The Free Thinker

Seven weeks. Forty-nine days. One thousand one hundred seventy-six hours...since I’ve had sex.

Oh sure, I’ve gone this long before. But I don’t think I’ve ever gone this long without trying. The more observant, homosexual and Canadian among you may notice that Montreal Pride was seven weeks ago.

Let’s just say that I did something...out of character. Something a lot of gay men do. But it wasn’t me.

I haven’t dwelled on the event itself, but it made me feel like such a nasty, carnal beast that I resolved to make myself feel human again. It worked.

But something unexpected happened. Going chaste seems to have *gasp* made me happier. See the thing is, sex can be great. But most of the time it’s awkward, or rushed, or sloppy, or just plain awful.

But I kept coming back for more. Because I went out, I took too much G, and suddenly getting laid seemed like a mission. But the truth is hunting down sex is fucking stressful. And with that stress out my mind I have the emotional energy to actually enjoy my life. There’s also some satisfaction that comes from knowing I’m in control of my hormones.

Not to worry gay world, I am far from done with intercourse. But it would seem that, for the time being, I’m done with random intercourse. If somebody really wows me I’ll go for it. But the bar has certainly been raised.

I look back on the people I’ve been with, and even the people I’ve wanted to date, and I wonder what the hell I was doing wasting time with those losers.

Screwed over once again by hopeless romanticism. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to head off to the gym. When the time comes to re-break my man-hymen I want to be ready.

Image courtesy of tim_d.