I Suck at Friendship

Unsociability6

I ask myself:  Do I have any friends?  Aside from family members and excluding blog followers or followees, do I have any real friends?

The answer is no.

A real friend to me is someone whose presence I value to the point of feeling sad and torn at the thought of their death.  There is no one in my life at the moment who fits this category.  Therefore I must conclude that I have no friends.

I feel ashamed.

How did it come to this?

I know:  marriage.

I spent the last 17 years of my life trying to maintain the friendship I had with my wife, and in the end it failed.  Or maybe it didn’t.  We still talk to each other.  But our relationship doesn’t meet my above definition of “a real friend.”  I don’t feel sad or torn at the thought of her death.

Maybe there’s something wrong with my definition.  Is it too extreme?  Is it normal to have become so unattached to people?  Maybe it comes with age.  I don’t know, I’ve never been this old before.  I am older than I have ever been and my life came with no instructions manual.  So I’m not sure of anything.

I wonder if there is a point in life where it becomes impossible to make real new friends.  It seemed easier when I was young.  But as I get older, it’s even difficult to imagine.  I have so much baggage.  The people my age have so much baggage too.  How could I start a fresh new friendship while carrying so much baggage?

The fact that I’m an introvert does not make the prospect look any brighter either.  Having online friends is probably the best I can hope for.  Who could tolerate my presence face to face?  It would take quite a special person.  I wonder if anyone would really enjoy being close to me.

I’m like the guy in the photo above.  My face is a computer monitor that has been switched off.  It reveals nothing of what is inside.  No data is visible.  It’s just a blank screen.  And I’m so sensitive, it’s like my body is covered with buttons.  Who knows what would happen inside my central processing unit if someone would push one of my buttons.

If I had a plug I would pull it out of the socket.

My Ego

My ego has been begging me for attention.  He wants to be recognized on my blog!  (asshole)  He thinks that he’s so important and that his life matters.  He’s arrogant and emotional.  He’s also mortal.  But I’m stuck with him.

Anyway, I thought I should give him a post and let him express himself a little bit.  Let’s see what he comes up with.

I introduce you to Denny, my ego:

– – – – – – – – – –

Hi, Everyone!

I want to tell you about me.  You have to see what I look like.  So I gathered some photos from my album and here they are.  I’ll start at the beginning.

Here is my first school photo.
I was 6 years old and in grade one:

Ego06

I was intelligent, shy and very cute  🙂

Then I grew up and became an adult.
Here is my first passport photo when I was 23:

Ego23

Then I got married and had two kids.
Here is a photo that was taken after the birth of my second child, when I was 30:

Ego30

Then I got divorced and remained single for 4 years.

At age 37, I decided to get married again.
Here is a boudoir photo of me which was taken shortly after the wedding:

Ego37

Then I kept getting older and had two more kids.
Here is a photo of me at the cottage, when I was 47:

Ego47

I don’t want to tell you how long ago that last photo was taken.  What I want is for you to continue thinking that I am intelligent, shy and very cute.

Thank you for watching, and thank you Daemon for allowing me to show off on your blog.

Denny

Am I Gay?

Trust4

Here is a brief history of my sexual preferences from age 3 to 25.  It contains some explicit thoughts and some dirty words.

When I was a boy (from age 3 up to 12) I was physically attracted to ladies only.  But when puberty started, my attention turned to my penis and its erections.  I was intrigued by the pleasure I got when I did certain things with it.  I was 12 or 13 when I had my first ejaculation.

At that time, I became curious about boys my age and their penises.  I wondered if they pleasured themselves in secret just like I did.  My interest in the male form (physique) started to awaken also.  I began to notice the difference between cute guys from the not-so-cute ones.

At age 14, I started having wet dreams.  This was a surprise and an embarrassment — to wake up in a puddle of sticky sperm every now and then.  But the content of my dreams was what troubled me the most.  In these lucid dreams, I was almost always in the school yard and I would pull down a boy’s pants, suck his dick and then force him to suck mine.  These dreams disturbed me because I would find myself so excited when I woke up.  I thought I was turning into a homosexual and I was horrified!

In the meantime, in real life, I would date girls only.  Girls were attracted to me and it was easy to find a girlfriend.  I had many.  I would discreetly look at guys from the corner of my eyes, but would only allow myself to hug, fondle and French kiss girls.  I wanted my interest in guys to go away, but the more I repressed it, the more explicit my dreams became.

At age 19, I decided to do something about it.  I went to see a counselor.  I was so afraid to speak about this issue that prior to seeing him, I wrote everything down.  I scribbled a 5-page letter, spelling out exactly what I wanted to say to the counselor.  I remember walking into his office, sitting down, pulling out my letter, and starting to read.

Basically what I was telling him was that I was gay and that I had never been able to admit it to anyone, not even to myself.  My dreams proved to me that deep down I was gay.  I read the letter to the end without stopping.  I was shaking.  To me it was like admitting defeat:  I had failed as a man.  I thought that I would never be a real man, that I was doomed, that I was a loser.  I was ready for execution.  I wanted him to pull out a gun and shoot me, right there on the spot, no questions asked.

I finished reading the letter and I sat there, staring at the floor.  I didn’t want to look into his eyes.  I felt relieved but at the same time totally extinguished.  I thought my life was over.  Finally I looked up at him and he was smiling and he said:  “Daemon, you’re not gay.  Dreams don’t mean anything.  You’ve never had sex with a man.  How can you possibly know whether or not you are gay?”

I was shocked!  His comment was so unexpected.  I could not believe my ears.  I was also a bit disappointed because it had taken me 5 years to gather up enough courage to finally admit to someone my most secret fantasies, proving that I was gay, and he tells me that I am not!?  I was so surprised, I could not speak.  I simply stood up, thanked him, shook his hand and walked out.

From that moment on, whenever I would feel attracted to a guy, I would replay his words in my head, visualize his smile, hear his gentle, caring voice say:  “Daemon, you’re not gay.”  I chose to believe him.  Yes it was a choice and it was also what I wanted to believe, so I accepted it.

My physical attraction to females was a given.  I was attracted to women by default.  No doubt about that.  So the years went by and I continued chasing women and dreaming about sucking dick and at age 25, I married a young lady my age.

To be continued…  (maybe).

To Bitch or Not to Bitch

Bitch1

I feel like bitching but I don’t know what to bitch about.

To Bitch:
To criticize spitefully, often for the sake of complaining
rather than in order to have the problem corrected.

There are too many things to bitch about, I don’t know where to start.

Bitch2

I could bitch about this proverb.  No, let’s just focus on the first word.

Life.

What’s the problem with life?  Let’s talk about human life because it’s the only one I’ve experienced so far.  The problem is that it doesn’t come with an instructions manual.

I was given something that seems pretty awesome on the onset, but then after a while, everything starts to fail.  You spend your time repairing things that keep breaking.  Everything breaks down eventually, everything!

And at the end you die.

What a bitch!