When I was a younger bloke, I had some periods of dryness. Not the kind that causes itching and condescending looks from the chemist when you ask for ointment, but from the lack of female companionship. Now it was not a feeling I was unused to, having been to an all boy's school from 12 until 18. Although there was a bit of latent homosexuality (good natured, of course), mostly I can remember high school by the amount of intimidation and threats that I had to deal with. And this was just from the teachers. Later still, I started drinking and found that women were not attracted by the public bar at the old Racecourse Hotel in Caulfield East, or the other bit sleazy dives I used to inhabit all too often.
So there was a time when I went friendless. It was also increased by the fact that I was studying and living at home with the parents. That wasn't a nice time for me.
As indicated without a female companion, it was always a balancing act between masturbation and tears. Every single person knows this but some deny it exists. I knew of people who would combine the two by masturbating in a pool of their own tears. Not me. Just get through it I did.
There was also a bit of resentment. We all have our hard luck stories, some more harder lucker than others. Breaking up is never easy to do, as the song goes. So it is necessary to choose between nice and nasty. Everyone does nice, or says they do, not me. I am Mr Nasty. When I break up with a partner it stays broken. No chance of reconciliation there. Another reason for my dry patches.
Resentment comes in many forms. Often highlighted by St Valentine's Day, but not exclusively. I know someone who refused to go to Ikea, as the couples walking made him resentful, and also bitter. I once asked a friend who had recently broken up with his partner if he was going to "stay home like a sad bastard and drink from the bitter cup of resentment". I thought it was a funny throwaway line, but he said "yes". There was no come back.
My brother wrote a song about a break up with a girl and called it "Bitter Cup". I had a go at him when I saw that there was no dedication to me, as the song is about the bitter cup of resentment, and I used it often to describe his many sad bastard nights at home. He told me to: "Fuck off!".
One time a partner gave me for St Valentine's Day a pair of glow in the dark boxer shorts. (It's important to remember that this was the early 90s.) They said 'No' in the light and when the light went off; they would glow and say 'Yes'. However, most times they (and her) said 'No' regardless of the light. Her father was a drunkard who once attempted to strike me in the head with a pick-axe as I didn't want to do what he wanted me to do. I would go there to pick her up at 1030 on a Sunday morning, after they , as a family, had been to church together (Lutheran too – says a lot), and he would have already emptied a bottle of McWilliams Sweet Sherry and be onto his second. Obviously, there were a number of interrelated issues. Eventually, she moved into a house full of self absorbed, Nietzsche reading, Claret drinking, vegetarian fuck heads, and that was the end of that little misadventure. The only memory I have of the fuck heads is that one of them was an ugly woman (not from looks but attitude) with a deformed hand.
Another mate of mine was in a relationship with a lass whom he really liked. It ended badly and there were a lot of recriminations of both sides, and not just limited to them. He was very upset and the negative feelings were hard to shift for some time. He is still probably a little disturbed by the goings on, and recently saw her. She was happily married, living in a wealthy suburb, with a goodly number of children. I think that might have settled his issues but I don't know, and I am unlikely to ask, as I am a man.
I have been in a relationship for over 10 years now. When blokes get into relationships, they think it's always going to be g-strings, revelling bras and on tap sex. How wrong we are.
All to soon the Target cotton panties, hum drum everyday bra and the soft on inducing flannelette pyjamas become the clothing of choice except for birthdays (sometimes) or other 'special' occasions (for example: weddings, christenings, AFL Grand Finals, Manpower reunions, Summer Nats, and/or holidays to name a few). The honey moon lasts a while, but the everyday hits home pretty fucking fast for both parties when your partner walks in on you cutting your toenails on the bed in your underpants. Then it farting in the open, jokes about crusty undies, and unkind jokes about the mangina on a cold winter's morning.
It's time for me to do something else. Simple runs to live by: women like flowers, men like beer and kids like cartoons. Easy.
