Trials of Chastity

[Yonphi]

I am a 22 year old male virgin in America.

That is how I choose start this, to cut through the shit, as it were. And this is the secret I hide within me.
Fear not, for you don't know me. I am fairly confident in that, since my secret is likely to be but a symptom of my failing social abilities and graces (I havn't formally introduced myself, for example). But it is perhaps much more interesting than some psychobabble about how I'm orally fixated or some other nonsense thereof.

I expect to post regularly here, filling both past, present, and potential future. I hope I may provide some enjoyment, insight, and joy.

[Yonphi]

Some years ago I was ousted from my world, for what is to be my first of many. I had moved from city to city since I was little. I'm not sure what the reasons were: my folks were still together, neither of which were in the armed forces, no heinous crimes to run from, nothing I could figure out.
I still can't figure it out. Since I moved out on my own, I've been very stationary, which is a great change. My childhood consisted of staying in one place no more than 3 years.

One thing I certainly lack is friends. Why am I so sure you don't know me? Because I don't have any friends. The only resemblance of friends are a few coworkers, but nobody I'm convinced wants to invest time in being my friend, and, despite my lonliness, nobody I want to invest time in myself.

It was my 5th school when I started going through puberty. Pretty young from what I had understood. My doctors never said a damn thing to me, so if it weren't for the fact that I did a lot of research on a whole lot of things in libraries and on the young internet (before it was cool) I would have thought my body was going crazy.

Good thing I was a total nerd. Was? Good thing I am a total nerd.

A boy going through puberty that young isn't all that great, in retrospect, and, had I a choice, I would have waited. Girls generally develop first, and that's the way it should be for some reason. There was perhaps one girl with tits in one of my classes when I was 10. Lets call her A1.

Elsewhere in the world, namely MTV-land, "Poundcake", "Baby Got Back", and some forgettable Prince songs got lots of airtime. I'm not sure which ones came first, but such things are likely to have given young men of around my physical development to give up book-learnin' and instead do some dick-learnin'. It certainly helped not only having a television in my room, but having a VCR attached with which I could record naughty bits. Between watching those videos and wrigling under my sheets I was learning how to whack in the shower with visions of A1.

And so marked my progression into pervert-dom. I amassed dozens of tapes filled with interesting bits, and pictured A1 in dozens of interesting situations, none of which were any more hardcore than a latenight Showtime movie, which, during free preview weekends, I made sure to record. That is, until they stopped playing that stuff during free previews.

As far as A1 was concerned, I did express interest in the only childish way I knew how. With a note with a big multiple choice question on it. As my memory goes, it was:

Do you like me?
A) Yes
B) No
C) Maybe
D) Only on Weekdays
E) Only on Weekends
F) Only if nobody else likes me
G) Only if someone likes you

But I forget how exactly it went. Instead of coming back to me with a (B) option at the very worst, it ended up being passed around for public consumption and subject to the ridicule of school children.
To me it just meant A1 was mean. But it would be many years before I learned what a bitch is.

Thankfully, the newer Paula Abdul video had some nice cleavage shots.

[Yonphi]

While the internet has helped me obtain a rightous indignation for others, it has also helped me communicate with passer-bys in life with gems of wisdom. I believe in Fight Club they call them "Single Serve Relationships." Such clever writing, and it wasn't in any book. Or maybe it was. I have such a distaste for books of fiction, but that is another entry relating to my condition for another time.

The frame: Why did you title this "Trials of Chastity"? Such a title implies you are wrestling against temptation to keep your purity.

There are four types of virgins in the world.

The first are the easiest. Pre-sexual people. Children are innocent and this is perhaps sex against them strikes such a heinous chord with, well, everyone. One often sees Dateline-style newscasts where convicted pedophiles plead on camera to be castrated or killed because they know it's wrong to.
While not what I consider the epitomy of virginity, children don't realize the potential combined with another. Perhaps people can take a lesson: remove sexual desire and all of a sudden girls are icky and boys are gross.

The second are also similarly simple. Asexuals. Like albinos and Canadians, I'm convinced I may live a lifetime and had only heard of them.
Just as there are hetersexuals, bisexuals, and homosexuals, there are (allegedly) asexuals, not to be confused with just looking and/or behaving androgenously. Asexuals have no sex drive... sexual attraction and tension with neither the same gender nor the opposite one. It's really very interesting.
Now, realisticly, just because there is no drive doesn't mean asexuals are necessarily virgins. They might have done it anyway, since apparantly those kinds of decisions don't have to go to committee for normal folks. But they have no unquenched thirst and no temptations to fight.

The third type is what I consider the virgins of the highest order. The ones of sexual age, of sexual desire, and wills of diamonds.
Be their motivation religious, prudishness (but not asexuality), or simply the lie of true love. Doesn't matter it's shit or not, regardless of what precisely is the motivation. What matters is that they have a burning in their loins, someone around willing to release the pressure, and the mindset that they will never submit to temptation.
Virgins of this calibur are very serious business. I take offense when the concept is toyed around. It is a high title one can attach to oneself.
If they are what the claim they are, virgins of the third type are very respectable.

And then there's me. The fourth type. Seuxal age? Check. Sexual desire? Check. Burning in my loins? Check. Someone around to... nope. It doesn't matter what my motivation is, I ain't gettin' any either way. I could be a faker and say I don't want to and make up some creedo I will "live" up to. But it only be an act.
I have no interest in being pure. There's nothing pure about getting a combo hand/blow job from a girl teabagging/squeezing my balls, or wanting to do her up the ass and blow my wad on her tits, or having all I eat and drink first make a stop at and in her pussy. Were it my personal decision I'd do these things I want to do. Such are not the motivations of a chaste individual.

While this was intended to be mentioned in my first "present" entry, it's too involved already to add events from my recent life.

Suffice to say I wish I could put a bumpersticker on my Volvo that says "I'd rather be fucking," which is true, but I know I wouldn't park the car to partake in that.

[Yonphi]

While sometimes I like to pretend I am a theoretical physicist, I am not. But I do know a little bit here and there, thanks in much part to the Discovery, History, and TLC channels. While I will not take from a future encounter with someone the sheer joy they will have trying to explain some business about a cat in a box with a flask of acid, I do want to express a little something about chaos theory.

Anything is possible. Always. Nothing is impossible, only highly improbable. Thinking like that all the time is akin to how early humans theorized gravity: "Objects fall to the ground because the ground is their favorite place to be." Compare to "The chemical reaction occurs due to oxidation of the relevant compounds." with the theory that it is only highly improbable that there won't be any oxidation.

Being a forward thinking person, I began to get nervous, sexually, around 15. It occurred to me that it is not impossible that I may be a virgin forever. What the normal guys are doing be damned: I may be stuck in my rut until I die.
Occasionally a single-serving aquaintance I have entrusted with my secret has given me the advice that one needs to stop trying so hard, and it definitely would happen but one must relax, thereby inviting it in. To that theory I urinate in their general direction.

But from that age I began to extrapolate my future. Many potential futures exist, with what I consider a relatively unusual number of them ending with me alone and, yes, flower intact. In every scenario it was dependant on a girl to give me a chance, and me to let them in. With all the girls I had offered a chance (about 85 to this point), each one letting into my life, I have been dissapointed 85 times. The numbers game, as it were, doesn't seem to be letting up in my favor.

Here's a quiz: What are the odds a coin, when flipped, will turn up tails, assuming a fair throw? One out of two. Now, what are the odds that the next time that coin is flipped, it will turn up tails? Ha ha, it's one out of two.
Each flip the odds are one out of two that it will be on either side. What are the odds the coin will land on the same side twice in succession? NOW it's one out of four. Go ask your local statistician. While you are at it, ask him about lie detectors and their accurassy, as my looking into statistics has been a very satisfying view.

What I am getting at here is that there is some percentage of the time a girl will accept my invitations and go on a date with me. BUT just because I was rejected on tries one through eighty-four doesn't mean that eighty-five will be in any way more likely to not be a rejection as normally would be had she been the first one I asked.

So the 85 notches on my belt could easily balloon over several years to 8500. Watch out, Wilt Chaimberlain, I will preposition dozens of thousands of girls. The noteable exception, of course, is that it is very real that I may not get anywhere with any of them.

At this point, I wonder if I can get my cynical or disheartened. Each rejection drags me down a little, and little things add up. While entering and exiting relationships generates emotional baggage, the emotional baggage resulting from non-stop rejections is significant (at least as much as, I theorize). Yet it does not bring with it the joy that "true love", even if it's only a few months worth, can bring.

Now, more chaos theory says that, as far as prediction is concerned, the farther away in the future you try to predict, the greater the margin of error.
Predicting the weather is very much extrapolating the future weather from the current weather. While I am not a meteorologist, I know that the reason they don't predict the weather much farther than five days is because after that the margin of error is great enough for you to say "that fuckin' weatherman got Saturday wrong." That is, if you didn't fucking check the weather again on Friday.
So to predict when it will happen to me I would have to predict far enough so that the margin of error is great enough to counter my bad luck. So it won't be anytime soon.

The converse, of course, is that, since anything is possible, I may find myself here tomorrow to update with a story that this journal will be discontinued 'cause I went to work and it turns out they were having "orgy day."

Hmmm... can't wait.

[Yonphi]

Once upon a time I was a kid. Really: it's true.
And regardless to where he moved to, this kid had to walk to school. I was either a few blocks away or as much as two miles away, rarely snowing (never lived around snow), and unfortunately, for later story telling to youngsters, uphill only one way.

