In 60 days she will contact me. If she does not, I am allowed to contact her upon the 65th. So we will call it 65 and pretend not to hope for 60.

Thirty-two. It does not seem like so much, written as a number. The words seem to carry more emphasis. Anyways thats how many women I’ve slept with since she dumped me on February 17th.

That is how many it took. You may think I was conquesting or hiding from pain. I probably was. Hiding from pain I mean. It also was a way to utilize an insatiable drive to avoid being paralyzed by a near catatonic depression. I wont drink water to stay hydrated, but I will stay hydrated if I need to get it up. Idiot.

Of those thirty-two, six considered themselves to be “professional healers” or “spiritual guides” as one of them stated once, while correcting me.

Anyways, I wanted something from them. Something aside from the obvious. I needed to know if I could find someone that could give me what it was I needed to push myself forward. They said no. If one is to believe in some sort of energy that can be transferred from one person to another, or even taken by one person from another, then the question arises, who can give me what I need. Their response; only yourself. My response; taking whatever they had to give and using it to keep my mood in a positive enough state to avoid spending the following night alone.

I wanted to be able to sustain the feeling though, without having to recharge by using women.

Eventually I did. After thirty two.. I dont think the number itself was significant. It just took thirty-two to find myself a purpose. To find what I knew was there and had to see to prove to myself why I should get up.

You do not feel what you feel when reading what I write, when you speak with me. In person I am like a puppy. A lost puppy if the situation calls for it. This is relevant because you would never share a part of yourself with the author of this article. If we met in person however, we would be laying in bed within a couple hours, maybe less if I’m in a good enough mood. I mean I like to go out for food after sex. Much less awkward getting to know one another, much less eat in front of someone, if you’ve already seen each others face during orgasm. Not to mention the brownie points you get for setting yourself apart from other guys by showing interest post-ejaculation.  Anyways, narcissistic delusions aside, women have a tendency to tell me their most wonderful of secrets.

Not the ones you are thinking of. No, for whatever reason, you would share with me whatever core memory it is that shaped you. Sometimes they are fresh, “my dad died 10 months ago”. Sometimes they result in existential crisis, “I raised my useless sisters nephew, and her three other kids. He died in a house fire two days before his 5th birthday, 10 days before my birthday. I think my sister did it for the insurance cause she had to many kids… why does someone like her have 4 kids, a house and a husband and my baby and I are alone”.

Then. Sometimes, you get what you asked for. A truly genuine piece of a human being that can carry you through almost anything. “When my parents would go out of town they would have my Aunt babysit us. When my aunt would babysit us her boyfriend would come over. Sometimes he would come babysit us. He was disgusting. I hated him. I can remember my 7 year old sister hiding me in the crawl space and telling me to be quiet until he leaves. Not to make a sound no matter what”…

That was enough. I was there to make it feel ok. To simply make her feel appreciated, truly appreciated, if even only for a night. To make her feel ok. I could not however go back in time to help her sister.

So it took thirty two women for me to confirm the purpose I already suspected. I used thirty two women to attain the mindset I will need in 65 days time when I am allowed to contact my “her”. My Penelope..

I have 65 days to make myself into someone who can make her feel like it will be ok, like she will survive being trapped in the dark in the crawl space. Pretty sure if a seven year old is capable of hiding her 5 year old sister in the crawl space to avoid being raped, so that she alone can take it, I can go 65 days. I can make it so Penelope never has to feel like shes trapped in a crawl space. 65 days of what we will call training. 65 days of waiting. 65 days of boredom. Hour two begins…

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s