The Experiment With Celibacy

This is all old news for me, but I wanted to put it down here for posterity.

Back in September, I was laying on my bed reading when a sudden idea came to me. What would my life be like if I wasn't always trying to get laid? I was shocked to discover that this notion was revelatory and I had never once considered it before. It filled me with a sense of excitement like at the prospect of a serious but surmountable challenge, and strangely, a sense of an almost erotic calm.

I slept on it, and then decided to enter into what I have been referring to as "The Experiment."

I wrote myself a list of rules. No chasing women, in any sense of the word, no sex, no kissing, no spanking girls as they walk by, no sexual contact of any sort. I defined all of these rigidly and left no loopholes for what I knew later would be my rationalizing mind getting a hold of The Experiment and inventing ways to get out without failing. I was also to keep The Experiment entirely to myself. I wasn't doing this for attention or for other people in any way, so they need not know.

I wrote a series of things I would have to do in order to demonstrate my commitment to the Experiment. Among them: deleting girls I had been aching for from facebook and myspace, removing all female contacts from my cell with whom I had any sexual interest or could ever see myself having interest in, and deleting my long cherished folder of naked pictures and video of various girls I've been with.

Clearly, I was serious.

The night before I began, I was having a conversation with the girl in this post and she said to me, after hearing all I had to say on whatever it was we were chatting about, "Maybe you should just take a break from women." I almost cried hearing it. I felt visible in a way that I've rarely experienced. That night we slept together.

The following day I signed my contract. The Experiment was to take shape over three phases and I was supposed to keep a journal each week, chronicling my progress. The first phase was the total celibacy described above, which would last from September to Thanksgiving. The second phase was to forbid myself to chase, but to allow hookups - no sex. If a woman made it clear she wanted me, or threw herself at me, I was permitted to have her provided we didn't sleep together. That would last until spring break, at which point I would enter the final phase, where the only rule was that I couldn't chase.

In my first stint of celibacy, a lot changed. I found myself less anxious overall, less worried about women, less worried about how I looked or presented myself (which isn't to say I became a slob, I just didn't fret over a wrinkle in my shirt before going to a party as I might have before). It was liberating. And then I failed for the first time.

My contract stipulated that if I failed, I was to withdraw from the experiment. One night I was at a friends, drinking with him and his attractive and interesting roommate. The time wore on, we all got more and more drunk, and finally, as I was leaving and my friend had already gone to bed, his roommate came down from her bedroom and said, "Dasani...you want to come upstairs and...talk?" I pondered for only a moment before telling her yes, I would like that. I wanted to see if I could hold out against temptation, which made for a differently sexy experience, of her trying to get me and me saying no and her apologizing for broaching my barriers. Interesting.

However, I relented, and we slept together. I decided to stay in The Experiment.

I failed a second time. Going to an old FBs house to drop off some books I had borrowed, I had to come in through her unlocked side door because she had not answered her phone. I found her, asleep on her bed at noon - she works the night shift - and so I crawled in next to her. She turned to me and I got a view of her near perfect breasts in a tight gray undershirt and couldn't resist. I started feeling her up, and as she got excited I told her we couldn't do anything but touch a little. And then I convinced her to get in the shower with me.

What followed was one of the most erotic, sensual experiences of my life. While my experiment had started out with celibacy, I was learning more in the realm of sexuality than I had imagined possible. I would pull her to me, roughly grabbing her breasts and whispering in her ear. She would thrust back into me and beg for me to fuck her, but in my twisted sense of loyalty to my promise to celibacy, I told her that we could only touch like this.

We showered for what must have been an hour and a half, washing each other, feeling each other. Wanting. Unable to sleep with or fool around with her, I experimented with other halfway options. I had her lie in the tub in front of me and finger herself while I watched. I tried talking dirty in a loud voice instead of my usual throaty whispers. We were both spectacularly turned on. And ultimately, I couldn't resist pushing a little further. I had her kneel in front of me while I jerked off and blew an enormous load on her face. She didn't even flinch.

I went the rest of the way to Thanksgiving without breaking again, and shortly into the second phase of The Experiment, I quit. I decided I had nothing to learn from simply denying myself sex but allowing hook ups.

As I write this and see it all in front of me, thoughts put to words, I realize just how much I did learn, and how little I know of sexuality. I'm too often complacent with just having sex, getting it over with and adding a notch to my belt. There's so much more to be enjoyed and experienced.

The Exotic Conclusion

Tonight was as I would fear it would be. Is it the fear that caused it to happen as it did? If I could operate independent of that fear, that incessant insecurity, would things have been different? These are the sorts of questions that will no doubt consume me for quite some time, but tonight, I wish to record here for posterity one valuable lesson - more for myself, but to any along the path who may also carry their own doubts.

Pickup theory is correct.

It's insulting sometimes, with my born arrogance, to think that somehow somebody outside of my experience was able to quantify in a sort of science the kind of thing that, for centuries, philosophers have called unassailable by reason. That thing is love and attraction.

