Bim Skala Bim

The article said that Americans aren't fucking like they used to, that the average married couple just a scant decade ago was banging 65 times a year and that recently it had dropped to somewhere around 56 times and i scratched my head and thought well if that's the average some dude with a dad bod is getting mad laid because in these parts it's either feast or famine and these days i'm like that Jewish-Pole pianist stuck in the Warsaw ghetto, fucking thin, real fucking thin, and so as i wandered aimlessly through the fifth grade math carnival i studied all the moms and dads and debated and pondered, all in my own head of course, which of these happy couplings was coupling once sometimes twice a week, at what address were the bed springs squeaking as i drove the suburban streets stoned out of my mind and cursing the fact there were no decent massage parlors out here in the burbs or more correctly that i didn't have the money for a decent massage parlor out here in the burbs because off hand i could count half a dozen within a 15 minute drive, which then led me to think that there are either a lot of single and lonely men out here or that people are lying on those fucking questionnaires and those good and faithful types aren't as good and faithful as they'd have us believe...

One thing for sure is that i'm not fucking like i used to though not for lack of trying on my end, trying being a subjective thing and there are times when i try more than others, granted John Thursday would try on an almost minute to minute basis, the good lad thinks and acts much younger than his age but the soul and the patience get weary with the years and all these transactions of the flesh seem to cost more and more, there is a disconnect between the sexes and the fairer doesn't mind fucking behind hubby's back as long as their emotional needs are met more so than say the physical where as some old dogs just want to get down, get off and get the fuck out, maybe not as impolite as it sounds but there is the balance of the empathy earned and the empathy paid and if the balance is off then the deal goes south, quick-fast as we used to say...

When one is a chronic wank addict you almost have to be an atheist, you can't have a proper jerk if you think some creepy fucking deity is always peering over your shoulder, though i have to admit the wanking can make you lazy in the fucking department, it'll take the starch right out of the hunter and before you know it you'll be baking brownies and nodding off to Dr. Phil, it's strange days out here in the lily white, and on the usual morning i get up long before the sun due to a mind that clicks on as soon as the last vestiges of ganja have kicked it's way out of the system, i make some coffee and read the news, i make the boyos breakfast and pack lunches and shuffle them off to the public education, i work out, have a wank, take a shower and get on with things, i avoid the internets and it's fool's gold of sexual promise, everywhere there are women waiting, and there are 20 men waiting for every woman, it was like walking past that stall in the red light and seeing a line outside, no one really wants to see who went before them, at least in the red light there was order and rules and dare i say honesty, in the wilds of the web it's a fucking free for all, every one on the take and all trying to make a buck, the risk high and the reward low, the opportunity cost that once again feeds on a disproportionate amount of the soul, a sucker's game and yet there it sits like a fat, juicy, peach just begging you to take a bite, i'm not fond of fruit... but i've been known to get hungry now and then...

So here i stand at 46 and i'm really nothing more than horny 15 year old, i keep a running mental commentary on the Yoga pants set that would make a blue film seem like the Sound of Music and that's just in the Target fucking parking lot, some days i'll have a go at myself two or three times, this can't be fucking normal for someone my age can it? and yet how did this existence get so onanistic and monastic? the wanking monk... there was a time when it all came so free and easy, sometimes i wonder if it still won't it's just the rules have changed and there are things like decorum and manners and maybe i'm just clueless, just a caveman dressed up and pretending to be civilized because you can't go round asking, wanna fuck? polite society does not go for that shit and a man my age is supposed to somehow understand this, as a cocky seventeen year old i once walked into the mall and asked the girl at the pastry shop that very question, wanna fuck? and it worked, but now i'm supposed to be actively interested in the problems, thoughts and feelings and i don't have the patience for that anymore, we're old and bitter darling can we just get to it and be on our way? i'm gonna do my best to please you as many times as i can in the time allotted but make no mistake it's all for my damn ego, believe me, so when you and your girlfriends are at the local Starbucks or Panera Bread or what not you'll say my name, like Heisenberg, with an awe and respect for the work i've put in...

And so where does this leave me? stoned and standing with my pants around the ankles, in a world of imaginary friends and past fucks, bright yellow light and cold tile floor, an Ipod stuffed with caustic love songs, the platonic complacency of familiar strangers, a lusting for sticky fumblings in foreign foyers, the faint static of a clock radio on a Knights Inn bed stand, the green numbers illuminating somewhere past midnight, the bed sheets rumpled and wet, the quiet closing of car doors, the cat picking his teeth of the remnants of the canary, there is no need for justice or faith, there is only the need to feel the pulse and the cool air stinging the skin and the clandestine drive through the same streets with different names, in different states, in different times, empty bottles labeled the wine of youth are strewn on the floor, the sweat drips slowly from the tip of the nose leaving patterns on the floor, call them tea leaves and read of it what you will...