WARNING: THIS IS AN HONEST LOOK AT MY ROMANTIC ADVENTURES, INCLUDING MY SEX LIFE, AND NO ONE SHOULD HAVE TO READ THAT. I'M ATTEMPTING TO MAKE SENSE OF A CONFUSING PART OF MY LIFE, AND THIS REQUIRES AN HONEST ASSESSMENT AND HISTORY TO START FROM. IF YOU ARE EASILY OFFENDED, OR JUST THINK IT'S INAPPROPRIATE TO KNOW SUCH THINGS ABOUT ME, STOP READING, NOW.

I spent a period of time in my life being the "other man." Open marriages and relationships were cool with me, and it seemed that women in such situations were cool with me, too.

OK, it was a LOT of time. I had a series of casual flings my freshman year of college, recovering from a long-term (through high-school) relationship that didn't pan out. My last fling during that year was with my best friend's girlfriend. He didn't know, and probably would have gone ballistic had he found out.

For reasons best left for A Different Background Story, I left college after my freshman year. Returned home. Lived in my parents' basement for a while. Got a job. I worked mostly nights, but I was in a college town and knew how to meet women. I had a couple more flings.

Well, for other reasons that belong in A Different Background Story, I abandoned my job and returned to college, this time in a more "hippie" environment. Since this is a record of my life's romantic entanglements, I'll mention that one of the reasons I chose the "hippie environment" was that my high-school romance lived in that town. Oddly, to this day she remains one of my closest friends. STRICTLY friends, and, unlike at that time in my life, this suits BOTH of us very well now . . .

I made a few friends at my new college, and was "discovered" by a trio of married older women (the oldest was less than eight years older, or 29 at the time) in open marriages. I was their on-again, off-again plaything, and I occasionally met and played with other women they knew. I've been filmed by husbands, I've been watched by boyfriends, I've been tied to wheeled chairs to be passed to whoever in the room felt like playing at the moment, and I've been the male lover of female / female couples. Yes, the plurals of the nouns are intentional. Every one of these things has been happened more than once.

I started working full time. Got a roommate. Schoolwork suffered severely. My parents called one day and said they no longer had the money to pay for my classes, and that was that . . .

It's a bit more complicated, but, again, that's a Story For Another Time, and the end result was that I was working full-time and making the rent, but . . . well, my "girls" had grown either bored or worried about my sanity. Either way, they headed for the hills, or at least their significant others . . .

I was alone, and I started thinking, well, maybe I'd be better off in a monogamous relationship. I courted a pretty woman who came to one of my parties. It turned out she was in a relationship, but it was "open" and whatever I was interested in was fine with her. Having made up my mind to be monogamous, I said I was no longer interested in anything.

It wasn't the nicest thing to do, but there you have it. I'm not always the nicest guy.

I realized the bane of my romantic life: I'm picky as hell about who I'll sleep with if I actually bother to Give a Shit. The more I looked, the less I liked EVERY woman I came across. Worse, my past was haunting me, and many women my age were horrified when they learned of my past sexual escapades.

There passed a period of quiet, mournful celibacy for Your Fair Diarist. I discovered another problem in the Real Dating World: Most women are coy. They want the guy to make the first move, ask THEM out. I'd never done that. Every woman that I'd ever been with (at that point, roughly 15) had propositioned ME. I can, and often DO, flirt with pretty much any female, but I'd never had to learn that crucial last step: "Hey, I like you. Wanna go out, sometime?"

Strange, isn't it? I was so very, very used to the woman taking the lead that I was QUITE certain that if they DID NOT, they weren't actually interested in me. And, being a gentleman (and, despite what you might think, I genuinely am), I didn't want to impose on a woman who wasn't interested in me. Yes, it's goofy. C'est la vie . . .

There's one young woman that deserves mention, even though I was very celibate during this period and never even so much as chastely kissed her. I do not use the term "young" lightly. She was seventeen. I was . . . well, I was in my mid-twenties. Something like that. Time runs strangely in my head, and it's difficult to remember what year that was. Anyway, I was also her boss, which means she might have been perfect in every other way, but starting anything with her would have been a) illegal, and b) against my own Strange Code of Ethics. It's not for a lack of trying on her part. She all but begged me to kiss her on more than one occasion, and, Strange Code of Ethics aside, she was very much Someone I Wanted to Kiss.