When I was 12, I walked one mile to school, and then one mile back. The hard part about it was that it was along an aptly named "Wall of Despair", aptly named only because I named it since I walked it. The entire distance of the walk except for about 30 meters was along this wall. It was one color, one height, and no openings. Well, I'm sure it did but the way I walked to school I didn't get to use any openings.
It was about twice my height, sheer-faced making climbing impossible. Along the way there were a maximum of two signposts and one fire hydrant, standing on which wouldn't help me climb over any. And walking the wall was quite a psychological experience. It had no graffitti, no paint splotches, and other than those 3 markers, very little to grab your attention.
I imagine the problem with walking through a desert, other than problems solved with survival know-how (like how to find water, how to protect your skin and eyes, how to build a shelter safe from animals...) is the lack of discernable features. If each mile looks the same as the last mile, it must be nerve wracking to navigate 40 miles a day.

Anyway, how this relates to the topic at hand is to come.

I mentioned 30 meters along this path which was not flanked by this wall. They were concentrated at the end, since this my house was connected to it. And those 30 meters had a road and a two bushes.

One fateful morning I completed my walk along the Wall of Despair when I spotted something interesting at the base of the bushes at the end, nearest the school. After such a visually numbing experience as The Wall I'm surprised I saw it.
I crouched, picked up the 20 pages, and examined more closely.

Porn. Playboy. Pages ripped from a 1984 issue.

About as whistful as I can be is imagining these twenty pages floating about in the wind, whipping and twisting around. Airborne for maybe weeks on end in the jet stream. Then one night for some unexplained phenomenon, maybe the will of God, or the devil, thrust those pages precisely where I would see them. And nobody else would, which says something about how nobody walks anywhere in suburbs.

And they were exciting. No matter how many strippers they hire to keep their clothes on while in a music video, they were nothing compared to REAL LIVE NAKED WOMEN.
Too bad it wasn't real, just a photograph.
Too bad it wasn't live, it was about 8 years ago from when I found them.
But by gum, they were nekkid.

I carefully hid them in my backpack, giddy the whole day that nobody knew what I was holding on my person. Had I any friends or even mild aquaintances I would have shown them off.

The first time I wanked to them was a mission. I couldn't figure out how to negotiate touching with the pages. They were torn apart, so I didn't have to pin a magazine or anything, but it was slightly uncomfortable to hold up in the process. I tried various strategies, including folding a placing on my chest, attaching to a paperclip and hanging from a string, pinning to a poster board and propped up at the end of my bed. To variable success.

Since then I didn't aquire any more print porn.

...

Oh wait, until I turned 18. Picked up several Playboys, Penthouses, Hustlers, various cheap mags, tons of Japanese adult import magazines, tons of Japanese adult doujinshi ("unofficial" fan-made comics, ones that happened to be of adult nature), and a few dirty comic books. About two boxes full... boxes together could hold 20 reams of 20 lb. paper.

Someday I'll rip out a few pages and toss them from a hot air balloon, to let the forces that be select another. However, I wish a less harsh fate to that recipiant, rather, I wish upon him the good fortune to get laid early and often.

[Yonphi]

Now, I don't know about you, but I found this site thanks to Ms. Davis' "True Porn Clerk Stories" journey, and the great amount of link-titude that enabled me to find it. Sometimes I jump on things early like AYB, some things I jump on late like Ellen Feiss.

In any case, porn is a very real part of my life. Just a disclaimer, though, that while the topic of this journal has been narrowed to "virgin", there's more. I know nothing of closeness and intimacy. I have a distance with coworkers, aquaintances, and family that are perhaps on par with the best of the loners. It's clear I have some sort of complex to simultaniously long for and be frightened by letting people too close.

But, yes, the pornomancer life for me. At the present I am in possession of well over 140 titles... sprawled across VHS and DVD and amateur tapes and bootlegs I obtained from legitimate releases I later ebay'd (I would make back around 20%, net loss 80% of what I paid).

Such can be attributed to me lifestyle. I work about 5 hours a day for really good pay... I won't say what I do (since the walls have ears), but it's hard work. But that's ok, I'd rather work hard for 5 hours than not work too hard for 9. I do go to school, and am on my 5th year of a 4 year program. It'll take a few more years, too, since I'm taking things one class at a time. I like my job very much, so a degree at this point is really just a safety net.

I live alone, in a small efficiency with just my bed, a closet with a dresser inside, a bookcase with my reference materials and tools, and my desk, with computers, TV, DVD, video games.... amusements. I have another bookcase behind a large dryboard on a dolly where I store my erotic materials. I live in a shitty part of town, but the locks are strong, the rent is relatively cheap, and I am alone. Very alone.

No gifts to get, no celebrations, no more moving. My main outgoing sources of income are games, food, gas (I own the car), and after all that, porn. I estimate that at least $150 goes the way of porn a month. Does anyone REALLY need all that porn? My guess is no, but each one is very special to me, as strange as it may sound.
I've got my favorite starlets, Adriana Sage, Jasmin St. Claire, Mikayla Shore, Aurora Snow, Gauge, Anastasia Blue, Anabel Chong, Kobe Tai, Asia Carrera, Mia Smiles, Leanni Lei, Alisha Klass. (I wonder how many among you look on that list and go "Oh, know her, and her, and her...") And while there may come a time when I get bored of Anabel Chong's 4-way-P, I'd like to review it in the future.
Perhaps it's my pack-rat tendancies. I have a little data tank under my desk with about 240GB of data just to store stuff that tickles me fancy... a graphic I like, a music sample that sounds too cool, and video that I will one day see again and go "Wow, it's been a long time."

And so, a perfectly reasonable question to ask, "Yonphi, what type of girl is your type?"

Generally I like short girls, shorter than I. It's hard to say why, but I think it may be from when, in my youth, I tried to figure out how 69'ing worked and I figured it'd be easier if the woman was a few inches shorter than the man. That is not to say I don't dig tall girls, but based on statistical trends from A1 -> J4 I'd have to say the majority were shorter than I.

I like breasts. But they don't have to be a certain size. I guess the appropriate description is "perky". While normally I'm put off by really fake looking tits, it just goes to show that I am very forgiving. Now, I'm no breast expert, so I'm guessing I'm catching only the bad boob jobs, and not the good ones. Kind of like hair weaves: you only notice the bad ones.

Hips are a must. I am always enchanted by a nice "hip" walk, pants/jeans/skirt slung low on the hips, waving hello with each step. Perhaps that's my race coming out to greet me, but I'm not about to tell which one that is. Don't worry, though, I don't associate to it at all.

And since it's porn, I like my girls trimmed and/or shaved. This one I'm completely clueless on what its origins are. Maybe I'll be able to extract that type of information from someone when they won't notice I'm using them.

Eyes are my biggest thing. I think it's so terribly cool when a girl looks into the camera and shows me her soul. While, mentally, I know it's not for me. But when I see it, it IS for me. I know it's a dastardly trick to connect to the poor sap viewer who is alone on a Saturday night, but all the up close penetrations and gaping holes or whatever other horrid things they'll come up with next on the internet don't hold a candle to that.

I would give my left nut just to meet these porn girls. I hear interviews on the Howard Stern show every now and then, and they seem like genuinely interesting people with laid back attitudes. Maybe it's that last part which suggests some non-judgementality that I would need since I'm so shy. Sex aside, I would love to date one. Well, I would love to date anyone, but in my book, "I'm a porn star" is a plus. While "I'm a sweet innocent virgin flower" is a minus.

But more on that for the next couple of years, conditions willing. As for right now, I think I have a date with Julie Ashton.

[Yonphi]

(I promise that will be the last time I use the stylized form "pr0n" in a title)

Going to play a little futurist before I get into the meat of things today I am.
The future for porn is going to be absolutely fantastic. I maintain that the majority of technological advancement revolves either around getting yourself laid or in porn. Fire not only kept you safe, but that safety and the overall romantic warmth got cavemen laid. Conquest of new lands were to find new pussy, and/or spices to get ladies to loosen up with aphrodisiacs. Hell, on just about every other episode of Star Trek involved Kirk going down to some hottie planet.
More seriously, web-cams are completely not useful. At least when it's turned to some stripping college girl versus a fish tank then you'll have something people won't only want to see, but'll pay to do so. I had and still have a lot of ancient porn images on my computer... 16 colors 320x200 max... real train-wreck stuff. But I often wonder how far all this progress would be without porn? Perhaps still in the green terminal age?

The future will bring with it holograms and superior AI. Think Star Trek era... yeah, put some locks on those holodeck doors, guys, 'cause I'm running the "OH NOS! A POOR DEFENSELESS GIRL NEEDS ME TO DO HER!" program.
Closer to the immediate future, I expect the age of consent to be lowered to 16. I think the "18" rule is arbitrary at best: if you can entrust a 16 year old to thrust a 1.5 ton block of steel down a slick road at night at 65 miles per hour, I think they can make their own decisions. I personally would have no problem if they accellerated the school process to have kids graduate at 16, sign real contracts at 16, vote, and even run for office. You can't teach kids anything of sense, they have to learn.
"Now, Billy, you stay away from those cigarettes!" "Bite me, mom!" *puff puff*
versus
"Now, Billy, see what happens when you get a tracheotomy?"
"*bzz bzz* by-tuh mii *bzz bzz*"

Sixteen is probably a good line and not so oppressive at 18 or even 21. They may be socialists, but a lot of Europeans know at least that.

