Sex as a sport

Before you read any further, I am not going to share with you my personal experiences with people or any intimate details. If you think that’s what I am sharing, please exit this post now.

So how do most people view sex?

In college, I was surrounded by people who viewed it as a sport. How many people can they sleep with in one night, in one week, to one month. They would keep track and share their details with each other. Keeping notches above their bed frame. It is amazing the things I learned. I was never the type to do that. Keep track of my sexual conquests. Although I enjoy the act, I do not plan to bed as many people nor do I share intimate details about it with my friends, but I do still view it as a sport but not in the same way one might think.

People often define sport as an athletic activity requiring skill or physical prowess and often in a competitive nature. I can put sex in each one of those requirements. I use sex as a sport against myself. Twisted, yeah it can be. Sometimes I view myself as a lover, but most of all I view myself as a performer. I like to think about it this way: being a great performer will in turn make me a great lover. 

I want to make sure I am in good enough shape to keep up. Practicing as much as I can to better myself at what I am doing with my partner. The competitive nature in sex is not against my partner at least not in a way where one person “wins.” The more often we play together, the better we get, and the more enjoyable it becomes. Challenging each other in every way possible.

Sex should not be sinful and it should not be a used just for procreation. Yes, I do see it as an intimate act, but if I play hard, work hard, in the end I will achieve what I wanted to begin with. To be the best lover, performer I can be. No one wins or loses. Just trying to perfect and reign in my skills. Challenging myself and always striving to be better. Allowing myself to open up and try new things. It may be scary, but the bigger the risk, bigger the reward. Right?


Life Black Out

Have you ever gotten so drunk that you forgot what the fuck happened the night before? Now, for some you, that’s a yes. Hell, I even have done it on multiple occasions. Of course,  mine consisted of a mixture of drugs and alcohol. PS, not a good combination.

Now have some of you forgotten parts of your life? I am in that situation now.

Maybe because my life is moving at super speed, with everything that is going on, but I find myself not remembering certain years of it. Literally, I have blocked out or blacked out certain years of my life.

Now, why the hell am I trying to go back and “re-live” my past? I do not fucking know.  Maybe I am a masochist and I just like remembering the torture I put myself through to get to where I am today. Again, I do not know. But what I do know is this– I can’t remember.

I literally can not remember certain years. YEARS!!! Like 365 days worth of my life. And not just certain days here and there, like a whole damn year or multiple years! I am trying to think back why I blocked out a period in my life. I mean I can think of a few things, but should some jackass affect me so much that I chose to pretend like he was never part of my life when clearly he was. Yes, this is over some asshole that popped up in my mind randomly.

I know that I have not slept or eaten for a couple of days now. Maybe because sleeping makes me go back and recall my past, and thinking about it makes me ill to my stomach, but why now? I do not miss that life and I certainly do not regret it, but like I said, I mentally blacked out that year(s) of my life. So restless brain, why are you bringing it up? I find myself trying to recall what happened and why it happened. Does it feel like I got no closure and my mind is trying to piece together everything I tried my hardest to forget?

Actually, I did forget but something triggered a neuron in my brain forcing me to face this.

They say time heals all wounds. I call bullshit. You just forget and move on, but the wound will always be there in some form of a scar. It doesn’t hurt anymore, but that symbolic mark will always be there. (That may not make sense, but it does to me)

What I am trying to say in my rambling post is this– if you can completely black out parts of your life, that is kind of awesome. For me, I feel that way. I know I went through a very dark period and I did things I am glad I can’t remember. A part of me is sad about it because I thought that “time” I chose to forget, was one of my happiest times. And yet when it was over, I never looked back. The memories I thought I would cherish forever, I don’t. The people I met then (who are no longer part of my life), I could really care less about. I mean if they died tomorrow, my life would not change. I do not think I would even feel bad even though I may or may not have loved them once. That sounds heartless, but that’s how I feel. Its like they never really meant anything to me. I desperately want to FEEL something, and yet, I can’t. I literally don’t feel any kind of joy for it. I feel mute. I guess that’s still some form of feeling.

I have a misconstrued memory of that time. I literally can’t piece together the good times or the bad times. It just confuses the hell out of me. Oh well. It is what it is. Stupid response but I can’t think of a better phrase.

Its like I got wasted for 365+ days straight and didn’t realize it. Fuck, maybe I did. Its a life black out.