My response to this young, Catholic Schoolgirl (no, I'm not making this up. She was going to a Catholic high school at the time) throwing herself at me was simple: Pretend it's not happening. I was very nice to her, talked to her pleasantly, and never once acknowledged that she had a crush on me so big strangers noticed it.

So, to this woman (and she's definitely a woman, now, wherever she is) I offer this: I'm sorry. You were far more mature than I was being at the time. A relationship with you never would have happened, regardless, but I should have been honest and direct enough to list to you the NUMEROUS reasons why it was a Bad Idea. You were mature enough to handle the truth, and telling you the truth would have been kinder than what I did.

So, back to the story . . .

The Long Period of Celibacy didn't exactly end. You see, I was asked out by a virgin who, at the time, wished to remain a virgin. She was wonderful. The only other woman I've ever truly loved (the other, of course, being the woman I dated throughout high school, who, as I said, to this day is my best friend).

Despite this, I lied to her. I really, really didn't want to tell a virgin I loved that I'd probably slept with 15 women before I'd even MET her. So, I lied . . . I admitted to three previous partners, and no more.

She was so damned awesome. Years after she'd broken up with me, I admitted the lie to her. She shrugged, and said she'd guessed, and that it didn't matter. I'd been WRACKED with guilt, and she took it in stride as if she understood (which, for some reason, she did). But, I'm getting ahead of myself . . .

We dated for just over a year. It was a glorious time, but, alas, it ended. I have a lot of theories as to why she ended it, but they are theories and nothing more. Still, I'll sum up my theories, since this is My Diary and I can do what I want: I was Pretty Clearly Unstable, and she was Obsessed With Being Taken Care Of. Sooner or later one of us was going to realize I could hardly take care of myself, let alone her, too . . .

For the record: we never fought. Not once. The night she broke up with me, she drove me to work afterwards (so that we could have more time to say our goodbyes) and then drove out of my life, presumably for good.

I was devastated, as is wont to happen when one gets the heave-ho from the woman he wanted to marry.

I slept with my roommate's ex. Only twice, both times when she showed up while my roommate was out with his new girlfriend. She seemed to think having sex would cheer us both up some, and, in fact, it did. We went our separate ways very easily, though. There was no attachment, just a brief, physical end to loneliness and heartbreak. She was sweet. She was probably the sweetest person I've ever known. But, well, neither of us wanted anything else and neither of us got anything else . . .

I picked up a woman at a bar, spent a couple weeks with her. Did it again with a different woman.

Six months passed, then one day I got a phone call: It was my Second Great Love, saying she missed me, and shouldn't have stepped out of my life. "Can we just be friends?" she asked. "Of course," I responded.

She was dating someone new. It really was a "just friends" situation. Now, it's important to the story to point out an unimportant fact: When she broke up with me six months prior, she was still, technically, a virgin. When she called me that day, she hadn't been a virgin for several months.

I have to backtrack quite a bit, but I didn't want to ruin the story by telling you something before it became relevant. You see, my first True Love was a virgin when I met her, and a virgin when we broke up. I was NOT a virgin when I met her. I'd lost my virginity at the age of 12, and had had sex with someone just three months before I started dating her at the age of fourteen. No shit.

Now, my First True Love lost her virginity to the VERY NEXT MAN SHE DATED, EXACTLY what my Second True Love did.

Of course, you have to lose your virginity to SOMEONE, and SOMEONE is going to be the Last Boyfriend You Didn't Sleep With. Still, what are the odds that the only women I've ever loved would BOTH refuse to have sex with me, and BOTH choose to have sex within MONTHS of dumping me?

It was a petty reaction to have, and, being many years older than nineteen, it was less excusable as "young foolishness," but I cannot deny what I did: I Gave Up on Love. Love, I had decided, was for suckers.

So, back to the story . . .

This new boyfriend was Not Good For Her, and somewhere in her head she knew that. He was very possessive, definitely violent, and probably smacked her at least once because he found out she was talking to me. This I found out second-hand (not from her, but from her friends). I did, however, become her Shoulder to Cry On. She didn't tell me WHAT was wrong, but called me many nights a week to explain that "He's being difficult," and she was "thinking of leaving."