The repeal of that "virtual kiddie porn" law (as trumpted triumphantly throughout the newspaper, as if it was supposed to be Hell's Bells) is helping pave the way.

Whoa, there, buddy, don't get too carried away. Like I said before, kids and the making of porn don't mix. But 16 is hardly a kid. (Vote for me!)

So aside from Barely 18 volumes in my porn collection, there'll be Barely 16's. Not much of a difference, they'll all be pretty much the same when I'm a dirty old virgin man.

Recently they updated the Real Doll site. Have you ever seen that place? http://www.realdoll.com/
Imagine... when those things can think and feel and interact? Walk and talk on their own? Brings a new insight into mail-order bride, no? I do have the means to obtain one... but I think I'll hold out for until they are more human.
Speaking of lifeless dolls for sex, consider the pervert stuff of cloneing? Having sex with yourself has never been more rational... and by that time I hope one can have your clone flip a gene and be the opposite sex. Imagine being able to program your very own living breathing sex partner, to have... FOREVAR!

How terribly exciting! As a subcategory of my porn, I have a lot of japanimation. Some drooling fanboys would likely smite me and say I've got a lot of hentai and am not experiencing the true nature of anime. But who cares... behind the complex stories and the attachment and character development, it's just a stupid story. But when one chooses to implement their story with stacked babes with guns in spaceships going through time, then they've captured an audience that, at least in part, doesn't give a damn and wants to see the giggling boobies, where even cartoon ones will do.
Along that thread, the "living sex android" thing is pretty common. I've checked out Buttobi CPU and Mail Order Maiden and from what I understand it's an archetype the japanese perverts of the world can't get enough of, and I can see why. Remember those commercials for kiddie eletronics called "My First Sony?" Yeah, my first sony is a friggin 5'1" little firecracker redhead.

Unfortunately, I'm far too shy to go to porn shops in person (thank you inter-web). And I've really wanted to go to one, but havn't the balls to go to a strip club. File "Lap Dance" under my "never had one" folder. It sounds really interesting, and from what I understand it is more interesting than it sounds. But my pale skin means I blush profusely at just about everything. Nope nope, doesn't look cool at all walking into a place beet red and going "Is there a drink minimum?"
Thing is, no matter what porn it is, or strippers, or even prostitutes is that there's nothing to lose. Money is nothing, got enough for me and my tastes, thanks, so long as the Democrats stay out of the tax law books. But no matter what kind of kinky technology they make, it won't compare to getting smacked in the face just for asking her out on a date. Yeah, I'm talking about you, E7. ("That too, the 86 (as of today) I shall cover in good detail in future cycles")
So no matter how jazzed I am I'm probably not going to hop on the shuttle to Orgy Day at the space station. ("What's that?" "Hold on, faithful readers, that explanation is coming in another cycle.") No trips down to my local "Sex Doll Shop" to pick up the latest model.

With my luck, the ultrarealistic AI will reject me too. And they'll make it just right to make me feel like charcoal as well.

[Yonphi]

As I enter the 3rd cycle and views hit 200, I'd like to thank you for reading and I hope, among the things I mentioned on the header post, you can also feel annoyance, laughter, and finger-pointing. At me. I also hope that you are going about your daily lives slightly more suspicious of the strangers around you. for they too may be harboring a dark secret, perhaps as one in the same.

Anyway, do you remember your first kiss? Sure, everybody does. The anxiety on whether to go ahead or not. The missing, the excessive spit, the awkward trip of the tongue? The next kiss? And the day after, seeing them in school?

No, wait, I don't remember. Cause I never got to kiss anyone.

As it so happens I missed that one. How close have I gotten? When I was 14 there was a person's party. Perhaps they weren't too swift because of the "mass-mailing" style invitations... the kinds a mom would force her kid to do.

And I went. I'm not sure why, but I did. I do recognize that I won't get anywhere in my situation if I don't do anything, so perhaps that's why.

It turned out to be really pathetic. I estimate about 18% of all classmates actually showed up, myself included. Girls? 3 girls to 3 guys. Sounds optimal, doesn't it?

Well, no. The from the looks of things the girls figured out what the other 82% of the class knew ahead of time: the birthday boy was a nerd. Not to the extent of a nerd as I, mind you, but a nerd none-the-less.
Music? Yes. Dancing area? Yes. Dancing? Hell no. I tried to be friendly with all (as well as I could, that is). The other two guys were clearly good friends hyuk hyuk hyuking and I was the third wheel. The girls? They spent a lot of time in the bathroom for some reason... I am assuming for a non-sexual "I can't believe I'm here" moment... many of them.

They were quickly coaxed out when presented with some pizza. When you're that age you can't just up and leave, and this was one of those blasted suburbs I keep bitching about. After that they were out and seemed bored, and decided to play Spin the Bottle. I could probably explain that if I had the slightest notion of how girls think. My current idle speculation is that they wanted to give a little thrill to 3 otherwise thrill-less guys, or to subconciously repay for the food, or something. Bullshit, I know, but I'm just clammoring for some kind of rational explanation. Hell, maybe his mom paid them to.

Being the 90's, there was no bottle, but a plastic soda jug they had left over. After arranging seating, the birthday boy gave a nice spin and flung the bottle halfway across the room.

On the do-over, it landed on whom I would consider the cutest of the three. She kissed him... except on the cheek. Aw... how cute!
Then she spun and it landed on the birthday boy again. It was determined that no two people could re-kiss, in the interest of, well, probably getting out of contact with these dorky guys.
He passed to his left and that girl, whom I would consider the hottest of the three, spun and landed on the 2nd guy. He is what I would consider to be an attractive guy, and she kissed him on the lips. Nothing fancy, just a peck. It was amusing watching him keep puckered to go further.
The girls laughed and they talked about the hot one being the slut of the group and they can't believe she did that and chitter chitter chitter. He spun, and it landed on me. It was quicky decided the kiss could be omitted in this case and I would get to spin.
And, yes, I flung the bottle halfway across the room. I actually don't even remember spinning it I was so seized with nervousness.
My spin landed back to the birthday boy, and, again, kiss omitted.
He spun again, it landed on the last girl, whom I would describe at the most average of the group. She debated with the other girls whether she should fold, par, or up the ante on the current kissing level, and she ended up parring. After that, the birthday boy convinced the cute girl to give an equivalent kiss since they were short changed.

The average girl had her chance to spin, and it landed on the cute one. With considerably less collaboration amongst the girls compared to the guy-guy kiss, the girl-girl kiss was dismissed. The cute girl spun, and, ta-dah, it was my turn.

We exchanged nervous glances.

"Well, that's enough of that, my leg is falling asleep."

She totally fucking said that. I can't believe she totally fucking said that. 'coz I know if she didn't fucking say that, I wouldn't fucking remember the fucking way she rolled her eyes and stood up, turning completely around away from me.

And she I dubbed "B3"

The end of the story? By the time I had to move from this area of the country, The cute and hot and average girls became pretty good friends with the two guys, and their circle had grown to about 7. It is unknown at this time if any of them ever hooked up.

The worst part? This was perhaps the closest I've ever gotten.

[Yonphi]

After such a dissapointing standardized first-kiss scenario it's hard to imagine how I manage not to block such imagry from mind.

Fact is, kissing is a really strange and wonderous thing to me. It perhaps is even more unattainable than gettin' my rocks off since I can't simulate (within a wide margin of error) what kissing is like.

While that pie-guy from American Pie got caught doin' the apples doggy-style (or some variant on missionary if you've got the uncensored version... my estimation is that specific move would be equivalent to an upside down woman and a table with a hole positioned on top of her spread legs... a painful sounding but probably less-painfully implementable using ropes and pullys and other sorts of mechanical knick-knacks), living on my own I get to try lots of strange things. But for the scope of this entry, I'll limit it accordingly.
Cantelopes, oranges, watermellon and other fruits and vegitables didn't seem to do what I intended. And while my local grocer may think I'm health-minded, I'm looking for something I could approximate or carve into a map of lips.

When one sees an imprint of a kiss on anything, you see the 2D surface that resulted from a 3D "surface" being projected onto it... much like a 3D object is mathemagically converted into a 2D image. It looses the Z information of the 3D scene, which your brain easily sorts into it's own Z depth list, and even more accurately if you are shown multiple images in succession, like a 3D video game, or a movie. The film is 2D, but the succession of images and movement help confirm the Z list your brain naturally generates (and updates). I suppose you could say that's a software-based Fill Depth List algorithm, where real 3D scenes (or simulated real 3D like those polarized lenses, red-blue glasses) actually show different 2D scenes for each of your eyes, letting your brain generate the Depth List based on offsets between the 2D images of the eye, a hardware-assisted Fill Depth List algorithm. And even though I realize I have gone on a major tangent, I will mention that those "Magic-Eye" things are combination of the two, since you have to manipulate your eyes to a specification... I'll call that a software-locked hardware-assist Fill Depth List algorithm to provide some semblance of completitude (and now I think I'm Don King).

So where was I? Oh yes, cute fuzzy bunnies.

The good part of those kiss-smack images is that they give a great approximation of the surface of the lips, since the colored parts suggest peaks and the blank parts suggest valleys in the skin on the lips. And with all parties having similar (but no equal) lips, it means kissing on the lips means triggering nerves higher than a threshold value, caused by superimposing such waves on each other.

