Walking around in life after five months of unintended chastity I often reflect on girls of the past. Possibilities. What could have happened. What I did to fuck up. Whether they dislike me a little less and would reply to booty calls, or even coffee date invitations, with civility. I wonder about girls, ones that I had sex with, or wanted to, wonder if they think about me with any fondness or nostalgia.
I imagine that thinking about these women is parallel with how I will think about my youth when I am an old man. Happy moments that I can't quite feel anymore, would like to reach out to but can't. The past remains a ghost and memories of these women remain ethereal spirits, haunting my mind with their laughs and smiles. Even the sad and angry moments shine with some kind of romance. I am reminded of the Moody Blues song "Your Wildest Dreams".
I'm starting to think that horniness and nostalgia are in direct correlation (it would explain why Italians are so concerned with the old times as well as being extra greasy). As I become more sex-deprived the bile that I've felt towards some women mellows, and I start to think, "maybe".
Maybe we'll see how locking myself in a cabin on Charlie Lake allows me to end the long drought and restore my sanity, maybe. Maybe I'll punch myself in the face and yell, "what the hell were you thinking?" Maybe my man bits will shrivel up in dejection and rebel against me, their captor, for imprisoning them in red jeans and preventing them from doing their god-given duty. Maybe.
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