Why I Hate Desire  

scumbagalert101 49M
14 posts
1/27/2006 9:45 pm

Last Read:
3/5/2006 9:27 pm

Why I Hate Desire


Hey, if you fucks have been keeping up with me you know that I'm a happily married pervertt on the make. But what you don't know is that I'm a fairly enlightened guy. As sex-obsessed as I've become, there was a time that I had overcome desire and was finding my way towards something resembling enlightenment. But as my spiritual journey continued, I noticed that no matter how pristine my consciousness had become and free from desire, there was always something that got through my defenses and started the whole sick game up again.

That all changed after I met my current wife. I'll spare you the details (you don't deserve to hear them, anyway), but suffice to say that I finally had a reason not to continually project my sexual desire in scattershot fashion, always looking for someone to fuck. Then, a few years down the line, it became painfully clear to me that my wife (we've really only been officially married for a few years now) was never and could never be enough for me. That's be fine if I had my desires under control, but as I explained in my first post, desire cannot be controlled as it is an impersonal force emanating from the deepest bowels of nature and cannot be controlled by the will power (or any other power). Even the most advanced monk pops a boner and dreams about licking pussy (or sucking dick, I guess) once in a while. So why is it bad that I get the urge to stick it to other women a couple times a week?

Well, I tell you why it's bad - it's bad because it's so hard that it almost seems impossible to fuck other women, to fuck or otherwise romp with ANY women, whether you're married or not. It isn't the women's fault, but they're getting the blame, anyway, at least for now. Ya see, once those desires are set in motion actually expressing them in any way other than through manipulating your own genitalia with your hand is by engaging in (or should I say "suibmitting to"?) a series of bizarre, demeaning, circuitous, awkward, uncomfortable social rituals. In America, the singles bar or pick-up bar is a staple of this route. Most people go that route, too. Nine times outta ten, if someone got some fucking in it was purely because both parties were drunk and acting like idiots. Basically, if you cannot prove you are a worthy mate the usual way, by showing yourself to be materially successful and powerful and having a high social position, then you must dull the need for such socially programmed rituals and qualifications by getting your ass wasted drunk. I've failed at both pathways, so have had very little sex as a result.

That said, let it be known that actually obtaining sex is not an easy or enjoyable thing for me. Oh, I can get any toothless hag-slut to suck my dick, but I don't want just ANY toothless hag-slut, I want, I NEED, somebody halfway worth fucking. Desire, in short, is nothing but a burden. If I could have it surgically removed I would, but I can't. No matter what I do to defeat it, desire springs back up. I can be sitting at work, minding my own buisness, totally relaxed in mind and body, my mind blank and focused but wide awake. Then I happen to look over just as the gorgeous black woman with lusciously intoxicating mocha skin who is stationed just a few cubicles away is bending over and I see that thong peeking up above those skin tight, low cut pants of hers, and I imagine that round, perfect ass of hers naked, being warmed by my greedy hands and... BOING! (That's the sound my cock makes when it goes erect, if you didn't know that already). Suddenly I am lost in one ass-related sex fantasy after another, my perfect peace RUINED. And it ISN'T MY FAULT. It IS partly my beautiful co-worker's fault (I mean, low cut, skin tight pants with a goddamn THONG sticking up out of them... at work??!! Is she fucking CRAZY??!!). But I want you to know that I don't completely blame her. At a certain point, my blame of her drops off as I imagine the huge social and natural pressures that placed her in the position of being so insecure that she needs to boost her ego in this way. I go from a blank, relaxed mind to intense desire to resentment and hatred to pity and understanding then finally to despair and hopelessless.

This happens over and over, day in and day out. Once in a while I have a few good days, I've even had a few good weeks and a couple times have had several good months, where I have seemed to have quelled desire and become more or less free of it. But, like clockwork, dat ol' debbil desire comes a creepin' back in again. Tell you the truth, I'm sick to my guts of it.

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