpes, even the HIV. Why do you think Cobra Commander wears a mask?”
“I didn’t know that Cobra Commander had the herpes.”
“Well now you know, and knowing is half the battle.”

G.I. JOOOOOOOOOOEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Without proper guidance, I had to navigate the social and sexual pitfalls all by myself. For years I struggled with removing a woman’s bra. It wasn’t until a lady friend sat patiently with me and let me practice on her double D’s that I finally nailed it. Before that moment I simply bypassed the breasts altogether in lieu of awkwardly fumbling about like a bad Chuck Knoblach throw.

Luckily for me, I went to a university, and invested 20,000 dollars into learning how to throw good parties, find drugs, and seduce young co-eds. College spoiled me.

It was a basically a meat market furnished with shelves of books. There is nowhere else on earth where a young twenty-something can be spoon fed other people with similar interests, career aspirations, and musical tastes.

Socially everything is laid out on a silver platter. These are people in your age range who basically like everything you do.—its such a natural fit.As an adult, this can be attempted through social media and dating websites, but it comes off as contrived, and the talent pool isn’t nearly as deep.

You literally can do nothing and get laid in college—no matter how geeky, unattractive, or socially awkward you are. In fact, I’d go as far as to say that you have to literally talk your way out of getting laid (which believe it or not I did a lot).

I didn’t do too much that I regret back then. I only wish that I would have known two things before I was sent off to school; a) that it would be ridiculously easy to score if I learned how to sit back and shut up, and b) that there would never be ANY time in my life where it would be this way.

When you are that young the playing field is even, it doesn’t matter what kind of car you drive (if you even have one), or how much money you make (most college kids are relatively broke). There aren’t many girls at that age who are aware of the cash machine hidden inside their jeans.

If you’re good looking and remotely interesting its almost impossible not to get laid.

In college even the hottest girls are attainable if you’re witty enough. Doesn’t matter if you sleep on a mattress, in a shitty 2 bedroom condemned house that smells like dog piss—you share with four people. It only means that you are interesting. You can get laid based on your dreams and ambitions alone.

By the time you hit your thirties you better be living that dream. You can’t sell no dream to a mid 40’s career woman. She wants to see that capital gain. What’s that saying? “NO ROMANCE WITHOUT FINANCE.”

That shit is real. In the adult world, its not enough to be good looking. Looks will only grant you a conversation.
It’s like a good resume—a foot in the door, an interview maybe, but nothing is guaranteed. You may be able to get someone, but you won’t be able to keep her for long. A woman needs something tangible.

I would have indulged a lot more back then had I known these universal truths about the differences between girls and women. I remember my early 20’s as a time of desiring older women, but feeling ill equipped to handle them (emotionally or financially).

The anxiety was akin to being a virgin again and worrying about being able to perform at a high level. Someone should have pulled my coattails and told me to “ride slow”, and just stay in my lane.

I’m at a weird age now where the gap in age between me and “older women” is much smaller than the gap between me and younger girls. I slightly freak out very time I hook up with a younger woman and I don’t feel any pubic hair when I reach down into her panties (not even a landing strip to guide me in?).

It makes me feel like I’m doing something illegal. Pubes are reassuring—it doesn’t matter if I’m nuzzling with Chewbacca, or running through the jungle like CCR. I wanna feel like I’m eating an Alfalfa sprout sandwich when I’m going down on a chick. I can’t quite pinpoint where it became normal for women to go completely bare, but I don’t want to live in a world where 50 year old women are shaving their pubic hairs.

After 20 years of fervently chasing tail, I’m extremely thankful for my lowered sex drive. I can actually focus on things other than sex. I can now spend my time writing about it rather than chasing it. I can go to the grocery store and not want to sleep with every attractive woman I see there Sometimes I’m even able to hold conversations with them and maintain eye contact the whole way through.

Had I spent half as much energy on my career as I did trying to get laid, I’d probably be rich by now. It’s a little upsetting. There is something sad about watching 50 year old men trying to pick up women at the bar. They come off as door to door salesmen, selling tupperware to housewives. ‘I’m so great and this is why you should fuck me.” I just don’t have the energy to chase it anymore.

It took me too long to realize this, but it’s just like my man Bukowski says, “Sex is interesting, but it’s not totally important. I mean it’s not even as important (physically) as excretion. A man can go seventy years without a piece of ass, but he can die in a week without a bowel movement.”