I thought the days of proving your manhood by how many women you’ve been with were done with and over.
Apparently, I languish in ignorance.
Therefore, to whom it may concern, find the extended version of my apology – or lack of one – below.
I had no idea my decision to be celibate would make you; my ‘friend’, ‘padi’ and/or ‘confidante’ uncomfortable. You see, I didn’t choose to tell you because I somehow understood – even long before we got to this point – that it is important not to cast my pearls before swine.
Butter no be monkey food, after all.
But your concern after your numerous attempts to hook me up with several pliant and willing women kept coming to naught helped loosen my tongue; albeit unwisely, as I have come to realize.
Still, I am grateful for your perception of the fact that I am not missing any bit of game. In fact, if anything can be said – my game is more on point than ever; now I no longer have petty distractions to deal with.
I just have decided to stay off sex for the moment.
Anyways, I have come to accept your offense concerning my stance – accept; but not understand. If I am not bothered by your huge appetite for copious amounts of sex, why does my lack of an appetite bother you?
“What is he trying to prove?” I hear you ask. Well, I turn that question back to you.
What are YOU trying to prove?
You think the fact that you cannot resist a gigantic behind or massive ‘fronts’ makes you better than me? Hey – I gladly concede. You ARE the better man of us two – even the society we live in agrees with you; so why do you still think we are competing?
You are not my competition; the man hasn’t been born that I can compete with – simply because the terms and conditions of life do not make for that – competition.
Actually I lied. There’s one man I am very much in a position to compete with – the one man I can compete with and beat.
The man who looks back at me every time I look in the mirror.
That’s the only man I am interested in being better than; that is the only standard (other than Jesus) I look to. Therefore, I do not, cannot and will not judge you – I expect it’s only fair to ask that you do not judge me either; and that you respect my decision.
No. There is absolutely nothing wrong with my balls.
You know better than that – or at least I expect you to – because you; better than most know full well where I am coming from. You know what I used to be like; what my relating with women bordered on. You know when and how my relationship with my mother improved; and how that improved my relationship with women generally.
You know where I have been.
Therefore, I am sorry if I do not have new colorful stories to contribute to the conversation when you and your pals are talking about your conquests – in fact; I am sorry I do not have any stories at all. I am sorry I do not have any raw or ribald jokes to share; I am sorry I do not have nude pictures of my ‘impressive’ number of girlfriends; past or present to display before your hungry eyes.
For the sake of clarity; I do not think for one second that makes me better than anyone other than myself. I just – I just do not roll that way.
I know who I am. And that; is not it.
Is it too much to ask that you leave me alone in my ‘inability to talk to women’, ‘my gayness’ – or whatever reason you came up with yesterday to explain my ‘unexplainable’ behavior?
I didn’t think so.
And to the other ‘you’, the ‘you’ who thinks every man is the same because every guy you’ve ever shown your boobs starts making promises concerning a certain airport or a certain stadium; welcome to the real world.
Not all of us are suckers for boobs. Some of us men are just boring like that.
Understand; that ‘boring’ bit is sarcasm – because I know a lot of ‘you’ find guys without vices unrealistic, non-existent or plain boring. I mean, isn’t it amusing how you sing your little choruses of ‘all men are the same’ and then you meet one that’s ‘different’ – and have absolutely no idea what to do with him?
But I digress.
Point is; I’m not into the business of setting ‘P’, ‘X’, ‘Y’ or any other alphabet on or off social media. Don’t misunderstand; I like the attention as much as anyone else – but I do not thrive on it. It does not define me. I’m just online; usually; to share my thoughts/opinions; ignorant and uneducated as they are – and learn a thing or two from other people who share my interests – or not.
And more importantly – to connect; see if people like me can find each other. But if there’s one thing I am not online for; it’s booty call. You dig?
Therefore; forgive me when you get a brusque reply to your request that we ‘hook up’ or the nude pictures you send to my email. I like breasts and butts as much as the next guy – but not to the point I forget why I’m here.
Or maybe I’m gay. After all, I am catching feelings for someone named Scott.
Don’t get it twisted; I love sex. I find the biology and chemistry of it quite fascinating. I like waist beads and chains, I’m attracted to some strategically-positioned tattoo, I like dressing up, role playing – in fact; my favorite position is –
None of your business; actually.
I just need you to understand; the same way you have the right to throw it in the way of whoever you decide to; I have the same right to turn it down. The fact that you wouldn’t eat Mr. Biggs meat pie does not make Mr. Biggs meat pie bad; it just means you don’t like it.
Is that so difficult to understand?
No; I do not want to sleep with you; knock boots with you, bump pelvises with you, fuck you – or whatever new name sex is called. There’s nothing wrong with you physically or otherwise far as I can see – and even if there was; I wouldn’t know. I’m not a doctor.
I’m not better – or ‘holier’ than you for that matter. I just don’t want to have sex with you.
Point blank period.
Let me see if I can say it French – maybe that would help:
Je ne veux pa sexe avec toi.
Forgive the errors – if there are any. I didn’t want to use Google translator and my French is nowhere near perfect yet.
You sha get the point.
More importantly; I think – no; I definitely reserve the right to rescind my celibacy decision the moment this post goes up – or not to. My life. My choices. My decisions.
Respect that. Or not.
Your fine-ass cup of boiling Nescafe – or herbal tea – or Milo.