I think sometimes that what I'm experiencing must somehow be different and unique from those interactions that pickup artists describe, post about and give explanation for. I think that, "Yes, this thing they say should be there is not there, but this other thing is," and I take myself to be a higher authority than those who have come before me and written the rule that I find myself comparing my experience to. I ignore the fact that by the very comparison to such a rule in my head I give validity and legitimacy to that rule.

Tonight I went on my second date with Exotic. I was planning to go dancing, but when I searched for dance places that I might be interested in and that were open on a Sunday night, I decided the pickings were slim enough that I should go with my standby date and take her to the nickel arcade. Instead I took her to this great Bar/Arcade in downtown Portland which I liked a bit better than the nickel arcade (only a quarter per game). We had a couple of drinks, played some games, it was a really fun time. She got so into the games she would play and had such a good time, I was really impressed by her and was loving her company.

When we ran out of quarters, we sat down to chat and finish our beers. I had been getting the vibe tonight, as with our last date, that she wasn't as interested in touching me as I would like. But of course I stuck with my own reasons for what was happening instead of trusting the theory. "She doesn't touch me back, yeah, and she doesn't respond to my disqualifications and SOIs the way I want or that would indicate any interest in me...but look at how she's following the conversation, it's like she's tailoring her responses so that I'll like her." We talked about losing our virginity, swapped stories, and then there was just a solid silence after we finished giggling during which we just swigged our beers and looked around a little, both at a loss.

We left the arcade and went for a walk, looking for a place to go dancing. After a short time and with no immediate luck, we both had to use the restroom so we stopped in at the first open place we saw without a cover. A classy looking bar with classical musicians on stage and a very tiny crowd. I ordered us a rum and coke to share while she went to the bathroom, then had her find us a seat on the balcony (we were the only people up there) while I went. The conversation was better, but I remembered what my previous date advisor had said about a second date, "It's time for you to lean back and let her chase a little." I had been leaning in nearly the whole time, sometimes putting my arm around her and pulling her close a little, so I just said "Fuck it, how would I behave if I didn't give a shit" and shoved my chair back away from the table, put my feet up on the railing overlooking the stage and lower seating, and leaned back. I told a couple of my better stories from the days of yore, savoring the fact that after all this time I can still rail it out in an interesting way. They're my original routines.

She was interested, laughing on cue, covering her mouth, appropriately shocked, and leaning in while I leaned back. It seemed good. I segued into us getting up and dancing (I figured, why the hell not? There's music and we're the only people up here) by talking about the scene in Rock n Rolla where Gerard Butler and whoever that woman is have an awkward dance while she tells him her plan.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kO_ZtXQBO48&feature=related

Great scene. Great idea. She seemed much more physical and interested once we had a better reason to be touching, but her hand holding was weak. After our little dance, we left. Outside I decided I wanted some investment from her, so I gave her the choice, "Exotic, you've got work tomorrow so it's up to you. I'm having a great time with you and I'm down to hang out awhile, but if you need to go home it's not a problem and I can take you." She said she wanted to stay out, so I took that as a good sign.

Walking down the road heard some pounding music coming from a building on our right. As it turns out, we had crossed around to a gay club and it was in full swing for karaoke night. We went in, and I discovered that something I truly like about Exotic was how I tend to do different things when I'm with her. Bouldering, an old people's bar with a jazz band, a different arcade and bar, a gay club for some dancing...Not all my usual fare for dates.

We went in and sat for a moment before discovering that the club was separated into two. The first bar area was for karaoke, the second area was for dancing. The dance floor was empty, the room was empty except for a few patrons sitting around. I convinced her to get up and dance with me. We danced 1-2 songs, I held her hand and walked her onto the dance floor, and as it turns out she has some experience with Salsa. It was good, but I sensed in her touch an all too friendly vibe. A desire not to be taken the wrong way.

I didn't want to admit defeat, but the feeling was slowly crawling over me. I shook it off and decided it wasn't over till it was over.

We left and I decided to take us home. When we got there, I pulled in and put on the parking brake, but left the engine running. She started talking. It felt like she was stalling, trying to spend more time in the car. If she didn't like me, wouldn't she say she had a nice time and good night, then leave? She kept repeating how good of a time she had and how she was so shocked that I was such a good guy and that she had so much fun with me, and that I was so easy to talk to. Then she said something about having heard about me before we went out. I turned off the engine and waited for her to tell me the story. She was reluctant, but basically it amounted to me having talked with her at a party a year and a half ago and saying something stupid. I had no recollection of it, and according to what her friends were saying, "I was following her around at the party" and she was talking about "but wait where's Dasani?" when her friends were ready to go. Confuse much?

I'm sitting here, waiting for her to get out of the car because I didn't think I could handle making another move without any sort of emotional indication, and yet she's stalling, telling me how great a time she had and how great a guy I was and how she never imagined it would be like this, and about how I had creeped on her a long time ago and yet she still accepted my invite on a date. My cynical part said, "She's saying all this nice stuff because she wants you to feel good about the night even though she's not into you" but another part of me said, "No, she's stalling because tonight she wants you to kiss her, and she's trying to show you an opening by saying all these nice things." I decided to meet myself halfway and called her out, "Exotic, I've had a great time with you too, I think you're adorable and absolutely endearing, but up until this moment I was writing you off as not interested, and now you're saying all this stuff and it's got me kind of confused."

