Sex is a form of communication. It became as such when we realized the boredom of procreation. Reproducing was such a mechanical process, so mathematic. You raise a child right, you create a respectable human being fit for society. You neglect that child, he grows up to be a sociopathic monster. When we discovered that we could have sex for every other reason BUT procreation, that’s when the real fun began.

Sex became therapy. Sex became a way to increase intimacy between two or more consenting adults. Sex was not just hedonism, it was ART. It existed, it happened, for no other reason except that our minds came up with it.

Fucking a girl in the ass, cumming on her face, calling her a slut while making her lick your taint…all acts of intimacy. All communicative gestures designed to build trust, to better connect our minds and bodies. There is no such thing as filth. There is only a lack of trust. There is only incompatibility. When two lovers meet and they become intertwined as soul mates, that’s when real intimacy begins.

Virgin girls sense this about experienced men. We are master communicators. We are scientists of the human body, of sexology and psychology. We are the Doms that understand their orgasm better than even they do.

But at some point, just as all life dies, so too does soulful communication end. Even something as glorious as naked intimacy must end. The escalation of thought, the perversity of ambition, the liberation of mind and body from the shackles of religion and social order…at some point, it becomes too much for a young almost-virgin to bear.

I do get the feeling Maya has seen the blackness of my soul and has wisely chosen to step back. She’s too smart to dismiss my erotic escapades as deviant behavior. She well knows that sex is merely the language of all human beings and some of us are just much more fluent in speaking than others. And some, of course, are plain autistic when it comes to intimate communication.

I suppose it does look rather strange to see me, Zander Troy, the billionaire hedonist having lunch in a zoo café with Maya’s parents. It’s rather strange how I’ve bonded with these two otherwise opposite people. I’ve done foul, terrible things to their daughter’s body. Corrupted her in ways she never dreamed and will never completely heal from. All at her request, naturally.

But I find myself all out of ideas on how to win Maya’s heart. I told her parents to come meet me at the zoo café to discuss more additions to aviary, but I suspect they saw through that ruse rather easily. They came because they knew I wanted to talk about Maya. Perhaps they could even feel my desperation.

“I’m losing her,” I say, finally forgoing the act of having it all together. I’m tired of pretending as if we’re just friends and Maya is my sugar baby pet. I am obsessed with her. I need her, she is the answer to this constantly looping riddle in my head. I have to possess her because if I lose her for good, I will never feel this “clean” sensation ever again. Is this what love feels like? The urgent desire to never let go? Never give up…

“I don’t want to sound pathetic. But I’m afraid of losing her. And as it’s rather obvious now…I’m completely out of ideas.”

I look into the father’s eyes and bite my lip, showing a look of helpless surrender which is totally unbecoming of me, of all my family’s legacy. Mark mirrors back my shame and gives me a look of pity.

“Well, I’m sorry that this happened. Women, who knows what they want?”

“Mark!” Merva scolds him. “That’s not helping. Zander, honey, we feel really bad about what happened. But maybe it’s time to face some facts.”

“What? What did Maya say? Did she tell you something?” I look at Mark and rattle my head in frustration. “I’ve tried everything. Given her everything she wants. But she can never bring herself to respect me.”

“It’s not about that,” Merva says. “There are just some major personality differences between you and Maya.”

“But they’re peripheral. I just wish she could see how much in agreement we really are.”

“But they’re not peripheral, Zander! For example, the age difference.”

“It’s not like I’m eighty years old!” I respite. “I’m still in the prime of my life. Do you want to see my abs? Do you want to see my stomach?”

“Yes—”

“No!” Mark says. “That’s not the point. And it’s not really about the age either. It’s the culture, the heritage.”

“The what?”

“The religion, Zander. Religion. Maya is a Christian girl. You’re an atheist, right?”

“I’m Catholic,” I say with a shrug.

“Yeah but do you really believe?”

“I don’t know. Probably not.”

“So there you go. You’re incompatible!” Mark replies. “You remember that scripture that talked about being unevenly yoked?”

“No…why are we suddenly talking about eggs?”

“No, unevenly yoked.”

“Okay?”

“The point is, Zander,” Merva says, “Maya is a very good girl, an innocent girl. She is very childlike. She still thinks of roses and chocolates and flowers. She doesn’t really do the whole ‘get naked and fool around with whoever’ thing like you rich people do.”

