Sex God Seeks Soulmate

It was staring back at me the same way a teacher stares down the student she loves to hate. An engagement ring; around the finger of a very attractive young woman I spotted at my gym the other night. There were about four different thoughts running through my brain when I saw the beacon of sanctimony. All of them were the product of one single truth: I will never get to have sex with her. This very attractive, 25 year old woman, doing five miles on the treadmill. It's funny how six years ago, the worst obstacle I ever had was someone being in a relationship. Suddenly, I'm now in a cage-match against the institution of marriage. This is the point in life where women begin to panic. I, on the other hand, remain just as helpless as I was at 19.

Being the most sexually desired man in all of New York is hard. I'm not going to lie. While I've always dreamed of holding this title, I could have never imagined the complications that come with it. The first two weeks are great. Women throw themselves at you. I take about twenty new Facebook requests a day. Starbucks is my corporate sponsor, so I get a free cup of coffee every morning. But, after you've satiated your body for what feels like the umpteenth time that day (in reality, the fourth), you become the exact opposite of drunk with power. You become bored with power. Meeting women has now become very easy for me, or at least the ability to talk to them has become easy. So, while I can finally walk the streets of New York with all the swagger I want, I'm still seriously concerned that Ms. Five-Miles-On-The-Treadmill will never know how good I am in the sack. We can all agree that when she goes on to write the autobiography of her sex life, everyone will be severely pissed-off that there is no "Matt Fried Chapter". I can just imagine the angry message boards right now:

MattFriedIsGod89
"OMG, he was RIGHT THERE at The Y. I would've totally leaped off that treadmill and rode him, right there, in front of the everybody."

MattFriedPleasePleaseMe536
"Jeez, IsGod, you could at least let him take you out to dinner. He's Matt Fried - not some cheap, Eastern European, male escort."

MTF4eva
"I wonder what he dreams about at night."

The list goes on. And yet, even when the facts speak for themselves, a small part of me still wants to know Treadmill's story. Just so that - in morning - she'll be able to say "He was a really good listener".

What's really eating me, though, doesn't occur until my mid-evening massage and cigarette break. It's that deep down inside, part of me is still chasing a fantasy. Yes, everyone, even New York's #1 male sex god still wants more. As I said, it's not easy being at the top. At this point, I could pretend it's not a big deal, but it kind of is. In a world where I feel like I finally have complete control, I realize how foolish I truly am. Sure, there are tons of women - literally lining-up outside my door - waiting to have sex with me. But Treadmill is not one of them. And, I want her to be. And, it kills me that she won't. And, do you want to hear the really messed-up part? After sex, I really couldn't give a damn if I ever see her again. I mean, isn't the joy of my title that I can have all the guilt-free coitus I want? But coitus, I'm finding, is a lot like visiting Hershey Park: once you've been eight or nine times, you wonder what the big deal is.

So, here I sit - plagued. Plagued by a stupid ring on the finger of a nameless woman who I am writing about, hours after I saw her in passing, and minutes after I made love to one of the Kardashians, and four of my next door neighbors. I am a man who has everything, and yet I have nothing. Because I refuse to let go of any of my fantasies - no matter how juvenile they may now be. I am a man constantly at ends with my own limitations.