It's a common philosophy when it comes to sex - or atleast one's 'mojo' whatever that means. And lately, i've started wondering if, in fact, i may belong to the group that has 'lost' it.
I enjoy sex. I think it's fun. It's got this amazing feel-good factor that most romantic-comedies can't beat. However, lately, i've been quite circumspect when it comes to choosing bed-mates. After a spate of being highly indiscriminate, i just ended it cold turkey (I wish i could do the same with smoking, but that's another post). And since that time, refusing to be swayed by "Oh, i really need to be held right now", i haven't really... you know.. 'been' with anyone.
Then, one day, a conversation came up about the dreaded 'use it or lose it' factor. I admit i got scared. I mean, what if it's true?? So i turned to my age-old acid test - Matt - a man who's always known which buttons to push to get me going. Matt is a man in uniform. He's clean-shaven, tall, dark and lean, kisses like a dream, adores the ground i walk on, and is married. Perfect for a no-strings-attached experiment on mojo-ism. I've known Matt for many years, most of which he spent trying to get into my pants. It was quite flattering, i must admit. But somehow, his inabilty to commit and the fact that he had a long-term girlfriend (now wife) always got in the way of the two of us getting it on. Until a drunken, one-night stand ages ago.
That's history for you.
So a few days ago, after several glasses of wine (and several men who just had not managed to grab my attention over weeks), i thought, "Let me see if i still got it." I called Matt. He surprisingly was in town. Wife wasn't - not for the whole week. This just HAD to be considered as a sign that the Universe wants me to go ahead with the ridiculous plan that had formed in my head. After that, it was just a matter of when i could effectively rationalize my behavior and help my self-control crumble. It didn't take long.
I reached his doorstep, he kissed me hullo, and things got under way. Except - while he was nibbling my neck, and murmuring delicious nothings into my ear, i was thinking of a campaign i had to roll out by the next morning. Yep, I was thinking of work. Maybe it's a step above from thinking of the laundry, but hey! MATT was KISSING me!!! It was Matt! The gorgeous hunk with the big bike and the edgy death wish! Come ON!!
But it was too late... No matter how many glasses of wine i had, how many cigarettes i smoked, how cozy i got with him, somehow - it was over. Kissing him was fun but... cerebral. One constant refrain kept running through my head - Another one bites the dust. The next morning, when i kissed him goodbye, i didn't even feel a pang. It was awful.
In my highly disgruntled state, i bumped into a friend online. She's aware of my highly tumultuous non-relationship with Matt, and rationalized my feelings of 'having lost it' as "You're finally over him! Now you can move on! You haven't lost it - your standards are just not that low anymore." Hmmm..... and this is a friend.
I don't know about moving on. Maybe this is what the Wise Men meant when they talked about attaining nirvana or moksha or whatever. All i know is, i derive greater satisfaction out of watching Johnny Depp wobble his way into Pirate heaven than i do fielding calls from various unknowns.
Maybe i should get a cat named Martha. That's truly complete this picture.