Well, I'd given up on love, and that meant I was not going to fall in love with her again. I never pushed her to leave him, never listened and consoled for any reason other than a sense of obligation. I might have stupidly felt betrayed by her, but I also felt as if I'd let her down and put her in this predicament, and that she Needed a Friend. So, I was a friend.

I should have beaten the shit out of him, convinced her to leave him. He was Bad News, and the longer she stayed with him the more stuck in the situation she was. I no longer blame myself for having PUT her in that situation, but I have to accept a certain level of guilt for having done NOTHING to help her other than listen quietly.

That unfortunate relationship lasted maybe three more months, and she finally broke up with him. She did not come back to me, and I had no particular desire to ask her back. We did, however, become friends and start hanging out together.

She introduced me to the group of friends she'd never introduced me to before. They became my friends, too. I slept with a fair chunk of the women in that group, over the years, as well as a chunk of women from outside our Mutual Circle of Friends. I never bothered to love. I'm not an Uncaring Beast. I LIKED and RESPECTED ALL of them, and I NEVER LIED ABOUT MY INTENTIONS.

I. Hate. Liars.

My Second True Love, and current friend, started fooling around with several people. For some reason, she didn't really find anyone important. She still hasn't, even though she's lived with two different boyfriends at this point. I'm not sure how I feel about that. I cannot deny that, at some point, she certainly loved me, and I cannot deny that I have not seen her CLOSE to "in love," since. She's so irritatingly PRACTICAL, now. She once considered going back to The Psycho because, as she put it, "He's rich and he wouldn't let anyone else hurt me."

But, this is my story, so I'll say one more thing about her current situation and be done with it: It's probably My Fault. No, it's not that I think she'll never truly love another after me. It's that I think I should have been a True Friend, and told her, "I can see where you're heading, hun, and it'll suck the life right out of you." Instead, I sat by and convinced myself that to warn her away from romantic mistakes was the equivalent of begging her to come back. I wasn't willing to beg, particularly since I'm still GENUINELY unsure of what I would do if she DID express a return of romantic feelings for me . . . I refused to be a loving friend to someone in need because it might be mistaken as romantic love. And who suffered for my decision? My conscience . . . and her.

To be realistic, she probably would have ignored me, anyway. I should have taken the chance, though. It's too late, now. I've let her down in too many ways she's aware of, and she rarely makes an effort to speak to me.

So . . . in reality, my love life slowed considerably when my Second True Love re-entered my life. Sure, there were a few women here and there, but it certainly wasn't the Mad Dash for Orgasm I'd had in my younger years. Also, it just sorta . . . dwindled . . .

I'd given up on romantic love, and every attempt at something resembling a relationship (in your late twenties, it's rare to find someone your age who "just wants to fuck") just seemed like more effort than it was worth. I was also slipping deeper into dementia and Major Depression every year, and because of that ANYTHING resembling a human relationship was becoming more and more difficult.

I can't point to a moment when it stopped. I was too far gone. There's a period of two years I have only vague recollection of, but I DO know the last relationship I had was entirely internet-based and never once involved physical contact. I'm pretty sure I used her horribly, and for that I'm sorry, but . . . well, I cannot be certain. I DO know that she called me after I'd been arrested and put on The Pills and had been incommunicado for several days, and I explained what had happened, and that I'd been diagnosed schizophrenic (the diagnosis has changed twice, now, but that's what it was at the time), and I cried and explained I was tired and suggested she call back later. She never did, and stubbornly refused to respond to any emails (there weren't many. I'm no stalker). I wonder if I scared her or pissed her off. Either would be appropriate, but I just wish there'd been a chance to make things right. Maybe there's no way to make it right, but I'd like the chance to try.

You know who WAS there, though? My Girls . . . my Real Girls. The Only Two Women I Ever Loved. If not for them, I never would have had a chance. Sure, I hid from them what was happening, but once they found out, they both rallied to my aid. One made sure I was fed and driven where I needed to go. The other made sure to check up on me every day so that I didn't slip away, as I had beforehand.

So, I've been celibate probably for five years, although I cannot be certain. Certainly three.

And I'm on Pills that crush my libido, and one can cause priapism, which means I get random, difficult-to-eliminate erections but rarely feel like actually DOING something with that erection.

But, I remember my previous life, and I still desire that closeness, in some fashion.

Yeah . . . my love life's wonderful.

Peace, kats and kittens. Maybe next time I'll discuss inconsequential things, again. ;)