Celibate

No, wait. This blog was not intended to be about social media marketing strategies. It was supposed to be about sex.

Why in the world did I think that it would be a good idea to blog about sex? I have been celibate for 17 years, if you don’t count onesomes. The most intimate I have been with anybody over that span is when the blood donation nurses touch my arm before poking me with big needles. I haven’t been kissing. I have not engaged in passionate embraces (and precious few platonic embraces). A few years ago an ex-landlord’s dog tried to hump my leg, but she was desperate and I did not consent. Does that count?

Yes, my love life is so pathetic that I am eligible to donate blood. Every time I walk into the clinic I am reminded of just how pathetic I am. On the positive side, I have learned a lot about blood screening procedures over the years. (Is that a positive side? Probably not, given the several years when I obsessed over the politics of blood donation.)

Kids these days throw around the term “incel”, which stands for “involuntarily celibate”. Technically I qualify for that status, but associating myself with that group seems weird given how bitter they are at not getting laid. Nobody owes me sex, and it is pretty clear that nobody is enthusiastic about offering me any either. Everybody else in gayland seems to have plenty of opportunity, but not me. Did I mention that I am pathetic? (Also ugly.)

Slowly, I am coming to grips with the idea that I may never have sex again. Sometimes this weirds me out. Sometimes I am comfortable with it. I suppose that with sufficient effort, weightlifting and plastic surgery I could get laid too, but it is far from clear that the cost is worth the benefit.

This is not to say that I do not have opinions about other people’s sex lives. Boy do I ever.

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