I don't recall the specifics of her speech, but it was just her being nice and apologetic but telling me she isn't interested in no uncertain terms. I respect that, as much as it hurt to hear. I told her honestly that I was disappointed, but it was her choice to make.

She left shortly after and gave me a real hug. It hurts me more now to imagine that hug having had so much feeling in it, where every other touch she gave me was meant to convey nothing more than social convention and platonic friendship.

I drove away. Disappointed? Yes. Upset? Yes. By no means was I a mess or even showing visibly how hurt I was, but it was there.

The thing that gets me most, is this feels like a confirmation of one of my deepest insecurities about myself. That I will never be with a girl who I'm really attracted to. Most of the women I hook up with are cute (some aren't) but very rarely do I want to see them again, and if I do like them or like having them around, there's some glaring flaw that keeps me from wanting to get close to them (like one of my FBs, she's just so damn boring and plain, but she's a freak and has huge boobs). When I like a girl, when I'm attracted to her and I want her and I know I could find myself feeling an emotional connection to her, I don't get her.

It's become such a consistent thing that I've developed a deep insecurity about it, and if I catch myself liking a girl, or if I see a girl who I find attractive who might be interested in me, I either do something to fuck it up, do nothing at all for fearing I'll be hurt, or think everything is great and then get the lets just be friends rap.

I must confess. I am very physically attracted to Exotic, and she is a good girl and sometimes makes me laugh, but I did not find her particularly engaging conversationally. The times that were better were when things were better, I imagine if she wasn't guarding herself from showing an ounce of interest or intent that the conversation with her would be better overall, but I digress. I just don't want to put her on an overlarge pedestal in my memory as if she were flawless.

There's a history of this insecurity in this blog if you look close. Femme Fatale is an overt case. Doa is a bit more subtle and I haven't posted as much about it, Shygirl I have only mentioned a few times but am in love with and terrified of finding out she doesn't feel the same way about me, and then there's Tiny. Tiny is a girl I've only freshly named (right now, actually) but who I have a long history with that I might post sometime. At any rate, she likes me, I like her, I'm immensely attracted to her physically, but for countless contradictory nonsensical reasons, she won't sleep with me. This leads me to feel insecure in a sort of "why don't you want me?" way, which is as bad as any rejection.

That's enough for tonight. I wish things had worked out with Exotic, I wish I could get inside her head and find out where I went wrong. I wish I could get the fuck out of the friend zone and start having women see me as attractive.

In every sense that I can ask the question; will it ever be enough?

Orlando's Howard Roark - Dream

I was writing up answers to a series of questions I wrote for myself almost a year ago (the details of all of this I may share here, if any results are worth posting) and came across the question, "Who do you admire?"

Normally I'd be hard pressed to answer that question, but having just read this post by Anthony "Dream" Johnson, the answer came to me. I admire Anthony.

If you knew me, and you asked me who the greatest male role model in my life has been up to this point, I would answer that I have not had any truly significant REAL role models. Ayn Rand's fictional character, Howard Roark, is the closest thing I've ever had. As I read e-mails from Anthony, and blog posts such as the one linked above, I can't help but draw comparisons between the superhero that is Roark, and the real life man that is Anthony.

Rand describes a character who works tirelessly toward his single minded ambition - his work. A man who falls asleep at his office and wakes early, who skips meals to continue working, who cannot be broken by a society that - at every turn - challenges him and tries its damndest to destroy him.

If you take the time to read his post up above, you'll see that Anthony lives each of these things every day. You'll be amazed at the fact that this 21 year old guy is setting up two international conventions, in two countries, on two different continents, and somehow he isn't coming to pieces under the pressure. Somehow, although much of what he's going through hurts him, it only goes down to a point and all of it serves to make him stronger.

If you take the time to look at what he has created, you'll be astounded to see what a genius could only imagine on the pages of a novel in the real life person of a human man.

I don't know how many people actually read this, but every damn one of you had better check out his website, The 21 Convention. If you're curious, read a few posts, if you've got some time, watch some of the videos that he put up ALL FOR FREE and all without having to so much as sign up.

Like what you see? Support the guy and buy a ticket to the live event. The european event is here. You can also donate money on the 21 Convention website (link is at the bottom of the page). You can also purchase DVDs and other products here.

I've been to this convention three times already. I wouldn't have flown across the country the second and third time if it wasn't worth every dollar I spent and every moment of my time, each and every time I went. You can find my review of the 2009 Convention here on my blog. The 2008 convention was the reason I started this whole thing in the first place, and a speaker from '07 gave me feedback in this post.

So this is me, Dasani, taking my hat off to Dream - a guy who has balls enough to put his name to everything he does (and if you read some of the shit he pulls, you realize those balls are also made of brass) - and one of the better men you'll ever meet.