Legitimate Pain

It doesn’t matter if a girl lies to me. Even if the girl’s not even doing that verbally, not saying the contrary, is always good… now and then see each other, rarely any episode, no significant disagreement, not too much drama. What guy is not all for that? Except her silence and the mere fact that we never actually had a cell to cell conversation on record were not just odd, welcomed. I said I loved things just the way they were. I‘ve probably said too much... So when she was pissed that I sent her the wrong text, I countered with “Why don’t you call sometime, like normal people. Cut this text shit.”
She called and spoke for about a few syllables. Did I mind? Not at all. I know the game. And she’s playing.
Let’s be real. The rule goes, if the girl doesn’t put up, move on. You have to endure a little humiliation but in the end you will thank your resilience and courage to leave behind the high her sex gives you. God knows no great fortune comes out of chasing girls. What, marriage, kids, bills? I’ve had all of that; got rid of it all responsibly. Simply, move on. You’ll think that a little dining and wining and, maybe, if you’d put spend more time on her will make her come around and realize what a great guy you are. Look, if it happens to me, I learned from early on, then it can happen to anyone. Of course, pursue her lightly; just don’t waste your best energy on it. Invest that energy into facing your pain, in dealing with your own pain nobly you’ll feel a pull in the right direction. This pain is the price of evolving and being something better; this is the “legitimate pain” that some great psychoanalyst said not too long ago. Pain will come your own either way; the way you process it and how you respond to painful situations will dictate the course of your existence. A junky runs to get his fix; to my eyes, that’s not a far cry from chasing after a particular girl. Chase after them, and don’t be afraid to open and abandon yourself in the process; fall madly in love, but only if you have the skin for it. It will burn, and it will eventually get a long easier, even laughable. I guess that I’m a few steps up the evolutionary ladder. See, I no longer immerse and lose myself in the other person. I see their potential, and like a kind and intelligent lover do not verbalize what I may feel/think, just pay closer attention to other forms of stimuli. This is a parallel realm, detached from your needy and narcissistic self, the vacuum that wants to suck the illusion, the life out of it. Get that shit fixed, and don’t bitch about anything. Give plenty of space and little bit of time, and things will work out more favorably

That’s all it has been. And we all know, we men are sexual creatures.
Except I miss her. Nonchalantly, that is. I’m not dying to fuck her, just see her. Have the opportunity to be friends. We never had that. Take her places like I didn’t do. Be much nicer and more consistent and more sure of myself in the future. I don’t regret a single moment. I am just out to look for new thrills. I want to experience this world. I’m open to everything and attached to nothing. I will sacrifice love, from time to time, if it has a bit too much darkness. I just don’t have the energy. I want to be with those who want me around. Of course, space is always good. Patience falls just right in. Eventually, you’ll have to contact her but just not too soon. And, of course, only as punishment for not returning texts, and sure, one would do it. If she doesn’t answer a direct question, even evasively, an excuse or something. Plain and simple, no answer. Thing is, you don’t let that sort of behavior just slide. It’s time you let things cool down, just relax and watch the show. Write ten thousand words. Pain has always been of artistic use. The problem is, from time to time, we’re bound to be weak. Strength is not in never experiencing moments of weakness; the problem is thinking it we are weak. No, on the contrary, it makes us human. We spend time with someone and things are quasi-cool, and a bond is formed, chemicals are released. The brain is a primitive organ. No one is immune to love. Or whatever the fuck you want to call it. The thing is, you have to learn to withstand the withdrawal process of this most lethal of drugs. Strength is in overcoming the storm, and suffering patiently without the necessary to fall back on our most impulsive nature and adopt tired, old patterns. And it’s not just about pain but pleasure which I focus on, because I do think about goo things just as much if I find the time. I haven’t been in this position in a very long time. A pound of pleasure for an ounce of pain. It seems like a bargain.
We tend to demonize people that are no longer in our lives. Why? People who have been with us and are no longer with us go should be celebrated if they suddenly decide to show their face. Until then, I will be missing. Out of sight. Some guys choose to stay on the sidelines. I’m not going to sell myself cheap. I either get a decent deal or I say no deal. I go exploring and boy I probably have a couple of hundred pages more to go before I finally succumb to bed. I write from 12am to 4am on my scheduled four overnights. Then I go home and sleep for six hours. On my two three days off, I hit the gym. I work nine hour shifts, so I make less than forty hours a week. I write or venture out the rest of the time. I economize and live like a monk, just a very decent TV hooked to a decent sound system. A small fridge full of goodies. Friends and family can wait while I completely dedicate myself to writing.
