Slam poem about virginity

I'm nearly 23 and a virgin. I wrote this shortly after I quit PMO. Based on real events.

Through the Wall

I shut the door, blocking out the sounds of the city, and as my ears slowly grow accustomed to the silence of the empty apartment, I become aware that even silence is not silence.



It's 1 AM on a Saturday morning and I'm out of work. I hang up my shitty work uniform and crash on my couch, which smells like cigarette smoke and despair. As I light one, a repetitive, soft, yet soul-piercing sound grates on my ears more strongly than a trumpet blast, thanks to architecture of a house that was not designed with privacy in mind.



I hear a young woman, moaning. She's being fucked by some guy, and that guy is not me. She's breathing hard, and I can't tell whether she is really enjoying having some guy's cock in her or whether she's faking it, as so many do. Faking it to make this 20-year old kid feel like he's really a man. Maybe that's what a man is, just putting his big old fucking dick wherever the fuck he wants to put it. I wouldn't know.



My hair stands on end and an indescribable feeling of sad longing fills my empty soul like an unused well being filled up with dirt. I want to be in that room, in that bed, or out of the apartment. Anywhere but on the other side of this fucking wall, like an animal in a cage that scratches at the bars yet never gets out.



After a few minutes I hear her laughing, a happy and carefree laugh as she chats with the guy who is presumably her boyfriend. I hear them chatting some more, he says something and then she laughs and says four words that burn my heart deeper than any burn that can be measure in degrees.



"I have a boyfriend!"



He's not her boyfriend, he's the side guy who's fulfilling what she needs at the moment, and what he needs tonight. He's the guy her boyfriend would kill if he knew who he was. I know who this guy is. He has a muscular frame, thick arms and strong hands, hands that can hold down and hands that can smack. I imagine him fucking that girl, fucking something that is the opposite of himself. He, big and large, and her, small and soft. Maybe that's what a woman really wants.



I hear them chatting and making conversation. I got home in the middle of it and who knew how long it was going on. In my jealous mind it would have been going on for hours, while I was at work doing something with no love in it whatsoever. I find myself craving even the slightest touch from a woman, I don't even want to be fucked, I just want to be touched. I want to be kissed. I want to feel as if it's not just me who is falling into this black pit of shit and despair, who knows what he wants but isn't sure how to get it, and if he ever can get it. I want a woman who understands my pain and knows where I'm coming from when I say that love is blind.



We all know that love isn't blind though. If you want something blind, look for death. Death is a cruel mistress, but she takes us all; young or old, thin or fat. I wish it would just take me at this exact moment. I don't want to see her and I don't want to know what she looks like. In my mind trying to console myself, she's ugly and nothing appealing to the eye. In my mind that self-sabotages, she's a beautiful blonde girl with a gorgeous frame and bright eyes, eyes that yearn for a man's body, to taste it and to touch it.



As their chatter dies and they fall asleep, I envision them falling asleep on each other. Her, draped across him, with her head on his chest, and him, with his hand in her hair, staring off into space. I wonder where his mind goes after he's got it out of his system, after you've experienced what seems like the eternal orgasm and you have gotten everything you thought you wanted, in the form of another person's body. I wonder about that young man, man in the eyes of the law but still boy at heart, about the boy he used to be and the girl that young woman used to be.



I sense what draws them together tonight and I see it deep inside myself as well. We want to be held, we want to just grind out the feelings of hollowness that we know will fucking come anyway the next morning and indulge for a night, pretend that this is what happiness is. It's a lie, but it's a lie that is very hard not to believe.

 

Based on that experience would you advise against ONS or hooking up? Also how old are you?

 

I'm 23 in May. I may have a few ONS just to lose my v-card and gain some experience and hopefully some confidence, but obviously, ultimately I want a serious relationship. My reasoning is that I don't want to enter a relationship completely inexperienced, also, I am of the possible minority opinion that even casual sex is preferable to porn and masturbation. At least it's shared. I don't think hooking up a few times makes you a bad person. I think living a loveless life while harming others does.