“Missions are stupid, Tereza. I have no mission. No one has. And it’s a terrific relief to realize you’re free, free of all missions.”
–The Unbearable Lightness Of Being
There used to be no obstacles in my path to sex. I had the strong desire followed by unlimited will that allowed me to sleep with a lot of women, something that I felt was necessary to make me a real man. I put up with all sorts of attitude, bullshit, flakiness, and frustration to make it happen.
Now the path is obstructed with debris. She’s not putting in enough effort. She’s not from the right country. She’s stupid. She lives too far. She’s too old. She’s not sensual or emotional. She has fat arms. She’s a lawyer. Something is always in the way of putting in a full effort, whereas a couple years ago it never came up.
It wasn’t long ago that I cherished the vagina (the organ, not the woman attached to it). I’d take almost any abuse for the chance to abuse it. I didn’t mind doing whatever was necessary, whatever the cost. The pursuit was completely pure.
The problem came about when I realized that women are as much of a source of unhappiness as happiness. Most are simply not worth the time, squirting vagina or not, and the costs associated with laying 95% of them exceeds the sexual benefits gained. And the benefits go down with increasing age: what was exciting when I was 22 is an afterthought at 29. There is little thrill in sticking a new vagina.
I’m at the stage where there is nothing left to prove or accomplish. No additional notch will make me a better person or more of a man than I am now. I’ve hit the point of diminishing return. As a result I have this basal level of game effort determined by my physical needs alone. It’s a lot lower than when I had something to prove. When I had a chip on my shoulder.
I was at a club with a friend and I told him how I’m barely motivated or inspired. He gave me a vigorous pep talk and told me I needed to stop being a lazy bitch. To get what was mine. I was pumped. That night I went to sleep ready to do what it takes to build a massive harem of girls. But the next day I woke up as apathetic as ever.
My mind refuses to allow me to work on something where it knows there is little gain. I’m afraid I’ve passed the peak of sexual conquest. Of quantity. Unless the girl is special or different in some way, or gives me a flag for better understanding of the world, then I can’t just go through the motions.
It feels like I’ve lost my main purpose in life.