I’ve Never Slept with a Woman, Ever

Here's a life that zigs where others zag, a kaleidoscope of experiences untouched by the usual romantic scripts. I’ve never shared a bed with a woman, not once, and the reason’s no secret - I’m gay, and my world’s been a whirlwind of men, ideas, and untamed detours. This isn’t a confession; it’s an invitation to a mind-bending carnival where connection, desire, and existence dance to a different beat. Strap in for a conversational riot through a life that’s anything but ordinary, packed with ideas that’ll twist your brain into knots.

The Electric Chaos of Attraction

Attraction in my world doesn’t play by rom-com rules. It’s a live wire, sparking through encounters with men that range from fleeting to soul-shaking. Never sleeping with a woman leaves room for a different kind of fire. Let’s dive into the glorious mess of how desire rewires a life like mine.

• Hookups explode like supernovas. A late-night meetup with a guy from a bar turned into a three-hour debate on alien linguistics, clothes optional. We never saw each other again, but I still grin at the memory. It’s chaos, and I thrive in it.
• Long-term flings carve deep grooves. My ex and I spent a year building a solar-powered go-kart between marathon makeout sessions. Crashing it into a ditch felt like poetry. The scars still spark nostalgia.
• Random glances ignite whole sagas. A stranger’s smirk on a subway led to a week of flirty texts and a midnight tattoo dare. I’ve got a tiny comet on my wrist now. It’s a story etched in ink.
• Fantasies spiral into mental wormholes. Daydreams about a rugged artist I met at a gallery kept me up for days, sketching his face in charcoal. Never acted on it, but my walls are a gallery of his ghost. Every line hums with what-ifs.
• Bars pulse with raw potential. A dive bar’s dim lights once led to a guy teaching me salsa on a sticky floor. We fumbled, laughed, and kissed until closing. My hips still sway to that memory’s rhythm.

Friendship’s Wild Undercurrent

No women in my bed doesn’t mean no bonds. Friendships with guys and gals alike run deeper than most romances I’ve seen. They’re raw, unfiltered, and often weirder than fiction. Here’s how my crew keeps the world spinning without a hint of pillow talk.

• Late-night talks turn galactic. My best mate and I once spent six hours ranking Star Trek captains while splitting a bottle of bourbon. By dawn, we’d invented a new Klingon battle cry. It’s our handshake now.
• Road trips birth absurd rituals. A buddy dragged me on a desert jaunt where we buried a time capsule of bad poetry and cheap whiskey. We vowed to dig it up in a decade. Bet it’s still there, mocking us.
• Group chats hum with madness. My phone buzzes with memes and conspiracy theories from a dozen pals at 2 a.m. Last week’s thread on Bigfoot’s tax returns nearly crashed my data plan. It’s love in pixel form.
• Shared obsessions glue us tight. A friend and I rebuilt a vintage arcade machine, cursing and laughing through every fried circuit. It spits sparks now, but it’s ours. Victory tastes like burnt wires.
• Impromptu bets seal the deal. I lost a wager and had to serenade a diner crowd with a terrible ballad alongside a pal. We got free pie and a standing ovation. Bonds like that don’t fade.

The Brain’s Unhinged Playground

A life fueled by men and mayhem leaves the mind free to cartwheel through bizarre realms. No domestic routine tethers my thoughts. It’s a mental free-for-all, equal parts genius and lunacy. Let’s roam the neon-lit corners of a brain on overdrive.

• Puzzles hijack entire weekends. I once tore apart a thrift-store clock to learn its gears, then built a steampunk sculpture from the guts. It ticks backward now. My roommates hate it, but I’m obsessed.
• Dreams morph into sci-fi epics. Last night, I captained a starship crewed by sentient cacti in a war against rogue AI. Woke up sketching their spines. Bet it’s a blockbuster someday.
• Books detonate new fixations. A stray novel on cryptology sent me down a code-breaking binge for a month. I cracked a WWII cipher on a napkin. My coffee shop thinks I’m a spy now.
• Shower thoughts birth manifestos. A random musing on time travel led to a 20-page rant about paradoxes. I read it to a drunk friend; he cried. It’s framed above my desk anyway.
• Memories twist into riddles. A fling’s old mixtape sparked a week of decoding its song order as a secret message. Found no answers, but I learned to play one track on guitar. It’s hauntingly bad.

Body’s Rebel Symphony

Physicality in my world doesn’t pause for lack of female touch. The body’s a restless beast, singing its own anarchic tune. It demands motion, sensation, and reinvention. Here’s how flesh and bone throw their own party.

• Workouts feel like primal rituals. I lift weights until my muscles scream, chasing a high no kiss can match. Last session, I hit a personal record and roared like a Viking. Gym bros nodded approval.
• Tattoos map a life’s detours. A whim at a parlor gave me a raven across my chest after a wild night out. Every glance in the mirror recalls that guy’s laugh. It’s art with a pulse.
• Dance floors become arenas. I lose myself in club beats, grinding with strangers until dawn. One night, I spun a guy into a dip; we crashed laughing. My knees still curse that floor.
• Food turns into alchemy. I spent a week perfecting a chili recipe that’d make demons sweat. Shared it with a date; he proposed on the spot. I declined, but kept the recipe.
• Sleep dodges all rules. Nights end when my brain says so, often mid-sketch or mid-argument with myself. I once napped on a roof under stars. Woke up with a sunburned grin.

