The Sullied Path To Temptations – Mad Chaos: August 18, 2004

The search for balanced happiness has never before been so lopsided when in this new collapsible era; a mere walk into town constitutes sexual solicitations.  I am in a crisis where in the real world – and in my memoirs as well – I have slipped into a destructive anarchy.  I blame my hormones in social life, which make me vulnerable to so many predictable indiscretions. 

I need to rediscover the earlier legacy of The Deserved Fruits before I collapse to become enslaved to a further period of recession.  I once was able to suppress the libido to produce limitless travel in and around town.  Sex workers were near redundant earlier this year. 

I believe The Final Extravagance era did end once I deserted independence and came back to the family house, whose isolation and a lack of female influences reverted me back to a tempo of desperation. 

The frequency of sexual solicitation has worsened, as have I become more disturbed since the departure from Olanzapine, whose consequence is a suspected erosion of disciplines.  I have been disturbed for over a month now.  Sullen have been my responses.  But today, the erosion of disciplines reached a depraved, new impersonal low.

Plans Made Vulnerable To Temptation

There was no real drama apart from the decisions I made.  As usual I watched the Olympics as an extension of my reclusion syndrome until 4:30am, and then woke up today at 1:50pm. 

I was depressed to find I received a message from Levi.  I wish he would leave me alone because the call I made to him was a desperate mistake.  Three days back he called as well, which is such a nuisance. 

I nevertheless had no desire to remain inside the house today.  I was so bored with monotonous television, and the lack of inspiration to write in my memoirs depressed me.  Any deviation from reclusion would work as a stressor to my memoirs because contingencies are certain when I escape the house, which means more notepad work and less appreciation of life.  I knew a solemn walk was low risk whose setback in my memoirs would be minimal.  So I planned to walk into town and come back home an hour later, but plans in these depraved days are vulnerable to temptation.

Nestles Interrupts The Sullied Path

I did leave the house at 2:20pm after a shower.  I walked into town.  But as irony narrates, I bumped into Nestles on the walk.  I would love to have an anonymous frolic where I can misbehave and slip back home unobserved, but coincidence is a reliable saboteur. 

I have a record where when en route to sullied behavior, I always see or speak to a familiar face, which is a conscience reminder. 

I saw my brother as an example on the sixth when vulnerable to desperate behavior I visited the city.  I should be deterred when I see familiar faces.  Perhaps the creator places them in my path to provoke my conscience, but hormones (like the devil) always prevail over common sense.

I walked over towards the white car Nestles drove, to lean into his window and say hello. 

“Where are you headed,” I was asked.

I responded with my initial valid reason, “I have to purchase prescription pills.” 

Nestles Finds New Friends

For weeks, Nestles has either avoided me because of my unpopular views or he found less problematic friends to associate with.  I realized on the drive into town however that Nestles has been with other friends.  Last weekend he was at the snow in Jindabine, and this week he has had some days off work so he visited his parents for the day. 

I was sad to hear how Nestles has a fallback exclusive club of friends, while I have reclusion.  I used to have Almond as well as The Machine and I could have had Weston as a friend, but the repression of the reclusion syndrome makes me too miserable to expand the social strata, and so isolation was inevitable.

I also hear how Jasper and the others were evicted from the residence where I used to live.  I hear the owners awarded the house to their son.  Despite this, the others have found a new residence around the local area. 

I also shared how I am an uncle, but I never disclosed much because I was in a sullen mood.  

“What about the Broncos loss to the Bulldogs, ah,” Nestles of course hounded me.

“Parramatta are no chance for the preliminaries,” I prepped up and smirked.

When we arrived into town by 2:40pm and Nestles parked, we said some words but never committed.  

“I have to buy a guarana drink from up the road,” I said.

A Sullen Walk In Bitter Contemplation

When we parted ways, I walked up to the central arcade to purchase a sugar-free guarana drink.  I had no friend around me now, so I reverted back to a sullen look of blank, bitter contemplation.  I wrote many observations in this mood and analyzed my behavior, my ambitions and also the reactions around me.

I realized as I sipped on my guarana in an observational mood how I have had limited exposure to temptations this month, which is the subconscious reason I visited town today.  I needed a fix, but a walk into town created more problems than it solved.  This is because I realize I am like an invisible apparition in public, which jeers at my self-esteem and makes me feel less desirable.  I therefore am disappointed. 

Because I have no territorial claims or patch where I can stop, observe and perhaps approach women, the sexual frustration accumulates.  I have no choice but to wander around.  The only resolution to fulfill some desires is to procrastinate on the experience.  I have to walk around or be in public for so many hours until the exhibition of temptations satisfies my libido.  So in usual circumstances, I improvise.

I despise repetitive walks where I rebound from one end of town to the other.  For a creative person it feels like desperation because I know I have been here or there, but nonetheless I have nowhere else to be.  For this reason I walked into the mall.

The Sex Worker Placebo

I had a small tour in the mall, but it was inevitable that the temptations all around would provoke me to seek sexual relief. 