“Ah…I see.” I stare wide-eyed, trying not to make a face. Are we talking about the same Maya? God, they really don’t know, do they? I suppose every parent likes to think their child never grows up. That she stays the same precocious twelve-year-old girl they once took to Disneyland. Should I tell her that Maya is just as “kinky” as I am? No…it would be a betrayal to embarrass Maya in such a way. Let them hold onto their fantasy. Maybe our fantasies, however howlingly delusional, are what we deserve to hear.

“She’s a good girl, she wants to meet a good boy, plain and simple.”

“You’re right,” I say with a tired smile. “Maybe that’s the truest thing I’ve heard all day.”

Maybe Maya’s flirtation with the dark side was nothing more than an experiment. Maybe she always wanted, or even DESERVED, someone better than me. Someone with a clear mind. Someone…who never found joy in destroying beautiful things.

“Maybe there’s just a difference in the way you date and view courtship,” Merva says. “Now you, Zander, probably come from the hookup culture, right?”

“The what?”

“The hookup culture. It’s when people hook up, you know. That and pornography.”

“What?! What are we talking about here?”

“We live in Satan’s world, Zander. Pornography is the number one sexuality educator. Boys are exposed to pornography at an early age and become addicted to it. They grow up with all kinds of warped perceptions about what sex really is. And you know, men who grow up watching porn and turning their relationships into porno scenes, they have a lot of problems in life!”

“Yes. Ted Bundy looked at porn,” Mark says stoically.

“Pornography glorifies rape. Violence. And even some of the men, you know, they have problems with erectile dysfunction because of all the porn.”

“Yes,” Mark says seriously. “And the big breasts. Always with the huge breasts.”

“Honey, that’s not necessary to say!” Merva says bitterly. “I’m sure he knows all about the big breasts!”

“I was on your side!” Mark replies. “I’m just saying that’s what porn is.”

“And how would you know that, Mark DeBank?”

“What? People don’t know that? I don’t watch it! I’m just saying, large breasts like in the dirty movies, you don’t see that in real life!”

“Honey, just be quiet. You’re making things worse. But the point is, yes, sex isn’t always about doing what feels good. Sometimes it’s about communicating with words, and being awkward, and being vulnerable. It’s not a game. It’s about really understanding what your partner wants from you, and not just what you see in your partner.”

I’ve been struggling not to laugh for a good two minutes…but the last thing Merva says really hits me like a slap to the face. I lose my smile and think it over. Somehow it hurts me…which means it’s something close to the truth.

“Yeah,” Mark adds. “And here’s the point, Zander. You really have to get good with Jesus Christ.”

“Yes,” Merva says, finally agreeing with her husband.

“All the other stuff is secondary. But if you want your marriage to last, you have to accept Jesus Christ into your heart.”

“Yes!”

I stare in confusion…and now the urge to giggle comes back. “Ah, I see. Well…”

“I mean, if you have Jesus in your heart, you’re not going to watch porn. Or view women as sexual objects. You’re going to repent of your sins and seek to be a man of God. A devoted husband who believes in the bible. That’s the kind of man Maya really wants.”

“UH HUH?” I say, now literally wiping my face trying to push away the giggles. Oh God, I deserve some kind of special achievement award for surviving this conversation. While I came into this conversation desperate, throwing myself down at the feet of Maya’s parents looking for advice…now I smile bittersweetly as I realize that Maya’s parents don’t know their daughter any better than I thought I did. No one really knows what’s going on in Maya’s head except the lovely Maya herself.

This is the unflattering truth we all hate to admit. No one knows. No one knows the future, just like no one knows what goes on inside another person’s mind. True compatibility between people is mysterious. There isn’t always a clear reason why we do the things we do, or at least, not until years later when we can be introspective and see the whole picture. But in the present, we only feel our instincts guiding us. We don’t understand motivations. We don’t see our mistakes coming. We can only do what feels right, whether that instinctive voice saves us or whether it kills us.

I don’t know what Maya is thinking…and maybe it’s best that I don’t know. Maybe it’s better that I stop chasing her, stop trying to win her over. Maybe that’s the lesson she’s trying to teach me, or the lesson Life itself is trying to teach me.

If we love someone beautiful, we let it go. We don’t keep that beautiful creature in a cage. We let that magnificent raptor spread its wings and fly. If Maya really is destined to be great, to change the world and be the Fire that keeps humanity alive…she can do it just fine without me.

