TAKE ME - I'm trying not to care what you do with me after that

A Welcome Reception

After my friend’s wedding, I of course, enjoyed the reception. I had such a good time feeling almost human. It’s fun, and I’m told healthy to pretend, sometimes. One of the many highlights of the experience was to meet a friend of the groom’s with whom I had only “spoken” through instant messaging a couple years ago. I was what I still am today and she was not far removed experiencing all of the same pain from the opposite spouse point of view. I had abruptly stopped communication at that time among many of my sincerely stupid moments of smashing what could not be incinerated in my life.

I introduced myself after speculating that the lovely, tall blonde with the handsome man at her side must be the co-worker described to me by the groom. Those two extremely charming people were stuck with me the rest of the night. I latched onto them and they were too nice to shoe me away. They were inundated with a numbingly detailed recount of my past twenty years. Fortunately, there was alcohol to anesthetize them. Talk, talk, talk . . . Blah, Blah, Blah . . . oh, today I feel bad about it but last night there was no stopping me.

Despite all of that I did come up for air occasionally and really enjoyed watching the relationship of “M” and “L.” (Initials have been used to protect the innocent.) “M” is so far down the road from the misery she had experienced those two years ago and “L” was just a great guy. He had gone through his own hell right along with us at roughly the same time. They got a few words in every now and again and I got to find out how they met – all good, good stuff. It was not lost on me that I was enjoying my dream played out by two different couples at the same event. The bride and groom had advanced to the bonus round but “M” and “L” are right on their heels. I can not stress enough how hooked I am on this pair. I hope I get other opportunities to be in their company (provided I have been properly medicated, of course). Either of them alone just leaves you thinking, “Wow! What a NICE person.” When the two are put together it is just remarkable. They were genuine, real, and they loved each other.

So, when I finally had to relinquish my death grip on the two of them and began my drive home the bottom fell out of my emotional bucket; All of these divorced people who had allowed themselves to find new loves – better loves. Then there was me, the stoically constipated dork losing more and more of that warmth I had just enjoyed with every mile of distance from the hotel. That’s what I keep doing; I keep distancing myself from what I really want.

So, I awoke this morning with what to me was a revelation. I had an epiphany. No. There was no heavenly light or choirs of angels only the usual stray headlight beam and hypersensitive car alarms.

I Want To Be RAVISHED.

There it is. The secret longing of my heart is to wake up to find myself being molested by a woman without reservation. I have searched for her forever. Before I was married, while I was married, and now in my solitary confinement I am still searching the classifieds for “Woman Seeking Man to Rape.” Where is the stalker waiting for me to turn on the shower? Where is the mouth to member resuscitation? Where’s the public groper in the red dress?

In an email discussing this with a happily married, curvy squishy bit critter with a thousand insights into my soul her reply was basically, “Duh – Stupid.” Well, she actually was more polite and said, “That's exactly the vibe I get with your blog.” Great, so everybody knows what’s going on but me.

She then concluded that I’m too conflicted to get out of my own way. I know that’s why I want to be sexually harassed in the most graphic of ways. I tell myself that if I were found in the clutches of a sexually secure woman who took all the initiative without any negotiation, bargaining, scheduling, asking, or pleading from me and could claim I was a “victim” that she groped me or took me in the most inappropriate places and at the most unexpected times that I would be ecstatic! I tell myself that a lot because I’m still trying to convince myself. Damn!? I’m pulled in two contradictory directions and I figure eventually I’ll wimp out and succumb to what will amount to a quickie fix (as in "Quickie," and, overdose) that will not fix anything at all. And the longer this nonsense goes on the less secure I become. It absolutely is not like riding a bike. You don’t have to kiss a bicycle. I’m becoming so ridiculously insecure that I couldn’t manage to go in for a kiss so there’s no chance I’m cool with any extra-curricular activities. (Although, not entirely true - those other activities have more tolerance built in for awkwardness.)

I can’t make the leap to man whore that this dilemma seems to deem as necessary. I’m not the dangerous, bad boy type that would make things easy. It’s damn pathetic and these are not the credentials of a man who’s seriously got a chance of getting any. Mrs. Squishy Bits told me I’m too cerebral to operate from my impulses. Well, doesn’t *THAT* suck. I take risks with everything else in my life and am able to self-destruct without a moment’s hesitation but I can’t bed a woman because I’m so morally superior. No I’m not – I just want to be. I am “complex” as my friend loves to quote to me from “The Money Pit.” I am sure he’s right but it’s the complex that I’m developing psychologically that has my attention. Mrs. Squishy Bits also dared to point out that I deny myself the notion I am allowed to have joy in my life. Joy would have to be the name of the man rapist that I’m looking to attack me to have hope of it in my life, now.

What should I do? Better yet, who wants to do it to me?