“I’m not a virgin,” said a friend at a party tonight.
“No. No, she isn’t,” smirked a former lover of hers to me as an aside.
Married nearly 31 years, I am like a virgin, still the same guy who in high school a girl I was once alone with and made no sexual advances toeard said to a male friend that thought I was in love with her, that I was clueless sexually.
And still am.
A friend told me that if I believe in open marriage I should be more assertive and take more chances with women other than my wife.
Hell, I don’t know how to act when I’m alone with my wife!
I know how to act sexy, dance sexy, hold a woman sensually but I don’t know how to kiss or make love.
It’s one of the major issues I’ve had, intimacy.
It’s why I wish I was dead rather than risk being alone with a woman and it become apparently obvious I’m all but a virgin.
It’s the secret I share with you here, the generic, invisible, nonexistent reader rather than share it with friends who might laugh at me or worse, try to break through the barrier that separates me from the universe.
Tonight, I am dead.
From birth to date, clueless.
Nothing left to achieve.
Nothing left to hope for.
No one who understands.
I give up.
I have no one to talk with.
I am the Great Pretender!