In Defense of My Promiscuity

What is it that, after a relationship, turned my world inside out and completely transformed me from rather boring to quite promiscuous? I've spent the last week on a mix between binging on sex and introspective awe, and while I still don't have a definitive answer, I think I have come up with at least a small explanation.

You see, I'm a rather lonely person by nature; even when surrounded by people, I still feel incredibly isolated. That changed when I met Pete. For fourteen long months I had somebody to grow with and love who could pull me out of my shell and tell me everything was going to be okay. When I broke up with him nearly two weeks ago, I lost that; I had nobody.

So I started to crave attention and company, and I looked for the company of other gay men. Now one problem is solved: I've found a way to defeat loneliness and find love. But there's a new problem now. What can I do to get them to stick around? What makes me worth their time? I can't pay people to be my friends, both because of financial reasons and because of the social stigma and legality. So I used what I had to get them to love me: my body. No matter what, I will always own my body, and nobody else ever will.

So I sought gay men who wanted to have sex with me, and then used my body to be in the company of others, even if it was just for one night. Every night I found somebody new. Sometimes it didn't work out, but on three occasions it did.

I realize now that promiscuous people aren't inherently bad. They are most likely aware of STDs and the cross to bear of being a skank, but they don't care. They probably feel they have nothing to offer barring their bodies and they use what they have to try to find love. They aren't trying to kill themselves by proxy of syphilis. They just don't know where else to look to find somebody to love.

For now, although I understand, I've realized the promiscuous lifestyle is not for me. I've since taken my ex to detox and he's now staying with me either forever or at least until he feels comfortable being alone at night. When the time comes, I'm not sure how I'm going to handle being alone and how I'm going to learn to live in the company of myself, but we'll take one step at a time and pray the night never comes. Because let's face it: denial is better than chocolate.

I suppose it's a lot like that Jefferson Airplane song.

Don't you want somebody to love?

Of course. Who doesn't?