Have I mentioned kissing is a very mysterious and interesting thing to me?

At first I thought a cantelope would be good since it's got a kind of blumpy texture, but it accentuated the valleys, not the peaks. Plus it was dry. Yuck.
Oranges had a nice approximation... not close enough to what I wanted, but less exaggerated than the cantelope. But the surface was too slick (as I imagine friction is part of the fun, return back to superimosing waves but now, except each has an independant variable offset (and I assure you I am not a professional mathematician... but then again, if I was, would I admit it, even for reasons other than anonymity?)).
Watermelons were not very interesting as-is... I took a knife but I'm not even approaching the skill necessary for such a task. The grooves instead made a harsh flavor which greatly overpowered any physical sensation I may have had.

All humor aside (and I do appologize for the amount of humor this time 'round), I think I took in more pesticides with my fruit-kissing experiements than I would have eating the good parts of 5x the amount of fruits.

I may move up to wax, to get an impression of my lips and try to cast simulation lips, but hot wax scares me and Real Doll won't tell me how they do it.

Stingy.

[Yonphi]

Now, I'm no sociolgist, but I do feel that kissing is an important signal to a relationship. Much like dancing (see a future cycle), it can give an insight into what kind of lover you are rolling yourself into. It seems like a pretty good guess.

Every now and again they will show a special on TLC about sex in modern life, and they have wonderous sub-essays, such as theorizing the existance of oral sex has evolved from trying to determine if your partner had been cheating on you by taste and smell. I mean, wow!

I wonder how important (in practice) a kiss is, versus theory. Are first dates made or broken by the good night kiss? Maybe, like a new car, your date has a lot of little things wrong with them but a good solid kiss (like a good test drive) will inspire to give the benefit of the doubt.

That's an important maybe, you see, because, when I go on a date (that is, if I get to go on any), what if there really isn't anything terribly wrong with me, but a lousy first kiss will make her pass for the next model? A lousy kiss may be passable at 17, but certainly not at 22.

I am under the impression there are many visitors to this forum that are not in America. If that is the case, I'd like to tell you about a political movement that's been going on since around early 1990. It's called the PC movement. It stems from a gross exaggeration of tolerance. They seek to cut through the intolerance of society at large, but instead tend to accentuate the differences instead of assimilation. Equal protection and rights for homosexuals, that's nice and good, and any civilized society will do such a thing. But that isn't enough, now they need Gay and Lesbian Pride Day with a parade, and then they need Homosexual Month, with flyers and special classes in schools. Damn the media for not giving homosexuals and bisexuals each equal coverage as heterosexuals, even though they represent less than 15% of the populaton. And that's just an example. All racial minorities need the same. Attempts to make things fair (like Affirmative Action) only end up sending a message to the youth that "Yes, there are differences, and you need this help because you're so helpless."

Anyway, it relates as like a job interview. Applications aren't supposed to ask things like your religion or sexual preference, and your interview is supposed to be blind to any prejudice (but are never done in a true-scientific double-blind manner). If you are not hired, and you have enough money to hire a lawyer, you can potentially sue them. I'm sure each interview they conduct is a potential liability for each company's risk management departments. Perhaps they would hire more if there wasn't that risk.
So, one could say kissing is an interview for sex. I'm not cynical enough to actually think regular people have sex without kissing, so what if you're getting started, start to kiss, and, whoops, bit your tongue. Oops, I needed to cough. Or, ulg, I knew I was going to throw up a little, but it felt so good I couldn't pull away.

I'd hate to get so close and then all of a sudden induce a headache.

One could say I am definitely in need of some kissing training. But it just doesn't happen, outside of "Cruel Intentions," a rotten movie with perhaps the hottest lesbian kiss I've ever seen on basic cable.

Mmmm... perhaps I should have my people call Neve Cambell's people?

[Yonphi]

No man is an island, they say. It's too bad, actually, since if I could be an island I could make all my decisions and do things completely independant of those around me, and persue true enlightenment.

Or some junk like that.

I had forbade my parents from talking to me about sex. I'm (still) unconvinced they have any useful information for me. According to legend, they had eloped from high school, spent five years in marital bliss, got GEDs and somehow got into colleges and got 2-year certificates in gibberish and whatnot and then had me.

Well, yes, they're still together, so it's worth that much. But I don't have too much respect for that acting out on high-school-sweethearts type of thing. Oh, yeah, ok, to know your true love must be wonderful, and without doubt there are no other options, really. But, damn it, who knows, maybe they might have picked a place and stayed there had they not gotten their start by running.

So most of my sex advice had to come from other sources. But the most humiliating one was getting it from a teacher outside of sex ed.

She was A7, my seventh "exploit." So young was I, so young was she. Blah, Wonder Years this ain't.

It's really an unimpressive story. I was the target of a little joke: a "make-the-new-kid-think-you-like-him-and-then-humiliate-him" gag. I don't think that needs too much explanation, it's pretty much a topic of at least one episode of each sickenly sweet family sitcom on ABC (or is WB the station for that kind of shrog these days?)

It ended up that, in class, the ball was dropped on me. I think it was fairly clear: I was hovering around A7 a whole lot, trying to learn more about her since, after all, she was in love with me. She didn't end up dropping the ball, one of her friends pretty much yelled at me that I was some kind of dolt for not realizing nobody likes me ever. Oh, yeah, that's very obvious with my THREE ARMS WITH 3 FINGERS EACH. No, wait, I'm physically normal. Nevermind.

The teacher overheard it and called me outside to talk. I smack myself on the head thinking about it, lacking him around to smack him on the head. Who does he think he is? An Afterschool Special? Mr. Clark from Stand By Me? Blossom's Dad?

What'd he say? "You need to be tough, can't let girls take advantage of you. Be yourself and things'll fall into place, but only if your true self is motivated enough." Exactly what I thought: "What??"

So much for what he said: three years later I tutored a girl (B9) for high school physics with the hopes that she'd, at the very bottom-of-the-barrel least, go see a movie with me.

I don't think I need to tell you how that one went, do I?

[Yonphi]

--Hey, Yonphi here with a pre-entry note. Just wanted to mention to my fans (all 2 of you (nah, maybe it's more)) that I'll be gone for about a week as I go to __(insert slightly trendy city here)__ on business, or for a convention of some kind, or a contest, or a business related contest convention. I should be back next Tuesday. Just trust me, connecting and posting from there is a bad idea, and since people travel all the time for various reasons I don't want to get any of them in trouble by making people think they've finally figured out who Yonphi is. The only definite assurance is that it is not Scientology related. Thank goodness for small favors.--

Surfing around aimlessly on the internet yeilds many interesting things when it comes to advice that would otherwise go unlearned in regular print. Ignoring trolls, despite how funny they can be at times, advice "columnists" basically fall into one or more of certain basic categories:

1. Self-Centered Bitch (or cocksucker, if Bitch is too offensive). They're right and everyone's wrong. People should bend their lives to be good little deciples. The popular media equivalent would be someone like Oprah Winfrey. Read my books or you're some kind of woodland pagan. Support reverse discrimination or else you're a racist. Somebody kill her and make lamp oil from her blubber, please.

2. Completely Indecisive Airhead. These are easy to spot, since their advice column will usually contain a piece of advice that compeltely conflicts with another piece of advice appearing in the exact same reply. Don't let Billy pressure your friend into having sex. blah blah blah. But however he takes it, remember to use a condom!

3. Mr/Ms Always Wrong. Often gives advise which is totally wrong!!! If God wasn't busy with other things, I'm sure he'd take care of these kinds of advice columnists. You know, it really depends on what your signs are. Everybody knows Capricorn and Gemini don't get along at all! So, it's ok to ignore those letters from the collection agency.

4. Democrat Poster Boy/Girl. It doesn't really matter what your problem is, but they'll blame everything on Republicans, oil companies, the Illuminati, and the only way out is communism. It's such a shame that your husband had to die protecting this country! It just goes to show that Republican leadership toys with the lives of the little people... they don't care about anything but their oil and free-mason societies.

5. Dead On Right. These folks don't beat around the bush, and do their advice purely using reason, not what everyone is saying and what the tempo in the media is. Fuck him. Stop your whining, break the engagement off and stop being a codependant with a victim mentality.

For advice, I recommend folks like the Chicks Suck Guy (http://chickssuck.shutdown.com/ ), and Marc Perkel's a fairly straight and narrow fellow (http://www.perkel.com/ ). Oh, and there's also some good nuggets at Adult DVD Talk, if your critical thinking skills are up to snuff. (http://www.adultdvdtalk.com/ ). Ah, no, they havn't done me too much good, but at least the Chicks Suck Guy signed a copy of his book for me, hoping I get laid soon, so that's gotta be worth something.

If you're wagging your finger right now saying, "Now, Yonphi, you aren't focused in this entry." here's a list of demotivational counters I have made to advice.

Advice: "It doesn't rain every day. Keep trying, the next girl is sure to give you a chance. And if not, the next one and so on."
Counter: "Repeated failure is no guarantee of future success."

Advice: "Love never comes when you look for it."
Counter: "How many times have you lost your keys, not looked for them, and had them jump into your hands?"

Advice: "Be yourself."
Counter: "Myself doesn't get laid."

