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The online diary of an ethical pervert.

Saturday, 24 October 2009

Bite my lip and close my eyes

Right. It has been a month since I last had sex. This is both important and relevant. Important because this is an extremely unusual event for me, especially as, right now I have no desire to have sex, additionally quite unusual. So I'm feeling a little freakish. Usually this is the point where one accepts that the libido is connected to the brain in some as-yet-unknown-to-science manner and because I'm down and unhappy therefore I don't want sex. That's not quite true in this case. I don't want to have sex with someone else. The thought of actually going out, meeting someone, taking them home to fuck them leaves me totally cold.

One-night stands have never had any particular appeal (it always seemed to be some kind of pot-luck event where the odds were very much stacked against you). Here, it's not so much concerns over whether it will be any good, more that all of the associated periphery activity will certainly generate too much hassle, effort and anxiety. For a start, you have to talk to people, new people and right now I'm just about managing not to piss off the people I do know who are all being very understanding about my social prickles. Then you either have to bring someone home or go over to their house, Whatever way it happens, it's unfamiliar and I'm not really energised or focused in a way that makes me want to put on my Indiana Jones hat and go exploring. Under normal circumstances, all of this would be exciting, challenging and something I'd be chomping at the bit to engage with.

I'm caught in a bit of a double bind. I do want to go out, find someone and have sex. Conceptually. In my mind the idea works and it all happens perfectly, not a word or body part out of place. It's all easy and there's no complications, plus there's someone warm to wake up to and slide up against in the morning. In reality, I know this won't happen. Quite apart from the fact that actually getting ready, going out and acquiring such a person is a herculean task in and of itself, I can't guarantee the results. And I want, no, need guaranteed results at the moment - nothing unforeseen, nothing worrisome, nothing that might go wrong. Hence the wanking. At least I know which buttons to push and I can control the whole process.

Consequently, I've decided that there's nothing wrong with my libido and everything wrong with my social behaviour. It's not the fucking, it's fucking people. I'm mediating all of my desire and stimulation entirely through masturbation and imagined fantasies, which is stopping me from climbing the walls but also reminding me of what I'm not doing, what I don't have. Masturbation is a stop gap, it's a thing to do to keep the body ticking over and the orgasm level topped up (I'm a two a day girl, how about you?) on the days when I wasn't seeing my partner. It's something I do when I'm bored, which also means that it can occasionally make me feel bored. It's also a lonely activity, after the initial swell and crash of the orgasm, once the warm blankness has receded, you come to a little, you are by yourself.

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