“If God invented anything better than drunk sex with a hot girl, he kept it to himself.”
– Tucker Max
Every time I try and meditate I end up thinking about sex. It never fails. People assume I’m being introspective. In reality I’m just fantasizing about girls I’ve swooped.
Over the weekend I tried, once again, to properly meditate. It almost worked. I ended up revisiting one of wildest nights of my life and I pulled a lesson from it.
Writing under my real name and, occasionally, having my family members browse the site means that I’m going to keep the details as vague as possible. If you’re looking for a graphic sex story you’ll need to look elsewhere.
As fate would have it, I was in the same location at the same time as the biggest attention seeking party girl to ever exist. She made out with her female friend while a herd of neck beards watched. She flashed the bartender in hopes of getting free drinks. After a candid conversation about sex, she gave me a lap dance to “Rack City.” At closing time we left together.
Later we were talking. During this time I learned two things: she was almost a decade older than me* and her only ambition was to party forever. After getting over the immediate shock of how old this girl was, I inquired further about her goals.
To paraphrase, she replied with something along the lines of “guys are more than happy to pay for my stuff, plus I’ll never get old.”
My meditation skills are improving. As I reflected on her words my mind took this concept of “I’ll never get old” and ran with it.
Time flies at an exponential rate, yet we rarely notice this. Being stuck in traffic for an hour feels like forever. Having ten years slip by feels like nothing. Early in the morning, when my mind is still foggy, I briefly forget I’m a grown man. For 30 seconds I’m 12 again, going downstairs to eat pancakes and watch TV.
The last two years feel like the last two days. When I was 18, turning 21 seemed like it was eternity away. Now it’s only a few short months.
“They” get old, we don’t. There’s no rush, we can get to it later. Tomorrow. Next year. Someday. We have all the time in the world. Until the very last second before we die.
* This story occurred while “Rack City” was still a club banger. I’m only 20 now. You do the math.