Like blocking toilets or the Grindr chime going off in public, a sexual dry spell can happen to the best of us. They say men are like buses: Two come along at once, don't text you back and then... nothing. Just standing at a cold bus shelter. For eternity. At least that's what it feels like...
Stage 1: Realisation
You're sitting down for a liquid lunch with your sluttiest friend (loves her), and when it's your turn to exchange the nitty-gritty details of your sex life - you draw blank. All of a sudden you're that overweight 13-year-old with braces that hasn't even kissed a girl when all your mates are finger-blasting them behind Woolworths. So you try to recall the last time you got your knickers in a twist, but - more importantly - off... Wait. It can't have been that long... has it?!
Stage 2: Denial
"It's fine. So it's been a while... *checks underwear for cobwebs*... Doesn't mean it's a dry spell. My standards are just far higher these days. I could go out harvesting dick if I wanted
to. But I'm like, so not gonna do that, because I'm not desperate. Yet."
Stage 3: Grief
Many people enter this stage without realising it. HINT: If you're hermiting every night, haven't had your hair cut in weeks and would rather watch First Dates
than actually go on one - you could be mourning the D. It's gone past just missing the physical act of sex, you're missing intimacy, passion and chemistry; they've been replaced by trash TV, Deliveroo and cry-wanks.
Stage 4: Manifestation
It starts with little things; like choking on a grape to remind you it's been a lifetime since you gagged on something. Naturally, you can't listen to anything by Ariana Grande, 'cause she on a permanent orgasm. Then you're eye-f***ing everyone on the Central Line. Then getting a little too flirty with boss-eyed Craig from accounts. Before long you're openly discussing your lack of sex with people you've just met - just to receive unbiased gasps of shock.
Stage 5: Desperation
That strange guy from a few roads away has messaged you. Again. I mean, he's OK to look at, but he's always online and uses openers like 'U hung? Bet ur hung'. The only thing around here that should be hung, is him, for shortening words like he's using a Nokia 3210. But, it would just be sex; nothing more than a broomstick; there to dust out the cobwebs. Enter the debate whether to continue living in this fresh hell, or dick a thirsty basic. You'd only feel worse afterwards... SWERVE.
Stage 6: The Danger Zone (aka: Further Desperation)
You know in cartoons when the duck is so dehydrated he imagines an oasis in the middle of a desert? Well, this is kind of like that, only I'm in Sainsbury's talking to a 6ft penis. It's only when the cashier finishes scanning my shopping I realise that I'm actually licking my lips. I try to style it out as hunger, by pulling something from the bag and devouring it. Never was someone so enthused about a dried rice cake. Thank God I hadn't grabbed the cucumber or this might be a different story altogether.
It's no secret that the gym holds an air of sexual tension. My issue, is when I'm getting horny because the guy next to me is panting; faintly reminiscent of the noise of good sex. Apparently, it's also the noise a heavier gentleman makes overexerting himself on the treadmill...
Stage 7: Reality Detachment
I wake up with tented shorts confused as to why I'm having sex dreams about a boy I went to college with. It's only been EIGHT YEARS. He's not even gay. Actually, he looks quite happy celebrating his girlfriend Bonnie's birthday as I stalk his Facebook profile. What am I doing?
Did I think I'd just go on his page, see he was suddenly gay, and that we'd be a perfect match?
Dry spells may be a good term when it comes to weather, but when it's your sex life, it can seriously take it's toll on your mental health. If only I could get a prescription to bang. I think it was Janet Street Porter that said they should give out quickies on the NHS. It's so true. She should run for Prime Minister. (See, CRAZY).
Stage 8: Frustration
The 10-minute shower tugs aren't doing anything but wasting water. You've seen every bit of porn on the internet, ever. Even the old reliables are eye-roll-inducing. Your bits are chafed and your hand is about to fall off. Will it EVER end?! Where the F is my F-ing mojo?!
Stage 9: Active Resistance
Something must be done; manscaping. I call it pubic feng shui. Change your hairstyle, change your luck. I find that it works like laws of attraction: but for your dick. People are attracted to happiness - and my junk is not happy when it looks like Jumanji.
Every night out turns into "the night you're gonna bang" - only it's not. Perhaps it's the stale stench of your celibacy? Get out before you start violently flapping your tongue at every potential suitor like a possessed Emily Rose, screaming 'F*CK ME! F*CK ME!'
Stage 10: Release
You burst out of the bedroom, singing Madonna: "I made it through the wilderness, I made it through-ough-ough..." yes you did honey, and you ain't 'Like A Virgin' no more. It may not have been earth-shattering, but it was strong enough to break that spell (curse). You're still high off the dick; swearing you'll never let that happen again. Yet you know to milk your mojo before it goes on the missing list again - along with your sanity.
Anthony Gilét is a London-based writer, blogger and YouTuber – follow him on Twitter @Anthony_Gilet.
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