Advice: "If you're so concerned about having sex, why not just get a call girl?"
Counter: **to be addressed in a future cycle**

Consider that last one a teaser. I'm not done with the Advice Cycle, but after that will be the much anticipated (at least for me) Prostitute Cycle. Yay!

[Yonphi]

--
I'm back a day early. Hello to new readers: you've made my journal red without me writing 20 items, which generates some feelings of making a difference, or being of importance, or something.
I came home to an interesting few messages in my e-mail. One of which contained some images. Now, I may be meek but aspirations for being a media-whore sound intriguing... so I have created two cafe press stores. I didn't mark them above base, since I can't make money and keep my anonymity. Were it my decision I'd give some away for free so I may do that once I get a few.
So, please check out: (edit: non-retarded URLs)
http://www.cafeshops.com/cp/store.as..._hate_yonphi.0
or
http://www.cafeshops.com/cp/store.as..._love_yonphi.0

Wear either with pride or shame. I wonder if I will see anybody wearing any. Shout out to Prefencture for the images, who I would like to plug for you Anime people... check out his Anime Music Videos, which will be submitted to Anime Expo 2003... a guy well along the path to the same sexual frustration as I. Or should I not have said that?
--

Advice is something I should take. I am certainly aware that I "got problems" (or do they call them "issues" these days?).

From my current descriptions, it may be seen that I am a horrible horrible person, who would live in a cave in the mountains on a deserted island if it only had cable. I'm not terribly unfulfilled, but as far as relationships and sex goes, I am amazingly unfulfilled. Very desparate. While my job is good, my credit rating is good, and I am able to perform various functions to the completed extent as the best of them, the lack of women in my life really drags it down below what I would consider average.

The best advice I think I could get is "just go for it." I don't really need anyone to tell me that, on my own I can reason that is the case. Of course, I get that a lot when I tell my tale, and it isn't getting old because being assured that the things you come up with are indeed correct is nice. Sometimes I do feel really down in the dumps, and unable (or unconsciously unwilling) to remind myself that I should "just go for it."

Now, if there's one thing I'm _________ at it's bowling. I won't commit whether I'm good at it or bad, since that's a second elimination round in "Guess Who?". (we've already established I'm not black, with my blushing comment... although I've never seen a black person blush... I would be interested in hearing about it happening.)
If you've ever studied bowling, you know you gotta have the right weight on the ball, stand in the right place, approach appropriately, swing back and swing forward releasing where you correctly aim with the proper amount of spin to hook into the strike zone. That's called technical knowledge. You know what, where, how, and why.
But what happens when you step up? Maybe you're not as strong as you thought so you picked too heavy a ball... you won't know until you start getting tired. You stand in the right place and approach appropriately in your mind, but uncoordinated in reality. Your swing is too soon 'cause your step is too soon, you swing forward with lateral motion you were concentrating on not doing but you do naturally, and the ball goes not quite where you were aiming. Your spin was off, since your mind didn't relay to the hand, compensating for your physical abilities, and you wind up in the gutter. That's called actual performance. You knew, but you didn't do.

I know what to look for, thanks to the advice on my own and from others. Checkmarks for short girls, tatoos, piercings, and smokers (I don't personally like smokers smoking, but paraphrasing from Maxim: "if she's not concerned about cancer, chances are she's not more concerned about getting some disease from sleeping with a stranger in a one night stand.") Classical what's are no groups of girls, go good looking, average looking, not so good looking, with equal attention.
I know where. Bars often have busy career girls relaxing, church is a place for a lot of good girls and good-coated bad girls, arcade have techno girlies, anime clubs have all around nice girls. Coffee houses are wonderful (isn't it great having a Starbucks poping up behind you all the time?), and book stores make it easy to strike up talk.
I know how. Be relaxed, confident, almost aloof. Be friendly, not judgemental, and try to be intriguing. Speak clearly and distinctly, from the diaphrahm (peter piper picked a pack of pickled peppers... and yes I can say this ten times fast. Took me about 5 years of solid self-administered vocal exersices to make my tongue twist-proof). Be cool and try not to be phased and excited, and hide any disappointment.
I know why. Cause girls won't come to me.

And that's technical knowledge.

Let's just say this trip has hit 91... K1 has entered the building. Unfortunately, those 5 weren't too interesting to talk about.

So where does the subject line come in? Well, kudos to those who recognized it as a chapter of Half Life, the 1998 Game Of The Year. But here's another sect of advice. Ross Jeffries. Some among you know who he is: he is premiere applying-Neuro-Linguistic-Programming-for-sex for the new millenium. I was really tempted to pick up his Speed Seduction package. I really was. But not anymore. Because I eventually picked it up to there is no temptation to buy another. Hey, it's amazing the kind of disposable income one has with no girlfriend and only a low rent to pay.

And I read it. And, man, it seems like cheating. Not cheating like cheating on a lover, but cheating like cheating in life. There are lots of guys who are good with the ladies, and presumably not all of them learned how to toy with the minds of women to get them. Tricking a woman to do you is just a trick... what happens the next day when she comes to her senses?
Of all the "wheres" I've got, the bar has the lowest turn over. I start questioning the ethics of hitting on a girl who is a little buzzed and therefore more forgiving.

It must certainly be the issue of being able to do things on my own merit, and not with the help of others (meaning I won't be performing Mr Jeffries' techniques... wish I would have figured that out before dropping that cash). Perhaps it's a departure on my part of the scientific method: a desire to see my pet hypothesis work out for me, even if it is incorrect.

Of maybe my lonliness flip-flopped on the saying "It's lonely at the top," therefore creating a kind of false unconscious sense of ethical superiority.

Pfft. I wonder how long it'll take before I dump that shit and start hypnotizing some drunken honeys. Maybe with the ensuing depression once I hit #100, perhaps only a week or two away???

[Yonphi]

Let's change the pace only slightly. My apologies to Edgar Allan Poe: may his ghost not haunt me for the rest of my life for the defacement I will now perform.



Once upon a midnight dreary,
while I wacked it weak and weary,
was reminded of my hearing,
with the tapping on the ceiling.
Moaned the porn star,
"Oh-uu-more!"

Suddenly louder was the tap,
from the old door it seemed to rap.
Much like the girl from whence she sat
with hurtful words hence for my bat
What's her name, now?
Leonore?

I forget the names so quickly
because the bitches all hate me.
How they played with me distinctly
seems to say they are not dainty
No chance sex:
nothing more.

Deep, the tv I was peering
My self play harks "it" was nearing.
I heard "whore" as one was speaking,
ears were tricking, I was freaking
No one spoke
of a whore.

Open there I flung the shutter,
my dick far from any sputter,
when inside I saw a flutter.
A bird'd taste good with some butter,
Cooked in oven
two fifty.

I saw a raven standing there.
Location from I wondered where.
In presence stood my shortest hair
While normally I wouldn't care.
Quoth the Raven,
"Nail a whore."

I know not what of you're speaking.
Is the future what you're seeing?
Such a vision'd send me reeling:
Speak, Raven, once more with feeling!
Quoth the Raven,
"Nail a whore."

Such a problem, what you're saying.
Why not a girl who's been raving?
With some drinks her hips are swaying
Won't she want to do some playing?
Quoth the Raven,
"Nail a whore."

Is that a good way to release,
even risking certain disease?
Will she let me touch her titties,
make her purr like many kitties?
Quoth the Raven,
"Nail a whore."

Where the hell's my roll of money?
Gonna get myself a honey
whose privates are getting oily,
one who's singing "Me So Horney."
Quoth the Raven,
"Nail a whore."

Don't tell me that it's illegal!
There's some loophole to go weasel
around the law I will seize her
Hopefully one without measles
Quoth the Raven,
"Nail a whore."

Fucking shut up you stupid bird
Yes, I have heard that lovely word
Without the money I'll be hurt
Maybe not if I'm nice and curt
Quoth the Raven,
"Nail a whore."

Prophet! A thing of evil!
Crimes 'gainst women, mine name's Cecil
Like the fouth fantasy final
The bomb ring for the summon town
Quoth the Raven,
"Nail a whore."

From my desk I took a condom
My rage makes me act quite random
This damn bird fuels my depression
Reminding me what wave I'm on
Quoth the Raven,
"Nail a whore."

The condom I placed on my dick
Raping this bird will do the trick
That's a sign that I'm awful sick
Get ready, you shall fear my stick
Quoth the Raven,
"No, a whore!"

"No, you are a whore!" I hence yelled
Yet for my crimes I wasn't jailed
The bird pecked my balls, and I wailed
Vasectomy, the doctors hailed
Testified the Raven
"That sicko won't get laid
Forevermore."



And yes, he's rolling in his grave right now.

[Yonphi]

COYOTE stands for Call Off Your Old Tired Ethics, an organization for the legalization of prostitution. I havn't heard anything out of them in a while, so I'm not sure if they've all retired or something.

When I was little(er) I always wondered what the big deal about prostitution was. My idea of sex and love being intertwined was "only in the movies" and "shit you'd have to pretend to believe to nail a virgin." My, how the tables have turned!

In 11th grade I stopped eating lunch. It wasn't that I wasn't hungry, but I could deal with it. Not only could I deal with it, but the absense of midday food meant an extra five bucks in my pocket. But while normal kids do that 'cause one of their friends had a mom that loved them and prepared a huge lunch with Twinkies and the like, I had no back up. But "wah wah wah" whatever. I'm not talking about my starving self with this journal. Plus I'm eating lots of vitamins and minerals these days so ain't no thang.

