May I let you in on a secret? Most people fake orgasm their way through life. Don’t believe me? Just read on…
As usual, they were edging toward it for the longest time. Yet, they weren’t even close. Being weary of waiting the trigger had been pulled prematurely and the moment sought and desired to be achieved was missed. So, we really don’t want to go around fake orgasming our way through our entire lives, do we? Of course not – not when we can really go for the gusto! Hey, one’s got to live for today; for tomorrow one could die at a Coachella Festival. Such is life…
Pretending daily what we do is really what we want to be doing, when it’s not, isn’t any way to live. Do you know what else? Few folks give much thought to not only what makes them happy but how to obtain it. And aye, there lies the Shakespearean rub. Those using brains to figure out that sort of stuff are usually the happiest. Because they’re the people achieving virtual multiple climaxes at least once during every full orbital rotation of our speedily spinning planet.
Metaphorical multiple climaxers guide their lives towards the height of pleasure found only in the rapture of a truly happy ending where someone can actually feel the earth move. Rocking it until they successfully get their metaphysical rocks off and shooting wads like there’s no tomorrow. Dying – a tiny death – the death where one feels more alive. Not the individuals faking it, shutting eyes tighter, focusing intently upon the self-prophesizing fantasy of self-failure they’ve force-fed themselves.
A flood of exuberance, popping one, or a few out during 24-hour cycles called days. Spurting and busting bountiful, cosmically fertile nuts like there’s no tomorrow, finding the frenzied peak when at the zenith of existence. Scale summits, apexes, cresting the real deal, arriving at that sky-high pinnacle in the heavens. For many, it’s an apogee that can’t be surpassed. Endings – when high notes are hit – crescendos wherein passion, pleasure, ecstasy, and fury fuse as orgasmic. Sensations only winners experience. The victors, equipped with an understanding of how vital it is to get their yeah-yeahs out while we still can. Reaching the finish line!
On the other hand, there’re those who never tried hard enough, making weak efforts before giving up relatively early in life. The losers who won’t labor too strenuously for whatever reasons and have usually convinced themselves any idea regarding skill-set self-improvement is impossible. An imaginary tube of self-doubt jammed down their gullets to overfeed their low self-esteem, much like some pathetic, liver-bloated, force-fed geese with pipes pushed down their throats. Yes, the lazy ones who hide behind a weak logic that since failing to achieve the Big O in their lives thus far, it’ll always remain out of their grasp. The hopeless, who fake orgasm through life every sad and worthless day, like vision-impaired mice blindly bumbling to see.
Married to a concept; not being more than they are or improving on both yesterday and today. Slackers in that old orgasm department; unmotivated in becoming better people. We’re all familiar with such disturbing, destitute humans; a pitiable lot. I know I certainly do. In fact, one’s been a friend of mine for years.
My friend's hit hard bottom. Lacking motivation had a negative effect on his marriage. Their matrimony, a union precariously perched and teetering upon the rocks barely beneath a stormy, augmentative, turbulent sea of dissatisfaction for many years, now is laid asunder and in dismembered pieces, like rusted automobile parts falling from some silly clown car. Do you know what I’ve been talking about here?
His wife’s done more than her fair share by financially supporting him throughout the years, but she’s had enough. He claims he won’t ever find a decent job because of his age and which is why she or anyone else shouldn’t expect him to bear the burden of helping carry that symbolic sofa up the stairs of life. Well, she’s even older than he is and has always managed to secure gainful employment whenever required. So hey buddy, put that into your pipe and smoke it instead of all the dope you stuff in there, and that which because of her unwavering economic support, you’ve always managed to be able to afford and score.
Then there’s what’s mostly her money he wastes on recording sessions laying down tracks of music he’ll neither put the time nor effort into doing anything with. Let me share this little tale with you. A few years ago, after squandering their money to finance his band’s latest album, he’d asked me as a favor to allow him free use of my corporation’s list of radio station’s music and program directors, which I did. The last time I questioned this loser if he’d ever initiated the airplay campaign for that now dead and defunct LP, do you know what I was told? He said, no, it just seemed like too damned much work. What a f*ing fake orgasming waste of human flesh!
That poor woman’s hitting the bottle harder than ever now as a way of dealing with the pain he’s caused and to drown her disappointment. Do you know what else? He told me she blames the drinking on him because he won’t try harder. For instance, say like enrolling in courses to gain some skills more applicable in today’s job market than he presently possesses to land a well-paying gig he’d hopefully be happy with; instead of wasting all his time posting hateful garbage on Facebook every day, comments that frequently get this guy kicked off and temporarily banned from further using the site.
Sorry dude, but neither she, nor I, or most anyone else for that matter needs those losers like you who want nothing more difficult than to continue fake orgasming their way through life!
Now, share a secret with us. Did you ever believe philosophical ranting and dissertation could be so darn sexy?