Sexual Integrity

I like to think that I wouldn’t ask anyone to do anything that I wouldn’t do myself, and I know that I certainly wouldn’t fuck me. I mean, even if I was gay and I enjoyed my own company I still wouldn’t fuck me. There’s virtually no chance.

My hair’s almost always greasy, first of all. I have a dandruff problem, it’s pretty serious, and I think shampoo just makes it worse.

Second, I assume my breath is horrible. (I smoke, I rarely brush my teeth, I never floss.)

I’ve got these red dots on my nose that don’t seem to be going away.

I don’t even have toenails anymore…I have chalky cakes of yellowish, brownish fungus that look and smell like tabs of rancid Parmesan glued to the tips of my toes. When I clip them and they crumble, the resemblance to Parmesan is uncanny. I would definitely not want those nasty things rubbing up against me in bed. I’ve often heard that toenail fungus isn’t contagious (or maybe that it’s only contagious through a virus that gets into the bloodstream, that isn’t transmitted topically or something like that), but that all sounds like total bullshit.

I’ve got eczema (or some other itchy-as-hell condition) all over my shins (shins, plural, from ankle to knee). God, how I rage against my shins’ maddening itch! It's terrible. I scratch at my shins constantly; they’re covered in scabs. I’m supposed to put a salve on them, but applying the salve always tears off all the older scabs and it hurts like a screaming bastard. It feels like I’m rubbing fresh wounds with a rough paste of sloughed off skin cells and bacon bits and salad dressing and twisted up shin hairs. Wearing long pants is aesthetically necessary, even when I’m alone, and the friction is perpetually exacerbating my problem.

I’ve been getting awfully tubby around the middle lately. I hear the term “pear-shaped body” bandied a lot by my crueler friends (even though I’m shortish and barrel-chested, and so my rotundity more resembles an apple or a plum – not a nice plum but an overripe, spotty plum that even some fruit-fucking pervert probably wouldn’t care to squeeze). Wrist fat is beginning to muffin-top out from underneath my watchstrap.

There are five or six nose hairs, prominently visible more often than not, that I simply cannot get to with my nose-hair trimmer. And you really don’t wanna use scissors to go chasing around after rogue hairs in your nostrils (or any other tight, dark spaces…just ask my scrotum). They are outlaw nose hairs, living at the edges of my jurisdiction, but I tolerate them because, a, I have to and, b, they offset the salience of my red nose dots.

I could go on for most of the day I suppose (moles, flat spots, discolorations, etc.), but suffice it to say that I am not a traditionally handsome man by any stretch of the imagination in any conceivable tradition. Basically, I’m pretty much the last guy in the world that I’d want to fuck. I would rather stay home by myself jerking off than go out and fuck me, and when that’s the case hooking up is rarely a good idea.

So how can I expect anyone else to have sex with me? I can’t – at least, not without being a complete hypocrite. The only ethical choice is abstinence. Nothing else would be reasonable.

Prostitution’s no help. It’s great theoretically…I’d fuck just about anybody or anything if you paid me enough – so yeah, sure, I’d fuck me. But it’d be so expensive that I wouldn’t be able to afford it. I like a posh trick (who doesn’t?), but I make a meager living and any escort willing to negotiate the situation down to my price range would have to be pretty desperate. I'd have me over a barrel, and it wouldn’t be right to exploit that desperation. It wouldn’t be sexy.