I watched Risky Business.

And I decided that prostitutes are super cool and are unfairly prosecuted. All they're doing is providing a service for which there is a demand. I'm a good little capitalist and know that a free market is a healthy one.

Little mantras like "Everyone has their price" had me guessing the prices for girls who have rejected me. I valued a snobby little bitch at around $250, a friendly mormon girl at $180, and your entry-model shortie-cutie-pie at an even C-Note.
I was well on my way to that path, actually. Until a girl I started getting to know said something... um... I think she was E4. A little fireball she was. Very very cute. The hardest girls' id numbers are the ones that I allowed myself to become completely infatuated with before I made my move: a poor and risky way to manage lust.

E4 was, like I claim, very cute. She had an adorable stance, a playful, lispy voice with a penchant for animals and veganism. Now, I generally exclaim "Bullocks!" towards vegitarians of any type, but I wouldn't mind sacrificing animal flesh and products to nail her. I'm surprised how little I got to know of her, and how not often I stalked her. Perhaps I feel like I left things undone and didn't really go through with a strong enough approach. But I call her E4 because she did reject me my faults not withstanding.
To this day I maintain her image in my mind, a template for the cute-short-girl archetype to which all are compared. Maybe it was because she didn't outwardly hate me afterwords. Maybe it was the sweet hugs she gave me. Maybe because she was the first (and only) girl to kiss my neck for no apparant reason. I've put many hours into thinking why she did when she did, since it was completely out of place in the state of our contact (as far as I was aware).

Hmm... that was fun. After I run out of topic cycles, perhaps I'll start giving little bios of the highlights of my 91-girl dry spell.

I've always been very tempted to tell a chick, after she laughs in my face (F8), "Look, $150 says you'll shut your mouth and open it only to take in my rod." Pfft. And then she'll go from being the chick that laughed at me to the chick that ripped my balls off.

Anyway, aside from such lovely things, what did E4 say?

"Well, I don't care if a guy wanted to pay me for sex. I wouldn't feel degraded: he's the one he's degrading by paying for it."

And then, it didn't matter what Marc Perkel said. If E4 said is made a man less of one, then that's the way it is. Perhaps, if my attention was worse, I would have only heard the first part of her statement.

But then I wouldn't have had enough to pick up that Speed Seduction course.

Which reminds me of a joke.

A kid walks into a whore house with a dead frog at the end of a string tugging behind. He stares the head mistress in the eye and says, "I need a woman."
The mistress asks, "Aren't you a little young for this kind of place?"
He slaps a $100 bill on the counter and repeated "I need a woman."
"Look, kid, why don't you take that thing out of here."
He slaps a second $100 bill on the counter. "I need a woman."
The mistress shrugs and says "Ok, kid." She points to one of her ladies only to be interrupted by the boy.
"She's gotta have active herpes."
The mistress gives him a strange look and opens her mouth to speak, but he slaps another $100 bill on the counter.
"Active herpes," he says, with emphasis on the "active."
She looks at the $300 on the counter and tells him "Sheila will be down in 5 minutes."

10 minutes later, the kid's leaving with the dead frog on a string.
On his way out, the mistress asks, "So, how 'bout telling me why you want herpes?"
"Well," the kid begins. "When I get home, I'm gonna fuck the babysitter. Then when my parents get home my dad'll take the babysitter home and do her. Then he'll come back home and pork my mom. Then, tomorrow when he's gone to work, mom'll ride the mailman."
"And he's the bastard that ran over my frog."

[Yonphi]

Recent times have made me more and more eager for defaulting to the woman for hire, E4 be damned.

I've always told myself that a steady stream of money without sufficient sinks will do weird things to a guy who's grown up hoarding all he can. If one hoards to get enough to get by, what happens when one doesn't have to hoard to get by? What will one do with such freedom from the shackes of packrat-dom?

They say a good hooker costs the same per hour as a lawyer.

Sure I've checked some out. The only nerdy way I know how: escorts online.

Escorts, as they exist in that little legal loophole land, are a cool idea. Pay a price and you've got a date. Yeah yeah, sucks. But when it comes time for my high school reunion, I'd better bring a date of some kind or else I'll look like some sort of valencia onion. Unfortunately, because implied sex is included, escorts are unreasonably expensive. Around my area, someone halfway decent looking (and lets face it, if you're going to pay for it, you might as well not settle) is about $300 / hr, with two hour minimums, plus transportation. Yeesh. $750 burning a hole in my pocket will find itself somewhere in a second 23" monitor.

I've toyed around with the concepts of true escorts. Not for myself, but as a business. For a considerably smaller fee, $10 / hr, you get a date. A TRUE date, with a nice girl. Perfect for social events. And there's no uncomfortable "well" period trying to negotiate whether or not she takes tips because it'll be clearly stated they WILL NOT have sex... they can be the female equivalent of unichs, I guess.
Then again, perhaps the point of going on a date with a girl is to get a chance to have sex with them. So perhaps that idea wouldn't fly.

Ah, but I did put some thought into porn. Yes yes, I'm gonna talk about it again. It seems fairly straightforward... raise $1000, and offer it to some starving college chick to boink some willing guy (read: any guy). Then do a little digital hokey-pokey and you've got stack of DVDs you can sell for $20 a pop. Sell 100 on ebay and you've made $1000 to trick your next starving college chick. Sounds like a pretty good gig.
I literally made up professional looking contracts, designed procedures and policies, wrote up an "interview" script, pay structures, distribution pathways. Even had a snazzy porn studio name: _______. (ni'a please, y'all think I'd say?). I made up a good looking flyer to print on blue paper, to wander my campus and tack up a copy of each bullitin board with a staple gun. The best part is that I could probably low-ball a few girls into low-balling my balls for pretty much free, if it meant a promise of work later.

Ah, but then I'd have to rent out a little place to conduct the auditions (what, like I'd let them know where I live?). And then get a camera. And print out some forms. And get a nice little clipboard. So with the expenditure, even if I manage to get some This-Guy's-Really-A-Creep calibur blow jobs, I'll have to make a video to make the money back since I'm not one to invest without returns. And then I wouldn't want to let anyone into my good thing, so I'd have to star in them too. And then people could recognize me. And, Ron Jeremy? Three words: "Nobody likes you." You're a jerk and the only reason you're in porn is because... hmm... anybody know?

But nevermind all that, it's all a cover up. The real thing preventing me from hiring a whore, or running a porn studio where I get "comps," or being a sleazebag extraordinaire?

Cheating. It's cheating to have to resort to paying to get laid. At least for the first time. I need to do this on my own merit. After all, it's a couple of notches down on the ethical scale to do these sort of things (I'll discuss exactly how prostitution can be perfectly ethical next entry).

And the big bombshell? What if getting laid isn't even worth the trouble? Mwa ha ha... consider that one a teaser for Saturday Night...

[Yonphi]

If you havn't seen is yet, check out this thread where I make my first non-Trials appearance.
http://www.improvisation.ws/mb/showt...&threadid=8215
But don't go if you hate spoilers.

For those that went anyway, patience, please, for all will be revealed. Well, maybe not all...

The title, I'm not sure what it means. But it's a title in one of my videos. Specificly, episode 2. It's about some inventor of robots in the future and one robot he made which was his personal masterpiece.
Oh, by the way, he makes super-realistic artificial women used in futuristic bordellos. Just a little detail I conveniently forgot to mention to allow some semblance of legitimacy.
Anyway, his personal masterpiece was one made out of advanced materials and had advanced AI and all that. They ran off together and got "married."
Then the bad guys found out they only had to rape her and kidnap her and do all sorts of terrible things. Hentai is so predictable sometimes. What's the best part is that all 5 volumes of Imma Youjo revolve around a girl named "Maya" which causes all the men who has sex with her go insane with lust over her and would happily destroy each other and their civilizations to have her. And in this episode, Maya is that supreme sex-toy.

Ok, so what's that go to do with anything?

Why do I blush at the idea of going to a strip club? Maybe it's the shame in oggling away my future, one dollar bill at a time, begging for a lap dance (which sounds really interesting, and I hope someday I'll be able to get one).
Why am I not keen on prostitutes? STDs aren't really something I'm thinking about, since as it is I am not at risk. I'd be willing to be a little at risk (that 0.1% of condom users) if that meant good rewards, so that can't be it. It's not the money. It's the "cheating" in the way things should be. Or... is it?

Perhaps that's the way I justify not wanting to objectify women. I have titles to all 91 women that've rejected me, so I don't forget (although I do anyway, but that's a limitation on my memory). Some stand out more than others, but they're all individuals.

It might be bullshit. But it might not be. How well does one really know oneself? But that's just a disclaimer.

In the case of Imma Youjo 2, if prostitues were robots, with no feelings, then it'd be ok... maybe.
I mean, sure real women do it for money, and I'm sure, like any other service givers, most are professional and have a barrier between their professional and personal lives. But, I don't want to be "that creep" in her memory, especially after she gave me the gift of an orgasm I didn't have to give to myself. I don't want a dancer thinking "that dork", even if it's only for 2 seconds after she counts the money. I want the woman doing these things to think, at the very worst, "that guy"... just a guy.

Then there's the gray area. How far into AI does one consider them to have feelings? How "real" do they have to be to be real? Hmm... I gave up thinking about philosophy a couple of years ago because I decided I could never win with infinite possibilities stacked against me.

