My relationships have seemed to flame out dramatically for various reasons, but being overly lustful for my significant other, I don’t believe, was one of them. I have always thought of lust as simply “an overwhelming desire to have sex with someone or a lot of someone’s.” Google, for all intents and purposes, confirms that definition, but I believe this Wikipedia short to be a more sophisticated description: “Lust is a psychological force producing intense desire for something, or circumstance while already having a significant amount of the desired object. Lust can take any form such as the lust for sexuality, money, or power.” Speaking of lust in strictly a sexual sense, I have considered the possibility that lust, while intense at the beginning of my relationships, slowly diminished until it was completely gone over time; and therefore, would render a lack of lust being a determining factor in the deterioration of the relationship, not over-lust. With this, I believe there are two questions in play: 1) Can one genuinely love another while potently lusting for them, or has lust created the illusion of love, and 2) If lust does have a place in a given relationship, how do we sustain a level of lust that does not cross a line, assuming there is one, and how might one contain their lust?
I haven’t had sex with many women. Since we specified girls, allow me to inform you that I have had sex with zero men. To hell with it, I’ll tell you all the truth, for I did not sit behind a keyboard to disguise it. Depending on what counts, a whopping four ladies have had such a lack of fortune to have received these four inches of pain—an inch per partner. If I were to share that in a locker room, it would be rather embarrassing, but if you will allow me an attempt to save grace, I believe that all four of those unlucky ladies were high-level. Somewhere between 7.8’s to 9.2’s. Maybe I’m biased. In any case, one might conclude that four “bodies” at the age of thirty-two would indicate that extreme lust is not part of the equation, but I cannot say that is entirely true. I want who I want, and when I want, I want. It’s likely the addict in me, eh? While it may take the nine-point-two to trigger my interest, when I do connect with somebody of the like, it is “on and popping,” as the kids say. Some people cast out many lines thinking that they are “bound to catch something eventually.” Anything will do, really. Whatever they catch, they catch, and they are alright with that. I heavily oppose that philosophy. No, I want the biggest, most intelligent (hottest?) fish in the pond. Take it easy, Internet; I am not sexually attracted to fish. It is an analogy, although if it wasn’t, I’m sure I could swindle the purple-haired pronoun brigade into incessantly tweeting about “normalizing being fish-sexual.”
Even though I previously admitted that an over-lust was down the list on the variety of reasons for my relationships ending, surely, this sort of “shooting for the stars” philosophy, so to speak, contributed to their demise to some degree. In the beginning, lust reigned supreme, and I believe that it created the facade that the two of us were in some type of loving relationship. “We haven’t even fought in our nine months together!” I would say. Well, yeah, because- sorry for the language, everyone, we were too busy fucking each other to fight. I believe it would be a stretch to say that I am in the minority in this scenario. You have sex with each other for any number of months, if the lust is that strong, maybe even a year or two, but in due time, that sheer sexual attraction fades, doesn’t it? All that time spent breaking one another’s backs was spent at the expense of truly getting to know each other, figuring out how to love each other, figuring out if one could be content by themselves, first, before entering a relationship, and many other things that are more meaningful than fucking. In the end, there is not a lot left for the pair when the cumming stops. “You need somebody to talk to after you cum,” said, in my opinion, one of the greatest thinkers of our generation, who will go unnamed because fifty percent of you are a bunch of pussies. Relax. I am in that fifty percent sometimes, but other times, I am not. A well-documented adage of this site.
C.S. Lewis provided the answer, in my estimation, with the following: “Lust is a poor, weak, whimpering whispering thing compared with that richness and energy of desire which will arise when lust has been killed.” If you have been reading along, you know by now that I am into “soundbites,” so here is the soundbite for this piece: Love must come before lust. Even if (I said IF, Internet) that means, in my case, sacrificing the “high-eight’s-to-low-nine’s” in order to become ‘engaged,’ if you will, in a relationship of deeper meaning and significance. I suppose I shall reiterate that this is not to suggest that you cannot be involved in an authentic, loving relationship with someone who is more attractive than most others, but that it is more challenging to do, as it leaves the opportunity to become overly lustful wide open. Ah, yes, reader. It is, indeed, a blessing and a curse to be drop-dead gorgeous like me. You should consider yourselves lucky.
There is no way I can conclude this piece without mentioning that pornography probably, but in reality, absolutely has contributed to what appears to be a lustful, sex-driven society. I used to watch an embarrassing amount of it, which more than likely aided in the lust for my significant other to dissipate. Today, I find it fucking disgusting, but don’t let me talk too much shit. Every third or fourth day, you may find “the hub” in my history, which I haven’t bothered to clear because, well, because I’m single due to a period in time when I watched porn too much. “It desensitizes you,” people say. Yeah, I guess it does. It’s hard to conceive of only missionary sex these days, huh? Like if you can’t do anything more grotesque, why bother? That is pornography’s fault. By the way, pornographic actors and actresses are all on meth. We all know this. I’ve been told that by my girlfriends before, but I jokingly refuted their point by claiming that they just love what they do! The same way a pro athlete loves sports! Duh! It’s disgusting. Anal sex? Are you fucking (accidental pun) kidding me? Nobody enjoys getting their asshole pounded. I’m sorry that this piece has become not for the weak-at-heart, but come on. Anybody who says that they do is either on meth or gay, but even the latter is on drugs – or at least horse-tranquilizer, which is a drug. Ketamine, I think? Oopsie-daisies. I’m likely canceled for telling the truth. That was a nice run, WYSB fans.
Anyway, here is this post’s summation: If you want a real relationship, get to know one another first; otherwise, there will be no relationship, no matter how good the sex is in the beginning. Stop watching porn. Have missionary sex with your significant other. If we are incapable of banging our wife or girlfriend missionarily (not a word), we likely watch too much porn. Also, if you want to shoot for the nines and tens of the World, you better make sure you’ve “gotten it all out” because if we have not, the probability that lust becomes the primary focus of the relationship is too high. “I know from experience, dude,” I say to you in my Chris Farley from Billy Madison voice.
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