7 comments/ 12988 views/ 0 favorites Freddie Retires From Sex Ch. 01 By: BOSTONFICTIONWRITER For the first time in my life, I'm retired from sex and women. I'm done with sex. I've had it. It's over. I'm finished with women. That's not to say that I turned gay 'cause I haven't. I'm not even bi-sexual. Men as lovers don't interest me. Unless I'm watching a sporting event or having a beer with the guys, I don't even think of men and especially not in the way that I think about women. I'm as straight as a fence post. I'm just done with women and with sex. I'm still the same man that I was before, a man's man, a macho man, a manly man, and a modest man. "Men, men, men, men, men, men, men, men..." Only, from now on, I'm living my life without women. Think of me not so much as a misogynist but as you would an asexual or a eunuch. My life is the same only better...without sex and without women. After finally severing the cord from women, I feel relieved and uplifted. I can breathe without hearing her incessant voice in my head. Finally, I feel in control of my own destiny without the continual static of nagging. "Do this, do that, don't forget this, and don't forget that." No longer must I consider her feelings before doing something for myself. Arguing over everything is over because...I don't have to argue about anything anymore. Now, it's just me and the dog. "Good dog. Good boy, buddy." Finally, I'm free to buy my truck, a big screen TV, and season's tickets to the game next season. I can drink until I collapse and not clean up my mess. Hell, I can just hire a woman to do that. There are enough fast food restaurants and supermarket freezers filled with TV dinners, that I'll never go hungry. Never will I eat broccoli, cauliflower, squash, turnip or suck on soy again. "Yuck!" Steaks and potatoes are my mainstay from now on, since I no longer have a vegan woman planning my vegan menu. "Yeah boy! Let's barbeque some meat!" Moreover, I feel at peace not being weighed down with lascivious thoughts and deterred by womanly distractions. No more games. No more wasting time with dating, dating services, and blind dates. No longer do I have to beg for sex. I don't have to strategize for sex. I don't have to pay for sex. I don't have to be nice. I'm done with sex and with women. For the first time, I'm retired from sex. For the first time, I'm going to do without sex and without women in my life. "Ah, life is good. Do you hear that? Yeah, that's the sound of my testosterone sleeping soundly." No longer do I have lustful desires for female strangers. Instead, I have good will to all women naked and dressed. No longer must I wear mirrored shoes. Suddenly, I have money in my pocket and I can buy whatever I want with it without having to check with my surrogate mothers, my wife, my girlfriend, and my mistress. I realize that it's only been a few minutes since I retired from sex and from women, but it feels good to finally remove and discard the emergency, just in case condom that I've saved in my wallet for the past two decades. I put my Playboy collection on E-Bay to sell to the highest bidder, along with my collection of porn movies, and Barry White records. I even inflated Helga, my dirty and nasty blowup doll, for the last time and sailed her away off Long wharf and out to Boston Harbor. Maybe, some lonely and deserving sailor or Gloucester fisherman will find her floating out to sea and make good use of her as I have all these years. "Good-bye, Helga, you sexy, inflatable rubber siren, you. I'm going to miss you, especially on Monday nights, between the football and baseball season, when there is nothing on television. Stay out of the hot sun. Keep an eye out for sharks and you should survive okay." I feel like a new man. For the first time in my life, my mind is clear of all sexual images, erotic feelings, and lascivious thoughts, which in my case means that my mind is blank. I'm a blank slate, devoid of impure thoughts, and finally free to live my life without French perfume, the click, click, click of high heels, and the sugary sounds of a feminine voice whispering sweet nothings in my ear. "Freddie! Take out the garbage!" Gees, a foghorn is less intrusive than hearing that nagging voice. Born again, I'm a virginal (kind of, almost, not really, not at all, okay, you win, in mind and in spirit only) Christian. This is a first for me. This is a brand, spanking new feeling not to be thinking about sex, sex, and more sex twenty-four hours a day and seven days a week, especially Friday and Saturday nights, just before the CFNM shows close and the drunk and horny women are congregating outside like flies on a picnic table. Swooping one of them up to bring home for the cold, lonely, horny night is like picking out a toy at the toy store or candy at the candy store. Just as I'm done with sex, I'm done with women. I'm done, I tell you; I'm done. "Hmm, in hindsight, maybe I shouldn't have been so rash. Maybe, I should have kept Helga." Nonetheless, do you hear me? I'm done. No more sex and no more women for me. From now on, abstinence is what I'm all about. Abstinence is my essence from now on. Ah, breathe deep and abstain. Forget about safe sex. My motto now is no sex. My Priest will be having more sex than me. Okay, maybe using a Catholic Priest is not a good analogy to use as someone who does not have sex. From now on, when you hear the word abstinence, you will think of me, Freddie. When you think of Freddie, you will