It's true I'm conflicted. On the one hand I need to get laid now. On the other hand, it has to be on my terms. I know the longer I try to get it both ways the faster 91 turns into 191, and the longer I'll be lamenting my conflicted ways and closer to finding out if there's a bottom on the downward spiral.

I outta post a poll or something, hm?

Damn it, this could be so easy... if a girl would just give me a chance in a boyfriend categorization, this wrestling would be a non-issue.

Lets see. I'm in the mood to toss #92 on the BBQ, see if she turns into K2 or not. Whether y'all think I'm a psycho jerk or a child with no real problems or someone with a legitimate gripe with life... wish me luck.

[Yonphi]

One thing that some who don't believe how a guy like me could have this stretch of luck would ask "What exactly are you doing? Something must be terribly wrong, or you must be terribly fugly."

Well, I'm not fugly, I'm unhappy to say. Unhappy because if that were the case, it'd be easy. "Oh, hell, look at that. I'm ugly. I'm so ugly I'm fugly. No wonder I got splashed in the face with Pepsi..." and I'd smack my half-forehead, realizing she was trying to use the acid to dissolve my warped, twisted cubism-esque face.

I'm no model, though. I'd say slightly better than your average nerd. It's hard to really describe what I look like, since it is imparative I keep my anonymity (I'll explain within the next couple of posts, actually, that is, why I guard it so dearly). But all ready you know I'm not hideous, so "flip flip flip flip" goes the cards in the Pink Panther style deduction excercise.

I say the above only because I didn't plan on having a fitting place for it. But since this is my "Effort" cycle, now you get to have a picture in your head learning of my effort exploits.

--- deep breath ---

My young days trying to get a date was really really wrong. I know it's wrong now, but back in the day I didn't know. I intentionally ignored everything I had seen and heard on TV and movies, in favor of my own method.

One of the problems with entertainment media is a trap many people fall into... the "I wish it would happen that way to me" syndrome. It's pretty much wishing your life was that interesting, that entertaining. Wishing you were that witty on the fly, wishing the girl next door would finally realize that she's supposed to be with you in your scripted lives. Being cognizant of this, I purposely ignored things which were, in retrospect, probably a good way to teach me at least the starting points of being flirtatious, friendly, and fuckable.

So, my method was (at least after I gave up writing notes): Non-Criminal Girl Stalking (tm). NCGS is all about watching a girl in public. It's an effort to determine her true nature. Find out how she walks... it says thing about her grace. Listen to her words. It shows how she thinks and how educated she is. Who are her friends? What do they have in common? When applying the Dungeons and Dragons Principle*, who is who? What things does she like? What does she not like?

(tangent alert) * The Dungeons and Dragons Principle is that any group of friends can be organized at either being or being a combination of some D&D classes. You've got the fighter, the tough guy; the mage, the new-age mysticism one; the priest, the moral one; the theif, the troublemaker instigator; and the archer, the talented one. I don't really believe it, but when I _______ _______, I classify characters as combinations from these templates to help sort things out and create natural conflict. It's a _______ strategy.

Anyway, this NCGS would end up taking months and months. Mostly 3 or 4 months of watching, waiting, and planning. Everything from my approach to preparing little scripts. She said "up", I said the specially created response for "up." It was supposed to be bullet proof. And it was a good thing I took so much time watching and waiting, because if I found something that really turned me off, I could just stop and start over with someone else.

Of course, you don't need to be a sociologist to realize that this didn't work. In practice, I never stopped and started over with someone else, since by watching so much I ended up entering a "pedistal" phase, where I put her on a pedistal so all her faults discovered all of a sudden become bonuses. How cute, she's afraid of bugs! That means she can't kill them, so she's really sweet. How cute, she picks her nose... she's down with nature.

And while every guy goes through that at some point in his life, it took me a long time to figure out I wasn't giving myself an edge, I was giving myself a crutch. I made myself fall in love with someone who didn't know/care I existed.

(tangent alert) Women, if you're curious about the "pedistal effect", check out "My Struggle" by "Chicks Suck Guy". He has a great chapter describing in great detail all the intricacies, how it affects a guy and how it makes it impossible for anything good to come out of it.

So entering high school I was at B2. Ah-ha...

For those 8 times (the note was used for A1 to A3), I didn't even ask for dates. At that point, I didn't realize what exactly dating was. I would phrase things as girlfriend this and girlfriend that. At that time only the bad girls were really dating in a true sense. Couples were in name only... maybe trying something kiddie-risque like grabbing butts every now and then... but I didn't really know.

And, oh my, how those didn't go well. It must have been terribly scary having some weird guy come up to you and confess how much he likes you and how you should be his girlfriend. And then watching him look to the ground in a pouty manner when you explain to him that you barely know him, let alone like him. Yeesh. It's a good thing I was moving around all the time, or else that would have been impossible to shake off.

And I'd like to appologize profusely to those girls.

Often you'll hear me say that I think my history is my history and I wouldn't change it because it my present is just a culmination of my past, and subtle changes can affect things greatly. But, oh lordie, how I wish I could erase those trips into embarassment.

Afterwords, girls who were even just a little friendly to me completely avoided me at any cost. Their friends looked at me with suspicion, and guys, well, they were too busy being good at sports to give me any sort of feedback either way.

Hmmm... they could at least have pretended nothing happened to make me feel a little more comfortable... it would have cost them nothing. I'd like to retract my profuse appologies to those girls.

I thank my lucky stars I don't have a learning disability since I have learned how wrong wrong wrong I was.

Of course, my modern apporaches (to be explained tomorrow) havn't yeilded success either, so at this point I can't necessarily say it's better.

What the hell am I saying? 3 - 4 months invested per attempt? No casual dating period? Everything was so finalistic? Of course now is better!!!

[Yonphi]

These days I find myself putting forth less and less effort into skirt chasing. While I can march forward bravely, it's hard. It really is. There's something about unceasing rejection that really gets a guy down. I can mentally brush it off, but emotionally, it's a little bit of death for each try. If it weren't the pain of rejection I'd probably preposition every girl I see. But, since it does hurt, I have to be selective... I have to try to get the ones that either seem, in some way or another, that I have a good chance with, or seem to be the types of people that would bring me down nicely.

Not everyone has the gift of tact. Ladies, if you're not interested, say so: don't play, don't tease, don't flirt after-the-fact. Imagine, if you will, a guy who sells peanuts at a ball game. But he's not a dick, he's got customer service and goes to people individually and asks if they would like to buy some peanuts. Instead of saying "no," you say "maybe later." So, of course, the guy keeps coming back, each time getting a "maybe later." Yet if you had said no the first time, he wouldn't have wasted his time coming back.

In my case, just say no. Don't draw it out, don't give me an "aww, so cute" or a "don't worry, keep looking" or a "you deserve a really nice girl." Of course, don't be a bitch about it and laugh in my face or smack me or toss something at me since I'm never so rude as to warrant those kinds of things. But, damn it...

But these days I won't follow someone around. It's pretty quick. I feel the need to perform, so I go out and perform. I usually don't hit on more than one girl at any given day, although I have gone up to two.

I don't do anything fancy, usually. I'll try to find something for an ice breaker, and then go into a little easy conversation, and I'll invite her to keep me company on the spot for something nice an casual. Despite coffee being a stimulant, I find coffee houses and cafes to be very relaxed for that kind of thing. It's a damn good thing they've got Starbucks' popping up pretty much everywhere else I'd have no place to go.

I mean, after all, what girl in her right mind would turn down a little acompaniment at your local starbucks? They've got coffee, and who doesn't feel a little tired every now and then. They've got decaf, they've got sweet things, and if she hates corporations then it probably won't work between us, because while I'm open minded, some people just refuse to believe that corporations are a modern-day fiction: corporations are just groups of people, and the corporation itself isn't evil, it's just possible that the people running it may become corrupt and evil. And that corporations employ lots of people, feed lots of people on the cheap, provide convenience and innovation to raise the standard of living, which no amount of feudalism or communism can ever deliver to the people. But enough of my political push....

So K2 wasn't terribly interesting, but it's a good way to demonstrate how things usually go for me. (I called her K2, so I hope I didn't spoil the ending for you.) Here is a stylized transcript, since it was Friday night, but only convenient to bring up today.

Somewhere in America... in my local _______ bookstore...

I spy a girl reading a book, standing up, by the comics/cartoons section. Which could be good or bad... good in that she may have a twisted sense of humor as I do... bad that she may be a Disney Freak.
At the risk of isolating which city, and if she reads this she may know, I'll describe her. A little too slim for my tastes, but, my height, very vey straight red hair. Seems natural since her skin was happily freckled. Freckles, by the way, make me very happy, since I have visions of sexual foreplay in which I get to play connect the dots.
It was a Calvin and Hobbes book. How long ago that comic was in the comic books? I was a little surprised to see it on a shelf of this mega-mart style bookstore, but it wasn't too uptight.