Just sort of letting them know that they are there through a process I like to call Quarantine. Hey, look, we’re men. And we have to have higher standards. We don’t go running like a bitch at the first insult. We just dock and say, “Damn, girl!” Let a couple of them slide. Let her not let you in, let her have no scars from our intimate encounters. Let her not initiate; after all, that is quite a relief. Memorable moments come to mind when I think of those times, the whole night away at Kana two Fridays a month; a few hours at Calico’s either Thursday or Friday. Saturdays at Overlook, One Wednesday a month, Latin Quarters. Party with the good old friends. Guys have been so kind. Remember to buy them a round. Antagonize the girls. “What?” say to her, as if you didn’t hear something she said. Do it loudly and funny. Wait for her reply. “I didn’t say anything” she said, laughing. Yeah, the girl was laughing hysterically. It’s not just funny, it’s sexy too. It’s so in character. Almost like a cranky old man. “What?”
And then whatever she says, you reply by putting your hand out on the ear she’s close. Usually is best if she’s by your right ear. Sit to her right. And then say, “I can’t hear well with that ear.” Follow up the routine with “This is my analytical ear. And I’m out having fun.” Ah, the shit I get away with. You’re always pushing it. “That’s alright. I got an autistic child just like you” tell her.
Explain autism. Introduce a little bit of emotion. Not too much. It’s really not. Early intervention has proven miracles. All those positive lies. All that shit.
And do so convincingly, because what you believe can be different than what it is, and if hope isn’t taking me too far at least is moving me, after all I’m a pessimist at heart and an optimist in mind. I don’t think we should lead our lives emotional. I’m logical. Can’t help falling in love with reason. That’s my first love. That’s why I get a girl might want to remain open, just don’t make up shit. And not that I’m saying she is. Whatever she has done with time by her self, is her thing. We just talk about shit I’m into. I don’t demand too much and I don’t accept too little. I’m second to none, but I play third. With a couple of girls like this, I won’t ever have the need for a relationship. Sex three times a week, two girls, that’s’ all I’ll want from now on. Maybe three. Sure, in Venezuela I had four girlfriends at one time. Two of them lived on the same block. I met Beth when I was simultaneously seeing Gladys, Elaine and Crystal. Once I was at this party and the four of them were in the same room. The thing is, I never felt like I was with anyone of them in particular. I’ve always known who I was with. And loved the times without. Publish a book. Start a new one. Pass the FSD test. Take the kid out iced skiing. Go out Thursdays and Friday nights every two weeks. Work mad overtime. Buy a whole bunch of shit: ipod Touch, microwave, a new smaller comfier bedroom set,
I think we love sexually and emotionally. Not now, anyway. But I do care. In my own, unemotional sort of way. Emotions, no doubt, need their outlet. I find solace in the lips of a beautiful stranger. And I’ve a few mouths, had tons of meaningless sex, got dozens of numbers, worked out and down to five cigarettes a day. Cook all my food. Write daily, and feel just right. Life is good. And not believing in a higher deity doesn’t make me an immoral person, mom. Oh, yeah, my mother is around. Picked her up at the airport; brought her here to my room. Took her the next day to Beth. Sex with Beth is therapeutic. For both of us. I like to seduce her, take her places, spend time with her and the kids. Buy them some piece of clothing. Read Esteban a kid’s book. See him stare blankly. Hear him laugh. Live through his senses. See the childish and wonderful world he inhabits, and not pretend that he is making significant changes. I want a quantum leap. I do so in my life, deprive me of things I held so dear, like Ivy. And yes, I do have a great time practicing the alphabet and counting numbers till twenty in both languages. I thought him that. That much I gave him. The only recording of him saying Da da, are now forever lost since a night out with Angela very long ago, in the early stages. She followed me to the men’s bathroom. I had fallen asleep inside. We went home and resurrected a couple of hours later to fuck on top of wet sheets. I fucked her two hours straight. We stopped to take a quick shower, and went on fucking again for another hour or so. But it was too summer; an early summer day in late May, and no AC unit. We had open every window in the house; the fan wasn’t cutting it. In a cooler day, I would have fucked her ten times and sweat the same amount of energy. Quite the workout. Suddenly, it happened. She stumbled her way to the kitchen, almost lost the ability to walk from so much fucking, and opened the fridge door to get some ice. I approached her from behind and open both. And there, in the cool, I lifted her leg against the first compartment, and fucked her fast and then slowly, hard and quiet so that no one would hear us, left and right. We finished quickly, to avoid getting caught. I heard steps. It was probably our other roommate. She stopped clear the hallway and heard us before actually seeing us; she just took a peep, and we kind of felt it but since she didn’t say anything and just backed away, we felt the more elated. She walked back to my room, ours, dripping through her legs and spilling all over the floor my semen.
And to think that after that, we spent the whole afternoon fucking until it was time for her to go to work. Angela was a waitress. Ivy was a bartender, until the moment I lost contact. I ought to give each a call sometime.
Or not.L