think, he's done with sex. There are those of you who may want my leftovers. Yes, in the past, a few minutes ago, before I stopped having sex and avoided women at all cost, my cup hath runneth over with bra cups. Take them. Take them all. They are yours for the taking. I'm done with wives, girlfriends, mistresses, that girl in the bar, that woman from last night, and the twins, oh, my God, the twins. I've already burned my black book. Okay, it's not really burned, singed a little, well, maybe not singed, smoky, yeah, definitely smoky, but I plan on torching the thing as soon as I finish writing this story. "Give me strength God." Ah...there, that's better. I'm done, d-o-n-e. I'm done with women. I'm done with sex. For the first time, I'm free. To be continued... Freddie Retires From Sex Ch. 02 For the first time in my life, I'm retired from sex and women. I'm done with sex. I've had it. I'm finished with women. Officially, this is my first time retiring from sex and from women. That's right, you read it correctly. I'm retiring from sex and women for the first time in my life. I feel free from the hold that women have had on me throughout my entire life. My mind is cleansed from the dirty and nasty thoughts of what I wanted to do with every woman who I ever met. Sorry, Ma, for thinking impure thoughts about you, too. No longer will I part with my time. No longer will I part with my money. No longer will I share my feelings of love and open my heart and be vulnerable to any woman just to get her in bed...naked...naked and bound...and naked, bound, and blindfolded. It's over. Romance is gone from my mind, eliminated from my heart, and vacated from the front of my pants. No longer must I have to steam iron my pants to remove the evidence of the pup tent of horniness that overtook me at the supermarket, the mall, and at work. With lust for women removed from my thoughts, I'll have time to think of more important things, such as outfitting that Ford F250 Super Duty truck. All that money I spent on flowers is better spent on beer. Hey, now I can afford the imported brands. No longer will I undress women with my eyes, been there, done that, and seen one, seen them all. No longer will I gift wrap kneepads, blindfolds, and handcuffs as thoughtful Christmas, birthday, and anniversary gifts. From now on, I will give kitchenware, pots and pans to my casual acquainted women, but not potholders and aprons, no, never potholders and aprons. I had a girlfriend who...never mind. So, why did I write that this is the first time that I'm retiring from sex? I'm a realist. Just as I know that this first time won't be the last time, I know that this first retirement time from sex and from women won't last. I know I'll slip with the sight of perfect cleavage or a shapely thigh. I know my knees will buckle and my will power crumble when I see a shapely woman wearing a short, tight, blow me dress. I know that I'm addicted. I know my spirit is strong, but my flesh is weak. All that it may take for my hips to reflexively begin humping is to see a women bending over in front of me at the mall or actually to see a woman is enough for my hips to start gyrating, but no more. "Oh, hear me Lord. Give me the strength to cast away Satan, along with the images of Pamela Anderson's pretty face and perfect tits, Angelina Jolie's voluptuous body and full lips, and those scantily clad naïve and helpless women on Survivor. Hear my prayer, Oh Lord. I beseech you to give me the strength to stand flaccid against feminine temptation. Amen." From this moment on, when a woman asks me, "Is that a roll of quarters in your pants or are you happy to see me?" I can reach down deep in my pocket, pullout a roll of quarters from my pants, and laugh in her face. "It's a roll of quarters, you sexy, siren slut. Now, take whatever you're peddling and peddle it somewhere else with someone else, sister. Oh, sorry, Sis, I didn't know that was you." I'm doing my best to make my stand and free myself from imagining white cotton, bikini, thong, silk, and pastel colored, satin panties. No longer will I think about perky little 32A's, a handful of 34B's, a double mouthful of 36C's, thank you God 38D's, and (gulp) stripper sized 40DD's tits. Now, those numbers to me are not bra sizes, but are just numbers that the quarterback calls before the snap of the ball when I yell, "Go long!" or the Priest calls out before I yell, "Bingo!" Now, when I think of silicon implants, I'll think of semi-conductor devices inserted in computers and not two perfect, globular mounds of surgically enhanced breasts created by the skillful hands of a God-like plastic surgeon who shares his artistic talents for both the betterment of womankind and mankind. Sorry, I digress. I'm dizzy thinking about breast implants. I need smelling salts. No, never mind, no smelling salts. They'll make me think of saline implants. To me, the words shaved, bushy, and trimmed will no longer recall the images of succulent pussies, but haircuts, hedges, and lawns. I'm done thinking about firm tits that make my eyes cross and shaved, trimmed, and full bushes that make my cock hard. No more will I stare at a round ass that makes me follow her out of the subway, around the corner, and forever. Gone is the image of pink, puffy nipples that makes me a fan of Eli Whitney, his cotton gin, and because of him, the possibility of having wet t-shirt contests in Margaritaville with Jimmy Buffet's songs playing in the background. Erased