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In the Desert

by sky

des-ert\’dez-ert\ n : arid, barren land. A wild uninhabited and uncultivated tract.

With a hot, dry summer just around the corner, it seems appropriate to address the desert. No, this is not a reference to Moab, or even the Mojave. It is simply the best metaphor for those individuals who remain thirsty for sex after a long, long time.

“I am parched, dying, crawling in the desert,” my friend Tracey recently told me. After several weeks of “no action,” she thought a new young lad would be her oasis. But alas, he was another prick, not even worthy of a pity lay.

“The desert is a lonely place,” she explained. “I would just like a little sip of something to keep me going.” Some people need hydration more often than others. The desert is the type of place you can’t imagine living in when you’re “getting it” on a regular basis. The desert is also a place that seems inescapable once you’ve been trapped there more than a month or two.

The seriousness of “the dry life” seems to really hit home for women after the four-month marker has come and gone. One local Park City guy says he never worries, even after several months of “no action” has passed. “You’ve always got Rosie,” he said. Rosie who? Oh yea, Rosie Palm, a.k.a. “the hand.”

Then there are the few who dare to enter into The Chosen Desert. My friend Frankie has been on sandy, dry terrain for nearly seven months now. “It’s one day at a time,” she says. “I’d like to go for a year, because I’ve never gone that long without it.” Fair enough. Temptations are real, and daily for Frankie, “I still get horny as hell.” But she insists it’s easier to quit screwing people than it is to quit smoking.

In a man’s eye, a woman never has to be in the desert. She can step outside her door and get what she needs from any man. But we chicks know it’s not that easy. Most women end up in arid lands because of their standards (or so we tell ourselves)—standards we will not lower just to get laid.

Another close friend is about to pass the double-digit marker for months walking on barren plains. “I just figure if nothing happens by this summer, I can take care of this overseas.” Yet another justifiable option.

Desert crawling females hear me now! Do not let a mirage take over your good sense. Do not believe that the drunk ski bum you met last night will stick around for any longer than a few hours. Once you face the facts and accept them, you are emotionally free to flee the dry, flat, un-vegetated land you’ve called home for too long.

Meantime, those of us lucky enough to have landed a lush, hydrated patch of earth —- we’ll save some water for you. It’s nice out here, with the cool breeze, soft blades of grass and strong, thick trees. Oh yea, we still remember the dry life – and know there will always be visits to the Sahara in the future whether we want them or not.

******Hey now, if the desert metaphor doesn’t work for you, try this one (brought to you by the currently celibate Frankie): “I feel like I am a piece of fruit, and I have been ripening over these past seven months, and now, finally, I think I’m ready to be plucked.”