If most men are to be believed, sex is a numbers game.
Boys are schooled in the quantitative approach to sexual fulfilment. Fact: it’s better to have bad sex with 100 women once, than great sex 100 times with one woman. That’s just maths.
The idea of accumulating sex is only really a guy thing. Mainly because society determines if a person is a playaa or a whore some point in the second trimester.
Most millennial males got their stats-based sexuality from Steve Stifler - either that, or the exact kind of hormonal nimrods that inspired him. Then again, he’s a stand-up guy compared with Gen Z’s global sex-ed ambassador, and rape-in-waiting, Andrew Tate.
The goal of sleeping with women was never about enjoying the experience or, heaven forbid, their company. According to the governing schoolboy logic, “that’s gay.” What absolutely was not “gay” is having sex purely for gratification from other men.
Even as a man shares a thundering orgasm, he uses the final growls to etch a notch into the nearest bedpost. Eleven eleven Eleven ELEVEN ELEEEEVEEeeeNNNNnnnnnn.
The higher the number, the more boys rally behind your crueller punchlines. The lower the number, the more likely you’ll get communally bullied in the name of banter.
My body count is somewhere in the mid-late single figures, I reckon. Read ‘em and weep, LADs.
Why the margin of error? Honestly, I’ve lied about it so much over the years I can barely remember.
The final scores also depend if jimmying a sozzled floppy onto the porch of some poor girl’s vagina counts - which, in past mancave inquisitions, it absolutely has. That counts. I’ve counted it. It’s been counted - OK, fellas?
Apparently, the male bang average is 8. Shouts out to all my benign incels and hydroseeding man-hoes for keeping me around average - give or take a few labia-parried semis, of course.
Plenty of aspiring geezers build their identities around increasing this number.
There’s indiscriminate horndogs who live their sex lives and life lives by gross slogan “any hole’s a goal.” Or those packs of charmless PUA bros, running their pick-a-path lines on the entire female population of anywhere.
We also have prolific rakes who shag their way around friendship circles and up family trees. While the rest of us hang around on one knee for women to tire of all that good dick and bad treatment.
Smearing your genetics across the county is as good a meaning of life as any. In fact, it might actually be the only one. Go forth and multiply, my br-hoe.
There’s definitely some half-evolutionary nag that I’ve missed out on part of the fun. In fact, this blog probably just reads like the whiny manifesto of an embittered cuck.
“Page 19: Anyway - all you projectile dick-slingers are packing that dirty old dad dong. All dusty and browned from a decade’s unprotected intercourse. I’m sitting on a major case of the young-dicks over here. As well as, dependent on the care with which I perch, a distended set of bollocks.
The age gap between my cock and balls is the subject of gawps and rumour. If pushed, and I have been pushed here, I would say my genitalial vibe is: virgin bride weighed down with frumpy gown.”
But, enough of the ageless beauty of my piece, and the terrible burdens it must carry.
On the pus side, I’ve certainly had a lot less venereal diseases and, prenatally, unwanted kids than most. With maturity, testicular and otherwise, I’ve come to accept myself, no warts and all.
Speaking to these pum-pum predators, and, as somewhat of one myself, sleeping around and around doesn’t necessarily bring long-term happiness.
And so it goes, every gashhound will shag themselves bald in the end. For most, the end game is settling down with someone we really like, the vast majority of the time.
Would my life be any better if I’d spent time inside more people? Probably not.
If that thing, is your thing, then you do your thing. If not, who gives a tallied fuck?
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The Three Biggest Myths About Dick Size - Part 1
The Three Biggest Myths About Dick Size - Part 2
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I've always been a one woman man. Cheating seemed so complicated, and I have always preferred an uncompleted life. That said if I counted every encounter it's about average, but what does it say about you if sex is about counting, about accumulating bragging rights? I'm going to be 74 in two days, and guys, if you don't find actual love in your life you will die alone, I don't care how many women you have fucked or how many broken hearts you have left along the path.
I've been married these past 33 years, never cheated, and we love each other more than ever. If I die first I will not have to die alone. If she dies first I will share it with her, then figure out what to do with myself. In retirement we each have our own life so neither of us depends on the other to keep from getting bored. There is a lot to be said for that.
In sum, ignore that moron Andrew Tate. It's about quality NOT quantity. Women seem to know this by and large. Find someone you can genuinely care about.
My favorite line that I’m assuming isn’t a typo: “on the pus-side, STDs…”
I guess I’ve slept around more than I thought. I’m definitely north of the average. #humblebrag?
I dunno, I’m past 50 now and don’t really remember any of it. I mostly miss just having time to hang out without life getting in the way so much.