from my thoughts are long shapely legs that promise a gateway to paradise tonight, but in reality with pregnancy and marriage looming real and large, as a lifelong consequence, are a slippery sloping slide to Hell's inferno tomorrow. Nevermore will I be a sucker for bright blue, deep hazel, and big brown eyes that mesmerize me. With the disappearance of depraved sexual thoughts that made me want to confess to a priest, pucker up your red pouting lips and blow because I'm not buying it anymore, baby. You can take your lush blonde, silky red, mahogany brown, and blue black hair that I imagine you tossing while you are...never mind. God, this is so hard! I'm so hard. Quick! Someone show me a full color nude photo of Madeline Albright and/or Ruth Bader Ginsburg. I need a full dose of horribly ugly to set my mind free of the evil charms of women. To be continued... Freddie Retires From Sex Ch. 03 For the first time in my life, I'm retired from sex and women. I'm done with sex. I've had it. I'm finished with women. Much like the one day at a time alcoholic with alcohol, who is on the wagon for seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months or years, too often he or she falls off and reverts right back to binge drinking. Although alcoholism is not contagious, it is contagious in a manner of speaking when you continually frequent bars and taverns and constantly hang around with those who enjoy drinking. In some cases, it's an inherited disease. Nonetheless, alcoholism is a horrible disease. Much like a drug addict with drugs, it takes several times before he or she is clean. Drugs are a dirty, illegal business that has ruined this country. As I'm saying no to sex and to women, just say no to drugs. Much like a gambler who cannot stop him or herself from gambling, I'm pulling the plug on sex and women. I dare say that my addiction to sex and women are equal to that of those who must bet on the horses or on sports teams. There is little difference from those hoping to win the jackpot by inserting a coin over and again in a slot machine and my desire hoping to hit the jackpot by bedding a beautiful, sexy woman and inserting my stiff cock in a consentual pussy over and again. We are both addicted. We all know how hard it is to stop smoking. Right? We've all read the tobacco reports that prove that nicotine is just, as if not more, addictive than alcohol and drugs. How many times have you tried and failed before you either said, "Fuck it! Give me the Camels unfiltered" or finally beat it? How about all those people trying to lose weight? It's easier to gain ten pounds than it is to lose one pound. We've all been there. Weight loss is a big business and, unfortunately, the only losers are those who pay their hard earned money for the quick silver of a secret weight loss pill that doesn't exist. If it took you a year to gain the weight, it will take you a year to remove it. Eating less, exercising, and changing your lifestyle is still the safest and effectively proven way to lose weight. I have the shakes. Look! My hands are shaking and it's only been a few minutes since I've held a pair of perfect tits. It's only been a few minutes since I've retired from sex and women. At this rate, I'll never make it. At this rate, I'll be booking a plane ticket to Bangkok and paying my ten dollars to have ten women fulfill my every wanton wish and depraved desire. My cross to bear was never alcohol. I'm a social drinker. I love a good glass of red wine, usually French or Italian, something dry and of a good vintage such as 1985, whenever I'm having linguine and meatball with a beautiful woman. I love scotch, single malted, Glen Levit 18-years-old is my favorite for any fans compelled to buy me a gift. Thank you very much in advance. E-mail me and I'll give you the P. O. Box address where to mail it. Although, I've been with women who have been as high as the moon and the stars, I never took a drug. Luckily, grass, pills or cocaine never appealed to me. I grew up around drugs. All my friends tried to push them off on me, but I wasn't interested. I had women to keep me high on life and my libido to maintain my steel rod like erection. I didn't need any intoxicants to remove my focus from women and from sex and to deflate my libido and weaken my member. Much the same as drugs, I never smoked. My mother was a chain smoker. She smoked every waking minute. I started boxing at 13-years-old, so smoking was not part of my exercise regimen. Same thing goes for dieting. I never had to diet. I've exercised all my life. Lifting weights makes muscle mass. I have a metabolism like a runaway Kansas City freight train. I can't gain weight if I tried. I'm sure that if I stopped pumping iron and ate as much as I exercised, I'd blow up like a balloon. "Did you see Freddie? He got so fat. He looks like Jerry Lewis when he was having those health issues. What happened to him?" "He stopped lifting weights." "Why on Earth would he stop lifting weights after all those years? He looked so good." "For the first time, he retired from sex and from women. No longer did he have to impress women with his manly, macho, muscular physique and modest self." Okay, I tend to exaggerated, but you get my meaning. Sex is my weakness. Sex is my thing. I've had an erection ever since I can remember. I have one now and I'm trying to quit thinking about sex. It's not easy trying to forget women. Only, I had an epiphany. I figure that if I stopped thinking about