Me: "Hey, is that a new Calvin and Hobbes book?"
Her: "Hm?"
Me: "That book, is it new?"
Her: "Oh, I don't know. It's been such a long time, I wanted to have a little nostalgia."
(She used the word nostalgia. Not a difficult word, but not terribly common in everyday speech. She's probably smart. Good for me!)
Me: "Hm... ah yes, that one ended quite a while ago, didn't it?"
Her: "Yup."
Me: "..."
Her: "It's nice."
Me: "Yeah. I'm _____, hi."
Her: "Oh, hi."
Me: *looks and makes an "and" motion*
Her: "Oh, ______."
Me: "______, that's a nice name..."
(at this point the fact that she didn't immediately identify herself starts suggesting she's not interested. Her body language is very similar to when she was standing and reading. No shifting her weight, no twirling hair, no deep looks. As one looks at a stranger who you don't expect to keep seeing too far in the immediate future.)
Me: "... Wasn't she a character in that comic?"
Her: "No, that was Suzy, I think."
Me: "Was it? Ah, yes."
Her: "..."
(see, here is when it would be her turn to make a little small talk to help things out. This should be where she would say something like "oh, are you a fan of this guy" or even "you don't know Calvin and Hobbes too well, do you?" But no, nothing.)
Me: "Is your nostalgia vivid?"
Her: "Sure... I wasn't old enough to read all of these, but it's definitely it's authors' comic."
Me: "I've never heard the 'father's son' archtype applied to comics before."
Her: "Huh?"
(ok, I'm loosing her. You know, "you're definitely your father's son." Surely someone must have heard that. Strike two, as far as I'm concerned. I went over her head far too early.)
Me: "It's kind of like a cliche, where if you twist things slightly you lose the cliche part of it, but you keep the, ah, sort of twang that makes it attractive."
(yay, I used the word attractive. Hopefully she picked it out.)
Her: "Oh. Are you a _____er?"
Me: "Well, _____ and ____. I _____ mostly ______. I'm not _______ like people like _____ _____, but my ______ are ok in my opinion."
(Ok, ok, here's where I draw the line since I'm not lying.)
Her: "Oh."
(she looks quite disinterested.)
Me: "Well, it's fun to do, it's really just a hobby, not a job. But it's important to do what you enjoy doing, right?"
Her: "Sure."
(I'm really losing her. One word turns really suck.)
Me: "What sort of things do you like doing?"
Her: "Ah, the usual."
(she really doesn't want to talk to me. I'd have to be an idiot to not realize that at this point. Strike three.)
Me: "The usual, huh? I'm not sure what that means."
Her: *looks at me puzzled*
Me: "Well, I'm sure you're not the usual type of girl to be into Calvin and Hobbes, that is, so I wouldn't think you'd be into the usual things."
Her: "Oh. Don't let this fool you," *holds the book slightly higher, and brings it back down* "I'm really quite ordinary."
(Hmm... maybe back down to strike two)
Me: "Hmm... you seem smarter than the rest."
(perhaps a bad tactical move to suggest that I may be hitting on other girls at other times. But I'm not sure.)
Her: *a little sly smile* "I assure you your assumptions are unfounded."
(SWOON! Ok ok, only strike one, now.)
Me: "Perhaps we can discuss these assumptions over coffee?"
Her: "Oh, I don't know."
Me: "My unfounded assumption is that you'll be good enough to accept a free cup."
Her: "Free, huh?"
Me: "And it's right over there."
Her: "Ah, no. I'm good."
(strike two)
Me: "Are you sure?"
Her: "Yes. My boyfriend would hate that."
(Grrr... I smell a non-existant boyfriend. But if she has to pull that one on me, then I'm strike three on her.)
Me: "Well then, I will leave you to your book. Bye, ______."
Her: "Bye."
(didn't remember my name. Strike four, meaning I have to not only go back to the dugout, but go back into the stands because I'm clearly not qualified to play this game.)

I don't think I was too bad, but the fact remains she wasn't terribly interested in me. Her only talkative portions seemed to be motivated by an interest to impress me, which isn't neccessarily a bad thing. But akin to impressing a stranger, not impressing a guy so he'll like her more.

If you tuned in tonight to get a sob story, sorry, but she wasn't too terrible to me. But, after that I'm a little psyched out. At least it didn't take long for me to figure out I wasn't getting anywhere. But that late game burst of approval really helped me crash harder when it was all over.

But, while I was there, I did pick up a nice book on partial derivatives, since I'd been meaning to practice and derive a bunch of stuffs. You can get the nerd out of the library, but...

[Yonphi]

While my effort seems to be waning, I understand, that, for many things in life, you only get out of it what you put in.

But I don't wanna be a stunt kind of guy. Once again, what good is tricking a girl, since she'll eventually break out of it. Then again, I'd hate to go out (read: accept my fate) without a fight. So I've got a couple of concepts I've been toying around with using. They're a little embarassing, but I'm sure I can manage. Especially after writing so much here about my deep dark secret. The real problem is that they're a little more deceptive than I prefer. The deeper into deception one gets into to obtain a goal, it means the harder it is to come clean later once the goal is attained. Or at least that's my opinion. Your mileage may vary. If I lie my pants off to get her pants off, and I enjoy her a lot and want to get something a little more long term, it'll be hard to explain that I'm a big fat liar, and I lied to get her to become weak for me.

So, in keeping with the future entry in this cycle, I present to you, my "Pickup R & D"

1) Who are you?
Premise: I'm looking for someone with the same name as a target girl. I'm a little far from home, so I ask for a little accompanyment.
Function: Serves that, a) I may be in demand, since I'll allegedly have a girl I was supposed to meet, and b) the target girl, if she follows my ploy, all of a sudden becomes elevated above the girl I was "supposed" to meet.
Sample:
"Melissa!!!" I'd shout in a crowd. A potential target could turn around. It's up to me to make a snap judgement to see if she's with anyone or a group of friends.
"Are you Melissa? Hi, how are you?" I'd say, to which she looks at me weird. I'd come to the conclusion that, wow, what a coincidence, she's got the same name as my contact and even looks kinda like her. I was *blush blush* trying to meet a blind date, and I'd ask her to show me around the crowded area to see if I see her.
At this point, if she agrees, then it'd be a mini-date, and in the process I can demonstrate how she's a lot cooler than the girl I thought I was going to meet, having spoken with her on the phone.

I can't claim all the credit for this one. I was inspired by Iketeru Futari, a fanservice-laden short-episode anime. (Yeah, yeah, over the past few weeks Anime has really gotten to grow on me. I feel like such an easily influenced individual!). Anyway, it starts out with this guy having some fantasies and ends up stealing his dads cell phone. For phone sex I reckon. But he hears a kind of message on his phone that this girl named Alice will be waiting in a public area, and if you buy something she's had her eye on, she'd repay you in the only way she knows how... in a form of "ecchi", where "any type of play is ok."
So it ends up that this guy goes, but figures out Alice doesn't exist, and rather, it was his classmate playing a trick to see all the dirty old men hitting on young girls that look like how Alice described herself. The guy accuses his classmate of being "Alice", and then they have a nice little date, and he buys her a ring she's been looking at, and then she tells him "Alice doesn't lie."

I wish I knew what happened after that but those jackasses on WinMX that have it won't trade and let me sit in a queue until I'm next in line to download and then they disconnect themselves.

2) Arcade Hustler
Premise: Find an arcade on a busy night. Stand by a few machines, until an unaccompanied girl comes to a machine. I'll join in a challenge.
Function: The head to head challenge will be fun. I'm really really good at video games (I can't not say that) so I can scale my skill down to hers to at least make it fair. And it'll be at least a little fun, showing her what a fun guy I am.
Sample: (this one's too easy to give a detailed description on...)

This one seems ok, but the real thing I'd want to look for is a girl who can give me a run for my money. It's totally fun to play an equally matched opponent, one-upping each other... and if my opponent is a girl, it'll be totally sexy too. Don't ask me why.... probably because of that hand eye-coordination stuff.
I find, more often than not, that girls love Tetris. And that's ok, because I am psycho-good at Tetris. Then again, I don't have too many good arcades near me (that don't cost a fortune).

3) Fake Classmate
Premise: (This one'd be really hard to pull off properly) Approach a girl, pretending to have gone to the same school. She wasn't very popular but I knew who she was and had the biggest crush on her.
Function: An instant connection if it works.
Summary: The trick here is to make it work. This might work if it's a hang out nearby a school where people from that school go. Luckily, where I live right now, schools often have over 800 people per building. So it might be easy to pass myself off as someone who hasn't noticed me before. It'd have to start working from the get-go, where I would say "Aren't you from *blah blah* school?" "Why, yes I am!"
If not I'd have to try someone else. At that point I don't think I'd emotionally equate that to a failure just yet, so maybe I'd hold my energy to keep going through those tests.

Personally, this one is a long shot to try to play "get to know you" and "right a wrong". "I had the biggest crush on you but I was afraid you'd reject me" "Oh, well, I wasn't that popular..."
I'd have to try and pick out a shy introverted girl to get that last line. Perhaps I could be a real scumbag and try to exploit lack of self esteem.

Or pray that someone tries to exploit my self esteem.

Yeah, well, this view into my current R & D just goes to show I don't have too many good ideas. :]

The biggest problem, as I see it, is if I go beyond the limit and actually do these things, and it works, that's postitive reinforcement for negative activity. I'd be stuck between an honest dry life, or a dishonest life with option for sex.

It doesn't have to be so cut and dry, but I like to play things like they are so cut and dry.

Of course, I seem to be missing other obvious avenues. Like personal ads. BUT that's a really good story that'll have to wait. Or maybe not that good, and I'm buttering you up for a big let down. Or not.

Either way, all this flip-floping isn't doing my caffeene headache any good. A little short this time but I promise I'll make it up to those tuned into my trials.