There’s No Fleeting Pleasure Like Sexual Pleasure

She was one of the prettier girls I’ve slept with. Full lips, sparkling green eyes, long black hair, petite frame, elegant hands, round butt. I got her in bed for the first time the very day she was set to leave town for two weeks. There is no way the sex could have been more pleasurable for me. Her beauty was close to the ceiling of what is genetically possible based on my specific type. We spent several hours in bed until she left to catch her train.

Afterwards I wanted to dance and skip in my apartment at such a glorious conquest. What a confidence boost to make sex with such a beautiful girl! I re-lived the memory for the remainder of the day to achieve firm boners even after such a marathon sexual encounter. The next day I thought of her some more, but the boners were less firm and faster to fade. By the third day, she popped into my head maybe twice. The pleasure was turning into a memory that could not match even 1% of what I felt at the moment I was thrusting into her. By day four, I was no happier than I was before I met her. My confidence and standards were boosted, perhaps, and I had additional knowledge on how to lay a girl of her caliber, but overall I felt like the same man, better off only by a degree that I could not measure.

The problem with sexual pleasure is that it only lasts while you are having sex. The minute you stop having sex is the minute you are wanting again. Having tons of notches does nothing to give you immunity to this dissatisfaction, because those previous notches don’t stroke your dick in the present. They help nurture boners and no more. This depresses me. It depresses me because no matter how much sexual success I have, there will be the inevitable periods when I’m not getting laid and feel nearly the same as when I was hunting for my very first notch. It’s true that I’m better prepared now to get laid than 13 years ago, but I still experience frustrations, challenges, and disappointments to get the dream girl I want today than just to get laid at all in the past, all for pleasure that will end as soon as she walks out my door, with no guarantee that she will return.

Maybe it’s silly to do this. Maybe it’s absurd to spend so much time of my life chasing sexual pleasure, but I have no choice. If I haven’t been laid in some time, something inside me demands I work less on my own pursuits and restructure my days and nights to approach women and get them into bed as quickly as I can. I admit that I can’t live long without sex. This is the kink in the man’s armor, and I almost envy those who can go long periods without it, to ignore the biological drive their ancestors had.

For as long as I live, I will continue to devote a big part of my life to chase the fleeting pleasures of the flesh, because I know that I will find life less bearable otherwise. It has been eight days since I’ve been laid. I’m getting a little anxious and will now seek out a girl to give me service. I will persist as long as it takes to have sex once again.

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