sex and women, I could think about other things, more important things, and things to help mankind and womankind. See, there I go again thinking about women. Okay, I don't know what I'll be thinking about yet, I'm still thinking about women, but I'm trying not to think about women, women in lingerie, and naked women. "Focus, Freddie, focus." To be continued... Freddie Retires From Sex Ch. 04 For the first time in my life, I'm retired from sex and women. I'm done with sex. I've had it. I'm finished with women. Yet, for me to not only finally admit for the very first time that I have a problem with sex but also that I'm retired from sex is a big deal. Only, I know that I'm weak. I'm a man after all. Men are the weaker sex. Gees, there I go again writing the s-e-x word. You don't believe me that men are the weaker sex? Stay right here and don't say anything. I'll prove it to you. I'll be right back. "Christine, come here for a minute, please." "What is it, Freddie?" "Do with me what you will. Use me, abuse me, fuck me, and blow me. Take advantage of me. Strip me naked. Beat me, slap me, pinch me, and kick me, so long as you do it lustfully. I'm yours to have slow sex, hot sex, and crazy sex wild with abandon." "I have better things to do, Freddie." See? Did you notice the strength of control that Christine demonstrated just now by not ravishing my sexy body and having her way with me, even though she wanted me and still wants me? She, as a woman, is so strong. She, as a woman, possesses superior will power. I, as a man, can't hold a candle to her. Now, if Christine asked me to do with her what I will, use her, abuse her, fuck her, eat her, take advantage of her, strip her naked, beat, slap, pinch, and kick her, so long as I did it lustfully, I'd be all over her bodacious body in a minute for a minute until I exploded my cum and fell asleep. I'd have no control over my wanton desires for her and/or her mouth, even after retiring from sex. If that doesn't prove that men are the weaker sex, then I don't know what does. We are mere pawns in the hands of women. We are nothing more than their sexual slaves. Have we no pride? Women know this about us and have used that to their advantage. They have taken advantage of us. Well, I'm done. I'm finished with them and I'm done with sex. Yes, I freely admit that I'm a man who loves women, short women, tall women, thin women, fat women, average women, all women. If you are a woman, I love you and/or want to make love to you. Okay, I have my limits. There are some women who do not do it for me. The ex-Secretary of State Madeline Albright and Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg are two women who I would not be attracted to unless they were naked and it was dark, very dark and I was lonely, very lonely. I still wouldn't have sex with them unless I was going to die soon anyway of a fatal disease and I was certain that no one would find out that I did them. What the Hell, I'm a man. Men are weak. Men would fuck phlegm if they could. Women can make men do anything. I'm such a sucker for a good looking, sexy woman, which is why I freely admit that this first attempt in retiring from sex and from women will not be my last attempt and only time from retiring from sex and women. Yet, it's a big deal for me that this is my first time to publicly declare that I'm retiring from sex and from women. Seriously, I'm serious. I'm done. It's over. This is the first time that I admit that I have a problem with sex. Okay, I admit it. I'm a sex fiend. It doesn't take much to get me going, a naked woman, a woman in her underwear, an upskirt view of her panty, a downblouse view of her bra, a fully dressed woman wearing a slinky dress, a woman wearing a goose down winter coat with a hood, hat, gloves, and boots that I swear that I can see her nipples making an appearance through the heavy goose down material of her coat. There! Did you see that? Yeah! And I don't think she's cold wearing a heavy goose down coat with a hood, hat, gloves, and boots. I think she wants me. I really think she wants me. Realistically, what chance do I have of retiring from sex? I can't read a newspaper because of the sexual ads. I can't read a magazine because of the sexual ads. I can't listen to the radio because of, yeah, you guessed it, the sexual ads. I can't watch television. TV is loaded with sex. Commercials are all about sex. Sex is everywhere. When stylists styled products from cars to furniture, it's with sex in mind. Every personal grooming item from hair care to tooth care is sexually shaped. Think about it. Only, what the Hell do I do now? I'm bored already. The first time I retired from sex and from women and I don't have a backup plan. What else am I going to do with my free time? I have nothing to think about. My mind is empty without images of sex and women. Until this moment, I had no idea how involved I was with sex. Moreover, I had no idea how hard it would be to retire from sex. I'm doomed. I mean, everything is sex. I ate, drank, and slept sex. Whatever will I dream about if not naked women? I can't go anywhere or do anything without tripping over sex, sex, and more sex. They say that sex sells. Well, to me, sex sucks. I'm done with sex. I'm done with women. I swear! Pardon me for a second. "What's that, Honey? You're sorry we quarreled? It was your fault? I love you, too, Sweetie Pie." I gotta go. Makeup sex is the best sex. Shit, I have to get my stuff off E-Bay. "Helga!" The End