My father did tell me once…whatever you do, don’t try to resist forces of nature at work. You will always lose. And a woman as headstrong as Maya is a force of nature. Man only has the privilege to watch her fly from a distance.

Getting over someone is the worst feeling in the world. When you text your immortal beloved and wait hours for a reply, only to realize, “She’s not going to write me back, is she?”, that’s when you realize you’ve been walking down the wrong road. Maybe for hours, or maybe even for years. You can’t turn back now, because to turn back now when you’ve built your entire life around one mistaken perception is nearly impossible.

I could never “turn things around” after I was trained from birth to run an empire in a way comparable to my mother. Even when a good activist named Katey Shall tried to show me the way, tried to convince me to give up my wealth and join her socialist revolution, I reverted back to my instincts, however flawed they might be.

I remember ejaculating softly inside Katey, staring deeply into her eyes as the passion consumed us. Both of us feeling each other in that moment, both of us clinging to each other, as if trying to drag each other into two separate heavens during the moment of orgasm. She cried after sex, not just because I made her come. But because she was convinced she could save me. She could turn my life around. Make me forsake all that my father left me and run away with her to become an ordinary man. She made it sound so inviting…to disappear.

But I was already too far down the road, the path of TROY, the path my family has chosen. I couldn’t look back, not even for Katey. Of course, in my twenties, I really didn’t understand the concept of love at all. I thought Katey was merely hypnotizing me, seducing me, into an alternate life I never wanted. Only now do I look back and see the possibility that it was one version of happiness available to me. One I chose to leave behind because I followed the path.

With Maya, it feels different somehow. She knows the path I’m going on. She never judged me for any of it. She even made my heart flutter at the thought that she could walk with me, wherever I go.

But the joke was on me. She had already seen an intersection ahead and that was her stop. How foolish of me to think that my lonely road would be appealing to someone who had the Fire, who had the zest for life that all we cynical hedonists lack?

“Lie to me,” I say with a smile to Denise and Tara, two buxom young girls, blond and ginger red. I met the two beauties at a party downtown. They’re not escorts, nor even groupies—which for me, who knows, is at least one step up my ladder of depravity. They were simply girls in a bar, looking for a good time. Preferably with a SPECIAL guy, someone ahead of the class.

“Mister Troy,” Denise says in a giggly voice. “I really love what you do for people.”

“Do you?” I say, pouring drinks for the girls in my skyscraper bachelor pad. It’s a rental unit I use only once or twice a year, when I want to charm and/or go to bed with world leaders, dignitaries, politicians and movie stars.

“Yes, totally. I see the stuff you do, for charity, for the homeless, for the Democratic fundraisers and I think, like, oh my God…this is such a great man. You’re like the younger, sexier Bill Gates.”

“Not as much of a nerd though, right?”

“No way,” Tara says. “You’re like an alpha, man. Like Batman or Superman but in real life.”

“You’re too kind,” I say with a smile.

“You’re too kind!” Tara says. “I can’t believe we’re getting to hang out with Zander Troy in his private quarters. Don’t you usually have movie stars up here for, uh…dinner?”

“Uh, dinner?” Denise cracks up.

“I didn’t want to presume!” Tara says bashfully.

“Ah, I see.” I smile, but only halfheartedly. “The truth is, girls, I’ve grown up a lot in recent years. Just a few months ago, I was all about the sex and partying.”

“Yeah!”

“But at some point, you realize that sex without emotional connection is a meaningless experience. To a virgin it may be something new and exciting. But to us…shall we say, non-virgins…it’s an addiction. A fleeting high followed by a crashing low. To know, to fully understand, that a person only wants your body. Only wants your conversation. But your heart, your whole identity, is meaningless.”

“Awwww,” Denise says. “I’m sorry, baby. I totally get what you’re saying. My boyfriend dumped me once for this skank named Amanda. And she was fugly as shit!”

“Right.”

“And it’s like, you may THINK you want to be with Amanda, honey? But at some point, you’re going to realize that I was the only one who really cared about you. Some hoe who just wants your dick isn’t going to be the one to meet your family, and take care of your babies, and drive you to the airport and shit.”

“Yeah, it’s like that song!” Tara says. “When you cried I wiped away all of your tears and you screamed and I fought away all of your fears!”

Both girls belt out a tune and sing together, merrily, uninhibitedly, as “in the moment” as any virgin—still with the fire of life in their eyes.

