Abstinence Doesn’t Work: How Long Can You Wait?
So be forewarned. If you decide to go gallivanting around the globe to some far flung destination, plant temporary stakes in Butt-Scratch Bermuda or Middle-Of-No-F*cking-Where Moldova and expect your mate to be waiting at home, celibate—you got another thing coming.
What is it with those who refuse to accept that long term abstinence doesn’t work? Do these folks have a sex drive at all? Or maybe the better question is do they believe their abandoned mate has a sex drive? What’s supposed to happen when their mate, left alone to their own devices, gets a hankering in the middle of the night, an itch in the morning, feels a bit randy in the afternoon?
What they’re going to do—and what almost every other person on planet earth is likely to do—is f*ck somebody else.
Oh, I know it may sound crude, potty-mouthed and pessimistic. Accuse me of having scant faith in the virtuousness of people when separated from their mate and co-conspirator in sexual gratification by a geographical distance of more than a few meters.
I’m guilty. I confess.
Truth be told, it’s hard enough to keep your better half from straying when they’re across the street, much less across the country.
Long term Abstinence doesn’t work!
Believe me, it tends not to be the stuff of which romantic careers are made. Yes, I know the abstinence pledge sounds utterly doable as you stand in the rain at Union Station, as the locomotive spews filthy steam in the background, as the conductor screams, “All Aboard!”
“Let’s wait for each other,” she murmurs, clutching your sleeve. While the train chugs from the station, she gallops alongside for a final kiss and tearful promise of abstinence.
Excuse me while I fetch a hankie.
But out on your own a body can get oh so lonely. And it seems there’s always a new penis/vagina in town, or on campus, or lounging around the water cooler at work—and coincidences of coincidences Mr. Penis/Ms. Vagina just so happens to have your name stenciled right on its foreskin/labia.
Oh, this potentially illicit liaison may not start off as anything sordid or improper. Heck, you let them know right up front that you belong to somebody else. They’ll respect that, right? Right…?
Besides, you made a promise on a train platform and you’d never violate a prom–
But then you accidentally rub up against each other. Oh my! There’s nothing quite like the presence of an actual living, sentient being who’s not deployed to Iraq, not researching the mating habits of the blue fin tuna in the North Atlantic, not stationed in the Arctic at Ice Station Zebra–but who’s right here, right now, in your face, baby, and ready to rumble.
Lordy! Lordy! Need I even recount what happens next?
Voluntary abstinence doesn’t work, especially on those cold, lonely nights when you’re convinced that every other couple on planet earth is humpty-humping away like horny, slime slick toads in a lily pond.
How can you and your long distance love compete against that? Skype each other while performing degenerate acts on screen, keeping your fingers crossed that your account isn’t being hacked and broadcast live on YouTube?
Sorry, though technology has ascended to vast heights, the unfortunate conundrum is that screwing your mate usually requires a prerequisite–namely that your partner be in the same room with you.
Virtual sex be damned!
Long term abstinence doesn’t work. Just keeping your own paws to yourself is a staggering responsibility. And forcing those you encounter during this forced abstinence to keep their paws to themselves may be just as formidable a responsibility.
Everyone seems to recognize that fact except the two misguided boobs who promise their undying chastity to each other without fully grasping how ludicrously unlikely that might prove.
How long are you willing to wait?
Can you hold out a whole month for the right person? A year?
What determines whether you wait? Love? An unshakable belief that your love interest is doggedly holding out too?
I’ll say it again: Long term abstinence doesn’t work. Most folks are not good at waiting.
Armed with that caveat, you might be well advised to stick a bit closer to the abode, to keep a shrewd, protective eye on the person whose underwear you’ve grown accustomed to removing at night.
That means don’t get pulled over for a DUI and get sentenced to a Paris Hilton weekend in County. Don’t dare take that out of state dream job thinking you’ll hook up a couple times a month with wifey/hubby to relieve your biological imperatives. Hell, don’t even chance flying back for that final farewell visit to poor Aunt Augustine who’s hanging on by a mere thread since her colon-rectal malignancy metastasized.
Smarten up! Keep your rear-end on the home scene!
Remember, most folks hate to wait. They couldn’t wait for Santa Claus as a child and they damn sure can’t wait for hanky-panky as an adult.