The rationale

It's been a year and a half or so since I committed to not having sex, and if you're wondering; no I'm not a bright eyed teen, I've not been brainwashed and yes I know intimately what I'm choosing to not have.  It wasn't because of peer pressure, religion or a 'dry spell'.  I gave it up because I was a mess and sex didn't make it better.  I also shall not pretend that its an easy road, or that I've not had my hiccups along the way.  But nothing is achieved by dwelling on shortcomings, save to demoralise oneself and increase the chance of repeating them.  But for the curious among you, yes the hiccups went as far as sex, no it didn't change my mind.  If anything it strengthened my resolve.  This is not to say it was bad or unsafe sex, simply that it didn't result in my feeling good about myself.  This may seem an obvious statement to the wise among you, but sexual fulfillment does not equal happiness, sexual confidence cannot substitute self worth and sexual desire does not equal emotional investment.  This was the maths that I had been trying to make my life work with and probably goes a long way to explaining why I was in such a pickle.

Chocolat

Whilst an abhorrent cliche it is none the less accurate and will therefore serve as illustration. I can long for, crave, desire, lust over chocolate, arguably to obscene proportions. A part of myself delights in the delicate torture of denial, but upon eventually succumbing I find it hollow and disappointing; its texture grates on my teeth, its mastication, be it carnal crunching or the sensual sucking results in an unpleasant film on my teeth and its aftertaste is simply vile. I wonder if this is how it is with sex?