soeffinhappy

So I think this girl wants to have sex with me but I can't really tell cause she's being really subtle about it. She called me today and said "I'm really horny, come pick me up tonight so we can fuck." I'm probably just reading too much into this.
So I'm sitting here typing away my life because sex is bad for me. It clouds my brain and makes me do stupid things. I mean I love it when I'm doing it but afterwards it's sort of like, "Oh man, how am I going to explain this to the farmer?"
Sex for me has to be all or nothing. It either has to be total emotional attachment on both our parts, or none on either part. The two ideal statements to hear after sex are "Let's do this forever." or "It was nice knowing you." Why? Because anything in between is a recipe for bitter disaster. You want her but she wants him and he wants that other guy but that other guy is married and his wife is sleeping with someone else who is spreading herpes through the whole lot of you. Sex is bad for me because it is always Uncle Sam at the 4th of July parade. He's not really 20 feet tall and sex isn't really what it seems. Nothing is what it seems and have great sex is like painting a condemned warehouse. Sure it looks good but underneath, everything is falling apart.
It's very rare to find someone to share a bed with, who brings along no emotional attachments. Wait...I meant it's very rare that I find someone to share a bed with, who brings along no emotional attachments. Either I love them or they love me or one of thinks we love the other. That aint the way to be. I don't want you to love me, I want you to fuck me, so FUCK YOU!!!
I can understand why we trick ourselves into getting blinded by sex though. Cause love is the tip top. To wake up next to that person over and over again? To share you meals and your worries and your passions and your failures with them? To decide that if they tap their nails on the table for two more seconds you'll lose your mind and want to rip their fingers off but love them anyway, or-even better-because of it? It's what we're here for. Wait.....I meant, it's what I'M here for.
So, here I am. Typing. Ranting. Raving. Trying to ignore the big shiny red button in my head that says "PUSH ME! PUSH ME! PUSH ME! PUSH ME!". I can't press that button. If I press that button it means I'm going to dial her number. And if I dial her number I'll find myself taking a shower. And then I'll be getting in my car. Before I know it, I'll have picked her up and I'll be nose deep in her crotch, trying to remember everything I read in the Vice Guide to Eating Pussy. I wonder what Thoreau would do in a situation like this......