Like Eve who tempted Adam with an apple, the exposure to temptations made the idea of a sex worker juicier.  A walk into town in its innocence helps me readjust to society, but on the other hand I am vulnerable, desperation looms, and hormonal influences foment sullied behavior.

I knew a week back when I read the local paper that there was a parlor, which for twenty dollars allowed a man service for ten minutes.  I declined on the economics of this idea a week back when I visited Ruth because I crave to be pampered.  Ejaculation is not the end-all to the hormonal spike.  I may be relieved but I rather desire a female to caress me.  I need attention and affection (even while I know a sex worker only provides a placebo), so this explains the avoidance of a simple hand-job a week back.

I love when skin caresses skin, which is why I used to love relationships.  In this manner the seduction of a massage works as a nice placebo to fool my hormones.  But like any relationship, there is a desire once in a while for a more intense pleasure, which is why a massage alone causes sexual frustration.

An Obsession With Oral Sex

Ever since I have been sexual and experienced relationships, I realized I am a person obsessed with oral sex.  I prefer the stimulation of my penis with a mouth and a hand, because in my unequivocal belief, a mouth is a smarter version of a vagina.  A vagina is pleasurable with its many positions to enjoy, but oral is supreme when ecstasy is concerned. 

A mouth has suction, hydraulics, stabilizers, lubrication, intelligence and innovation, whereas a vagina allows simple access.  I prefer oral sex to normal intercourse for this reason because it is much more pleasurable and always has been to me.  I love to give as much as I love to receive, and intercourse is crucial, but in my opinion, it serves only as a complement.

I love to kiss as well.  It has been many years since I have been emotionally involved with someone to consider a kiss a real kiss.  I believe The Eve or The Shrew was the final recipient of a real kiss, as ever since then I have had no real relationship.  I have relied on sex workers instead.  But this abuse of sexual gratification has degraded its reputation.  So now my perspective on sexual intercourse, relationships and real kisses has been smeared. 

All this sullied behavior has deprived me of innocence for so many years, but its lack would either make me aggressive, or a rapist, or worse.

Mulling Over Participation With Females

I came to the train station by 3:20pm in the knowledge I would trial this new parlor with its no-frills service.  I had to wait for half an hour on the station platform, which allowed me to think. 

“I have to find a group activity where I can socialize and participate,” I wrote, because participation is key.

Whenever I walk into town, like today, desperation is already imminent.  I am anonymous and invisible.  The only methods of participation are to be served by people in shops or to use my techniques.  I decided I need a more direct method of participation with females, but what activities can I be involved in, and where are they to be found?

I considered my options as I boarded the train and contemplated all these ideas on the way to Liverpool with its six stations passed. 

The No-Frills Massage Shop

I arrived in Liverpool by 4:15pm with an address and a fair idea of where the residence of no-frills service would be.  I walked around for ten minutes until I found the premises, which was a shabby house with peels of white paint and a bushy front yard. 

I had withdrawn twenty dollars earlier in town.  When I was shown inside, I used this money to purchase a service to relieve me of an immense sexual burden.

An Asian lady in her late twenties walked into the room in bland clothes, which never inspired me much.  I knew this would be a shabby business because its desperate prices appealed to desperate people like me.  I never did appreciate the service, but it promised no more than no-frills.  I was never pampered, a la a massage.  Worse was how the Asian lady while fully clothed, never allowed me to arouse her or myself by example. 

I was pleased to see the Asian lady would place her arm on my chest and one leg up on the table for me to tantalize the skin under her plain black skirt, but the whole experience was cheapened as I was repeatedly asked, “Are you ready to cum?” 

I had to be imaginative to ejaculate because I was denied so much sensual flirtation.  In the end, I came in this new no-frills practice, which to me introduced a very depraved and new impersonal low.

I have been disturbed and sexually depraved ever since my departure from adjunct medication, but none more so than this month.  I was happy to be serviced and to exit the parlor relieved of a sexual burden fostered by a world of temptations.  It was nice to see the relief made the prior temptations fade to mere scenery on my walk back to the train station.  But it was a sad and selfish use of women as objects to fulfill me once more.

A Sullen Trip Home

I came home on the train amid distress and despair as I pondered on other methods of release.  I was still on the prowl of course and needed women in vicinity of me on the train.  I needed this too when I entered town and walked down the main road. 

I had to also make the day worthwhile and perhaps cloak the indiscretion.  So, in a psychological manner, I visited the pharmacy across from the mall around 5:30pm to purchase my prescription pills.  I had a sullen look on my face as usual but I managed to mix oil with water once more. 

I came home by bus after this, dipped into the local shops to purchase a small snack as a final faithful appearance, perchance fate may seal me a female.  I saw a handful of temptations more at the local shops, but I was in such a sullen mood that there was no hope I would have the confidence to approach one of them. 

I came back home by 6:30pm, where I wrote out the notes for my memoirs into the computer. Ever since then I have written. 

Now I am prepared for a few hours of comedy relief on television, as the time is already 9:30pm.  I feel a revival in the writer, so perhaps he may tend to the reservoir later to not use the Olympics as an excuse for reclusion.  I have more tolerance, and it may as well be used.