>tfw no greentext
Robot trigger warning: Not a happy story.
On the morning of my 30th birthday, there was no friendly giant to tell me what I was. By lunchtime, no letter from Hogwarts had arrived, and I didn't spend the afternoon shopping for supplies in Diagon Alley. Being a wizard was not all it was cracked up to be.
That night, I walked alone through the city. Not unusual for me. I watched cars drive by, my breath fog in front of me, and I wandered through residential neighborhoods dark enough for me to see the stars.
I was alone on my walk, but I had been alone even before that. I had been alone my entire adult life. I had no friends. I had never so much as kissed a girl, or even held hands. My family lived far away. I stayed in an apartment alone and couldn't recognize my neighbors on sight. I kept to myself at work.
If you haven't spent a decade or more alone, you won't understand how I felt. The forlorn sense that you don't matter. That you can't express yourself. That you're a wanderer blown, battered, soaked, and lost in a storm searching for respite. There is an emptiness and the desire to fill it becomes overwhelming.
I made a vow that night. Not to the moon or stars, but to myself. This was the year. I was going to turn in my V-card. No matter what. Come hell or high water. In my mind, I became a robot with a singular purpose. The vast forest of branching possibilities ahead of me collapsed in my search algorithm. I went home and to sleep.
(Part 1 of 7)
Working out and eating right were never patterns I could maintain. Don't bother. I'll just try and find a girl who likes a tall lanky type - that's easier. For clothes, I went to a few clothing stores near me. Nordstrums, J. Crew, the Gap. I asked to buy the same outfits that the mannequins were wearing and built a wardrobe that way for the better of a thousand dollars. I stood on the city streets and watched people walk by. Whenever a guy walked by with a cute girl, I'd take a picture of his shoes. Weird, sure, but I found some reasonable shoes that way.
For my hair, I went through the handful of pictures that my siblings and cousins had uploaded to Facebook and tagged me in. I uploaded the pictures to OKCupid and did their AB testing to find my best one. A single picture stood out. I went to a well reviewed hair cut place, and asked the woman to cut my hair "Like in the picture" and showed her my best one. I also started wearing deodorant.
Next stop, finding the lucky lady.
The department of labor publishes good demographic data for Americans doing volunteer work. It turns out women are disproportionately represented in volunteer activities involving kids and food preparation. Kids are out, but food preparation is fair enough. Wouldn't you know it, there is a food bank near me and they need volunteers to work on the weekend.
I give the food bank a call. No answer. I exchange some emails, get some training and a commitment to work for a few months set up along with a schedule that has me working on Saturday in the day and Thursday evening after work. Every day before I go in, I make sure I'm wearing the good clothes, nice shoes, hair looks reasonable, deodorant applied.
The job is easy. Sorting donations, shelving, preparing boxes of food to be given to families. I'm a hard worker by nature, and proactive. I tend to act like I have the authority to act, until I'm told otherwise. I have a better plan for sorting and storing food - so I just start reorganizing and instructing other people to do it my way. They do. I also get the Food Bank on WiFi, buying the routers and setting them up myself. Finally, I start updating their antiquated webpage, tracking the inventory, what we need, what we have, and sending the information out to their largely ignored email list.
At this point I'm coming in even on nights when I'm not scheduled just to help out. I should mention that all of the people working there are either old, unspeakable degenerates, or male. So much for my demographics research. Still, I'm finding the project fun. I like just assuming increasing amounts of authority to organize the Food Bank and get it to run more efficiently. It is like a slow paced video game and I'm working on a project to instrument the process so we can evaluate how the Food Bank operates more rigorously.
Keep it going my man, I've got all night
I notice, one Thursday evening, as I'm leaving, that there is a young woman visiting the old, and usually useless, woman who answers the phones. The old woman calls me over. She wants to introduce me to her granddaughter, who coincidentally dropped by. Her granddaughter is tall, slender, pale, with black hair. Eight of ten. I did say the old bitch was usually useless, not always.
I'm going to call the girl Emma. Emma, was visiting her grandmother. We chat, inanely for a few minutes about the weather, where we are from, what I do for work, etc. Emma, her grandmother says tactlessly, is unemployed despite graduating from college recently. Emma describes this as "Considering grad school".
Throughout the entire conversation an intense war rages in my brain. Those precious few parts of my psyche that aren't responsible for me living a cloistered existence are screaming bloody murder at me. "DO SOMETHING TO FUCK HER!" But exactly how I can go from facile small talk to putting my penis inside this girl is not obvious to me.
"Actually, Anon, could I ask you a huge favor?" Grandma interrupts. "I have to drop off something at a friend's house, and Emma needs a ride home. Would you mind?" Did I say usually useless before? I fucking love this desiccated old cunt. I agree, and Emma shyly says she appreciates it.
