Day 85: Blue Balls And Cold Showers

In case anybody noticed, I took the weekend off. Even I was getting sick of hearing about the minutiae of my sorry little life. Who gives a rat's ass, really? My mom named me after Humphrey Bogart's character in Casablanca. 54 years later I've finally figured out he's right -- it doesn't take much to realize that my problems don't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world of ours.

So, I've been doing some thinking. I've been avoiding women, dolls, skirts, dames, because I just wasn't ready to take another plunge into the always stormy Sea of Love. I've been spit up onto shore -- bruised and battered, my balls covered with barnacles -- too many times to take such a move lightly.

But might it not be possible to just stick my toe into the water? In other words, am I doomed to follow the same pattern - see woman, talk to woman, kiss woman, fuck woman, love woman, annoy woman, lose woman -- over and over again? I love the idea of hanging out, going to movies, having dinner and long conversations with somebody whose breasts I long to caress but don't. And though it's true I've been doing this for years with my friend Dave, that's not what I'm talking about here.

I'm talking about being friends first. I'm talking about getting to know each other and really like each other first. I'm talking about exercising a little self-control. I'm talking about blue balls and cold showers, and getting it right for the first (and last) time in my life.