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The online diary of an ethical pervert.

Wednesday, 31 March 2010

Tension mounting

I now understand the meaning of crying from frustration. Because last night, that's exactly what I did. Having had a annoying day at work I already had a coiled up, angry feeling inside and desperately needed to blow off some steam. Then I ended up sat in front of my lap top, realising that I had nothing to write about. No new news. Plenty of complicated theory stuff floating around in my mind but I just didn't have the clarity or desire to be able to write it, my brain just wasn't interested. My body was practically on strike, refusing to respond to any personal ministrations. I wasn't aware that it was possible to become bored of masturbation, but apparently so. To tears, in fact.

It's a wretched feeling, sexual frustration. Particularly kinky sexual frustration. Casual sex won't do at the best of times, it really won't do now. It wouldn't fill the breach, only emphasise it, like empty calories. I need the empty headspace, intensity and physical impact of BDSM. I want to be able to cry, scream and vent, to let everything out, preferably into the echoing, cloying presence of a tight rubber mask. I'm fussy and very picky about the sort of play I want and this only increases when I'm suffering from a lack. Like a craving that can only be satisfied by a specific item. I'm similar with food, having gone through Lent without sweet things I can't countenance breaking my fast with anything other than the finest chocolate that boutique providers can offer. I want my desire to be fulfilled by something worthy of the need.

Part of my problem is time. I don't have a lot of it, and without time and effort it's almost impossible to develop the type of relationship required to deliver good kinky sex, especially the sort where you can drop a phone call, have them arrive in an hour and leave a few hours later with no emotional hang ups. I also have my own misgivings as to just how healthy or satisfying that kind of situation is. The other is expectation. It's been a few months now since The Photographer left and I still miss the routine of regular, reliable kinky sex. I can be a creature of habit, and some are hard to break. I'm craving my fix, confused as well as annoyed at the lack.

It is quite possible that the next person I play with may well be met with an explosion. Forewarned is forearmed.

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