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Rated: 13+ · Monologue · Emotional · #952328
All guys are after the same thing... right?
As I put the finishing touches on a rather splendid sandwich in the kitchen I hear the beep of the cordless phone. Heavy footsteps follow as my brother struts into the room, flipping the handset in the air and doing everything he can to gloat except skipping and clicking his heels together.

“That’s how you do that, man,” he manages to squeeze through his skull-tight grin.

“Do what?” It’s not that I really wanted to know, but if I didn’t play along he’d never shut up.

“That’s how you mack.” He began to pat his stomach.

“ ‘Mack’?”

“Yeah… I haven’t talked to or seen that girl in four years and out of the blue she just calls me… we’re going to see a movie tonight.”

“Aren’t you already seeing someone?” A monotone had begun to set into my voice as it often did when he and I discussed these things.

“Not really, we haven’t talked in a few days. Anyway, I’ve got to get in the shower, and if I play my cards right, which I will, I’ll be seeing some action tonight.”

He was whistling and bounding around the house louder than ever. I pondered the rather short conversation for only a moment before I went back to eating. It never takes me long to reach a conclusion anyway; I disagree with his ethics. In fact, I despised the pride he takes in seeing how many women he can sleep with in the shortest amount of time. To him, stories like banging his girlfriend in the back seat of a car his best friend was driving were like badges of honor.
“Where are your sex stories,” was a common question.

“I don’t have any stories, believe it or not.”

“What are you, seventeen years old now? Have you even gotten a girl naked before? Bah, don’t even bother answering; you wouldn’t know what to do if you had.”

It’s true. I have never gotten a girl to get naked in front of me. I've honestly never tried. It’s also true that I’m an eighteen year-old virgin with a hormonally overactive brother who refuses to let me live it down. What’s worse is that the majority of young men I speak with all have aspirations involing only one thing: sex. They dream about it, wish for it, and think they’re just too cool once they take a step closer to it.

“That chick in there gave me her phone number; I’m going to call her up tonight and see if we can hook up.” I turn around to see my brother standing there with a scribbled-on piece of tissue paper and another smug look. “She’s got a cute friend, if you want I can hook you up. She’s got a nice butt; damn.”

“I’m not interested.” I sigh and throw another piece of bread to the swarming birds.

“Ha, loser. How do ever expect to get any if you won’t talk to anyone?”

“Maybe I’m not interested in getting any.”

“Uh… …right. Well, whatever, I’ll be back later. Enjoy talking to the ducks.”

Imagine waking up in a dimly lit room with a woman you don’t recognize telling you that she wants sex and nothing more. Imagine that she doesn’t want to know your name, where you’re from or what you do. All she wants is sex, one time, right there, and then you’ll never see her again. No catch. This is probably the easiest way to summarize a picturesque moment in time for my brother and some of the other young men I know. Sex for nothing with no catch? That’s absolutely perfect. It’s the kind of thing they pray for before climbing into their beds... ...alone.

“I’m not interested.” These words bellow in my mind now. That’s not what I want.

Imagine waking up in a dimly lit room with a woman you’ve known for fifteen years or more telling you that she loves you. Imagine that moments after her soft lips kiss your cheek you feel a wriggling lump leap onto your legs, to reveal herself as an eleven-year-old girl saying she loves you too… …Daddy. She hugs you and you whisper back, “And I love you, sweetie.” Gazing into the deep blue eyes of this glowing girl and her lovely mother, you realize that this is your bedroom, in your family’s home. And this is your family, and they both love you more than anything. This is a life of bliss with a family you would give your life to protect from all harm, and the only catch is that you have to offer them your unconditional love and support. But how could that be considered a catch? You live for these people.

These images, this vision, they are what break the monotone. They bring me out of what most people deem to be apathy, and into a new light. I smile so widely when I think of these things, and I can only hope with all of my heart that one day I see these dreams come true. Does my brother know about these dreams? I’m afraid not. It would do no good to tell him, or anyone else like him about them anyway. But that doesn’t mean they simply fade. These dreams are mine, and I refuse to let go.

Because when you let go, you admit that you were wrong and that the things you wanted were flawed or that you didn’t really want them to begin with. I would rather die than define myself by my brother’s ideology. I simply refuse to let go.
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