Society’s Funhouse Mirror

The world’s got its script - boy meets girl, cue the violins. I’m a glitch in that matrix, and it shows in every raised eyebrow. Living loud and gay in a straight-leaning culture is a front-row seat to absurdity. Let’s peel back the curtain on society’s warped reflection.

• Family reunions spark interrogations. Aunts corner me with “Why no girlfriend?” every Thanksgiving. I wink, mention a cute bartender, and watch their jaws drop. Chaos is my plus-one.
• Ads feel like alien propaganda. Billboards peddling straight couple vibes might as well sell Martian vacations. I’d rather doodle my own love stories on their margins. They’re filthier anyway.
• Coworkers fumble my reality. Office chitchat about wives and dates hits a wall when I mention a guy. I pivot to blockchain or UFOs instead. They’re too stunned to argue.
• Strangers project their biases. A cab driver once lectured me on “settling down” after I mentioned a boyfriend. I tipped him with a fake prophecy about his cat. Bet he’s still spooked.
• Parties test the air. Some dude always asks if I’m “sure” about men, like it’s a phase. I challenge them to a tequila shot contest instead. They lose, and I’m still fabulous.

Time’s Glorious Anarchy

Without a woman’s rhythm in my days, time becomes a stretchy, lawless thing. Hours twist into shapes most never dream of. It’s not freedom - it’s a full-blown rebellion against the clock. Let’s chase the wild ways time bends in my world.

• Mornings belong to mad schemes. I once spent breakfast designing a drone to deliver tacos. Crashed the prototype into my neighbor’s pool. He’s still mad, but I’m not sorry.
• Afternoons vanish in experiments. A whim to brew mead turned my kitchen into a medieval lab for a month. It tasted like regret, but I bottled it anyway. Friends call it “Viking Tears.”
• Nights defy gravity. Stargazing with a hookup led to naming a constellation after his dog. We broke up, but I still spot “Fido’s Tail” up there. The sky’s my scrapbook.
• Weeks blur into quests. I taught myself lockpicking after losing my keys, then got hooked on old safes. Cracked one at a flea market; found a love letter inside. It’s my desk’s centerpiece now.
• Years stack like weird trophies. A decade ago, I bet I’d never settle; now I’m a nomad with stories instead of roots. Each scar’s a chapter. My book’s gonna be a beast.

The World as a Lover

The planet itself feels like a fling sometimes. Cities, forests, and oceans pull me harder than any human could. Never bedding a woman leaves space for Earth’s raw pulse. Here’s how the globe seduces a guy like me.

• Mountains demand surrender. I scaled a ridge in Peru, lungs burning, and screamed at the peak with a guy I barely knew. We kissed in the wind. The rocks still whisper that story.
• Cities hum with secrets. Bangkok’s alleys fed me spicy noodles and a stranger’s life story in one night. I left with a full belly and a poem on my arm. It’s framed somewhere.
• Oceans steal your breath. Diving in Bali, I swam with a turtle while my dive buddy flirted through bubbles. We surfaced laughing, saltwater in our teeth. That’s my church.
• Deserts test your soul. A Sahara trek with a cute guide turned into a sandstorm survival saga. We huddled, shared stories, and saw dawn break. I’d trade a bed for that dust any day.
• Forests feel like old friends. A solo hike in Oregon led to a clearing where I carved my initials with a fling’s. Tree’s still standing; we’re not. Nature keeps better promises.

Tomorrow’s Untamed Horizon

No women, no picket fences - my future’s a blank canvas splattered with neon. It’s not just men filling the frame; it’s ideas, risks, and unscripted leaps. The path ahead glitters with reckless potential. Let’s paint what’s coming in vivid, unhinged strokes.

• Travel calls like a siren. I’m eyeing a motorcycle ride across Mongolia, just me and a tent under endless skies. Crashing in a yurt sounds better than any honeymoon. I’ll send postcards from nowhere.
• Work twists into art. I’m coding a game about rogue planets, inspired by a guy’s late-night ramble. If it flops, I’ll still have his laugh in the soundtrack. Failure’s just foreplay.
• Learning never quits. I’m halfway through a linguistics course to curse fluently in ten languages. Swearing in Mandarin at a bar fight’s my new party trick. It’s a weird flex, but mine.
• Stories demand telling. I’m scribbling a memoir of every man, fight, and star I’ve chased. Publishers might balk, but I’ll print it myself. The world needs more unfiltered truth.
• Connections defy blueprints. Maybe I’ll mentor a kid or adopt a stray dog with a guy I haven’t met yet. Life’s best plans are the ones you don’t make. I’m ready for the mess.

I've Never Slept with a Woman, Ever

Never sleeping with a woman isn’t a gap - it’s a galaxy. My days burst with men who’ve left marks, ideas that burn brighter than any fling, and a world that keeps whispering new riddles. It’s a life that doesn’t fit in tidy boxes, and I wouldn’t trade its jagged edges for anything smoother.

Keep your eyes wide and your mind wider - the wildest stories hide where the rules break. Chase them, and don’t look back.