Emma gives me her address, and my phone gives me directions. The drive is quiet and awkward. The kind of drive you might expect if a lonely virgin autist were giving a ride to a girl who is sat alone in a car with a stranger who happens to be a lonely virgin autist. The saccade of my eyes across the road is matched in vigor by the scan of my brain as it strains for a way to turn this into something other than a free cab ride for Emma. THERE!
"I love Outback Steakhouse" I declare, gesturing to the restaurant. "Are you hungry?" Emma allows that she could eat, and just like that, Anon is on his first date.
I'll spare you the play by play. The gist of it is, we eat, we talk, I pay, I drop her off at home. On the ride home, I tell her I really enjoyed the evening out, and, happy day, I know of a Beer sampling festival happening on the weekend. Would she like to come with me? She would.
Beer sampling extends into lunch and a movie. It goes a lot better than the first date. On Wednesday, I text her, asking if she wants to try out a hot tub boat with me next weekend. "lol, what's that anon?" I explain that it is a floating hot tub with a motor that we can drive around the lake. She wants to do that too.
The third date, I know from watching TV and movies, is traditionally the date where The Magic Happens. Or, for those of you who don't do euphemisms, it is where sex is had. A couple problems. First, I don't know how real that rule is. Second, I don't know if she considers the first dinner a date. I'm going to leave it at boating for now, then aim to consummate on the fourth date.
The guy at the boat rental place gives us the basic instructions and safety bullshit. He asks what's in my bag, and I explain that it is a change of clothes, neglecting to mention the booze. He then lewdly adds on that there is a steep fee if any "Bodily fluids" have to be cleaned after we return the boat. Emma giggles.
We float around for a bit. Talk. Play twenty questions. Make out. I'm honestly concerned that my first time fooling around is going to cost me the cleanup fee by accident. Luckily, I keep things together.
I know how to draw. I've taken a few classes, read a few books, and practiced daily for a few years. This comes up in conversation and Emma is really interested in it. There is a word for this, and it is "Serendipity". I tell her if she comes by my place this weekend, that I'll draw her. She really likes this idea, we fool around in the boat some more for a couple hours and return it.
Before the weekend, I need some research. I drive to a CVS that isn't my usual one, and buy one box each of the different condoms they sell. Trial and error lets me figure out my ideal brand. I put the others in a bag, walk out on the street, and throw them away in a dumpster, like a mobster hiding a body. I also read up a bit on sex, the basic technique, people's experiences. I try to watch some realistic pornography. As it turns out, for a reasonable subscription price, you can watch webcams in the homes of a few East European couples. Very informative.
Well, the big night comes (it isn't parapraxis if it is intentional). I'm nervous, mainly because a lot of what I've read is about how awful and awkward the first time was for people. Plus, I haven't brought up the virginity issue with Emma at all.
(Final part. 7)
As it turns out, there isn't a need to be nervous. The evening proceeds by the numbers. We talk. We drink a bit. We order food. I draw her (sans imperfections). She really likes it. We eat. We drink a bit more. Maybe sex is hard when you're a hormonal teenager. But, realistically, it is a pretty simple set of motions that your bodies were designed to do. And we do.
I'm not trying to represent myself as Don Juan, but the two main goals were accomplished. I came, and she didn't hate it so much that she stopped talking to me.
Hit the Fast Forward button. More dating. More sex. More talking. Lots of talking. Two months after we first met, I ask her if she considers us boyfriend and girlfriend. She does.
Last night we were walking home, hand in hand, under a gentle drizzle. She looked up at me adoringly, and it hit me. I have a girlfriend. We date. We have sex. She really likes me. I have a girlfriend and I am still miserable.
>Tfw you have finally ascended to salvation that all robots seek
>Yet you are still miserable.
Will there ever be an end to this suffering?
Sex is fun. Imagine a genie granted you a wish, and improved the quality of your masturbation by 20%. Only, now you had to spend lots of time and money maintaining a relationship with a girl.
Does that sound like it would solve your crippling depression?
THATS HOW THAT FUCKING ENDED?!
FUCK ANON WHY?? I WAS EXPECTING MORE WHY ALL THE DETAIL? WHY BOTHER GETTING MY HOPES UP?? FUCK THE SOUP KITCHEN AND THE OLD BIRD WHY WOULD YOU TELL ME ABOUT THE HOT TUB BOAT IF NOT OF IT MATTERS?! REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
The structure of the story reflects the moral. Anon cares about the project of self improvement, working at the food bank, etc. That gets most of the focus.
The conclusion is abrupt and drives home the moral that getting a girlfriend won't make you happy.
Some poetry right there
A beautiful and inspirational story. I liked it.
> I have a girlfriend and I am still miserable.
Let this be a lesson to the rest of you: that thing that you dream of having because you think it will save you or bring you happiness will do neither. You will get it, and the things you thought it would bring will slip through your fingers as easily as air.