Why I'm Going On The Man-Wagon

It's all well and good being young and carefree, but meaningless shags can only get you so far...
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For the past three years, I have lived in happy singledom. I have experienced and enjoyed a selection of men, who I have met in all parts of the world. Some have been joyous experiences, with charming men, who have been kind, sexy and a pleasure to spend time with. Some have been rather more regrettable, and there have been times in the past few years that I would rather not go through again. I have been let down, and, in turn, I’m sure I have let people down myself.

I have had long text conversations with boys, that never ended in anything more than an unsatisfactory rebuttal. I have had dirty, tawdry sex text messaging exchanges whilst on dates with other guys. Pictures of my breasts have appeared on instant messenger screens, Facebook chat windows and on iPhones across London and beyond. My chirpz has been on over-drive, my hormones have been out of control and my horn has been perpetually erect. But not any more. Now is the dawning of the age of a new me. Rather than trying to find romance and possibly even love, through the initial medium of sex, I am going to try to find it through loving me. So, with a heavy heart, I am hanging up my flirting boots, and going on the man-wagon.


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For a period of three months (or longer), I am going to experience celibacy. I have thrown my cap into the ring and put myself on a minge amnesty. Like Jesus before me, I am going out into the desert on my own, on a voyage of self-discovery, self-denial and self-abuse. I know I don’t need male attention to be happy, but I need to prove it to myself. There is more to life than basking in the warm after-glow of an encounter with someone I may never see again. For three months, from now until 2nd July (V-day mark 2) and maybe even beyond if I discover I like it, I have shut up shop.

This is real me-time, when I am going to give myself a chance to focus on my friends, myself, my family and my interests. A time to prove that there is more to my interests than wrapping my legs around a man’s waist in the throes of passion. More to life than seeking out the next booty call, more than obligingly cycling to a far-off part of this city to satisfy a man’s late night desires. More to life than waiting for a text, a phone call, a seduction. More to life than eyeing up men on the tube, at the traffic lights, at the pub, in an art gallery. A time for me to grow and learn, and to discover happiness from within me. A time to fall in love with me. Once that happens, who knows what else might…

But until then, we are officially in vagi-Lent.

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