“And you still haaaaaave ALL OF ME!”

I can’t help but laugh along with my cackling friends. I’m not even being facetious for once. I suppose when a man feels alone and defeated, the laughter of beautiful women is the doctor-recommended cure.

“You have a lovely voice,” I say, giving them both the “bedroom eyes” that gets me laid ninety-percent of the time. But as I begin to feel the same destructive instincts crying out, the same impulse that constantly says FEED ME, I realize that I’m the one seducing them. I’m the one avoiding conversation and fast-forwarding to sex. Maybe it’s about time I challenge myself for a change and go for something deeper.

“But seriously,” I say, shaking off my hypnotic gaze. “It’s not about the sex anymore. I find emotional connection far more interesting…far more fulfilling. Which is why I brought you both up here. I’m no longer looking for mindless sex. I really just wanted to talk to you and get to know you. I guess you could say I learned something from my last relationship.”

“Awww, that’s sweet,” Tara says. “I agree one hundred percent, Mister Troy. Sex without love, even if it’s just a little love, is boring. It’s also a generational thing. Like, millennials my age are just not into constant horn-dogging and hooking up like all you Gen-X guys. No offense.”

“None taken. Why is that?”

“I dunno. It’s like, once you realize you’re a hot chick and you can have literally any guy you want? It makes you kind of spoiled. Like, I could have sex with you but do I want to? Is this going to be better than porn? Or is this actually going to mean something for REAL, you know?”

“I understand,” I say with a firm nod.

“Yeah,” Denise says. “I mean a lot of guys are very surprised when I tell them I’m still a virgin.”

“You don’t say?” I smile crookedly, amused at the coincidence.

“Well, yeah. I mean…” She rolls her eyes. “But blowjobs and anal rimming don’t count.”

“Obviously!” Tara says.

“Yeah, everyone does blowjobs and eats ass. But that’s not real sex.”

“Ah,” I say with a nod.

“But aside from that, no trespassing in the pussy! Virgin all the way, baby. Excuse my French.”

“The point is, Mister Troy,” Tara continues, “I admire a man who WANTS more than just sex. It shows he really likes you, you know?”

“And how about me?” I ask with a smile, for the first time in my life, actually pushing away images of Maya’s smiling face. “Do you sense any emotional connection with me? Or are you just chasing my celebrity dick?”

The girls laugh. I actually start to have a good time…and Maya’s smile begins to fade. Maybe time heals all relationship wounds…especially if you learn something from all that brutal emotional trauma.

“I really DO like you!” Tara says. “But no, I don’t care about celebrity and money and all that shit.”

“Nope,” Denise says. “Didn’t even know who you were in the bar, to be honest. Just liked your haircut.”

“Yeah!” Tara laughs. “We don’t follow like, business and other boring shit. Besides, just because you’re a zillionaire doesn’t mean you have a million followers on Instagram or anything actually important. I mean, come on…no one’s that impressed with money anymore, dude. No offense.”

I laugh and nod in agreement. “Well, that’s a start. So we’re just guys and girls talking as individuals. No phony bullshit. No pretenses. No one’s using anyone.”

“Exactly!”

“Dude, if I were going to use you it would be for your hot bod. Not for your big-ass celebrity name.”

“Yeah, all that’s so 2010. I don’t even watch the Kardashians anymore. It’s like, enough already. Use all that money to grow some talent, bitch.”

“Well…I sure had a lot of fun tonight, girls,” I say peacefully. “You really helped me to laugh again.”

“We had fun too!” Denise says. “Do you want to go skiing with us next week?”

“Skiing?” I ask in disbelief.

“Dude, don’t tell me you just sit around in this palace steepling like Montgomery Burns. Get the fuck out of the house and live a little!”

I laugh along with them, amused at the visual of me, Zander Troy, actually skiing with some random college girls. “Well…which one of you would I be dating if I agreed to a second date?”

“Maybe you don’t have to choose,” Denise says, this time without her goofy smile. This time she gives me the bedroom eyes, along with Tara, sending a pleasant ripple of oxytocin through my spine.

“It’s 2018,” Tara says. “Polyamorous relationships are totally a thing. Actually, two of my friends are in threesome marriages. And they’ve never been happier.”

“Huh…you don’t say.” Well, getting over someone is never easy. But maybe it helps to stop taking “the rules” so seriously.