NB: This is an old post from PS&OS - one of the only ones I have. It's tame, but its something.
This week I nearly missed a train to my parents place because I thought I had enough time to drink half a pint of melted, lightly salted chocolate ice cream and masturbating multiple times.
In fact, I was so fucking satisfied afterwards, that I celebrated with buying a brand new shiny pack of Dunhill switches (treat yo’self). As I strolled towards the train station post multiple orgasm, listening to Joan Jett and death staring at attractive people, I thought about myself and sex.
I have always considered myself to have the libido of a desperate stereotypical white teenaged boy from a tasteless ‘coming of age’ film. The thirst never seems to cease, which means I am a big lover of porn, masturbation and copius amounts of sex.
In relationships, I can never get enough sex. Once a week just doesn’t cut it for me, neither does standard missionary or making love – it just ain’t my style. Being single and navigating my ferocious sexual appetite has been interesting. You see all these things in the media about girls having ‘5 date rules’ or some kind of strategy to help people stick around.
I went on a date this week with a very cute, introverted intelligent being, who enjoyed food and Wes Anderson films like myself.
It was enough for me to decide taking them back to my apartment (which is an absolute honey pot) would be a good idea. But when we got there, all of a sudden I lost my nerve. I had only met this person once before this catch up, and I kinda liked them. All of a sudden, I felt this weird pressure to not sleep with them in order to impress them, despite my absolute thirst for their body to be on my body. They ended up leaving, texting me “sweet dreams x” and I said “Let’s hang out again soon”, then proceeded to jack myself off since the mutual enjoyment of analysing Wes Anderson films left me feeling like I had Niagara falls between my legs.
I woke up and kicked myself for being a fucking idiot, but also incredibly excited that another human could make feel something, even if only it was very minuscule. Because I have zero chill, I half jokingly invited them to hang out that evening with me in another town (I was away on work business) enticing them with ‘pizza and wes anderson’ to which they replied “I’ll bring the whiskey”.
After this, I started to question my self respect. I counted the amount of sexual experiences I had enjoyed since my break up, evaluated how I felt as a person and whether this was a bad idea. In the end, I felt powerful, happy knowing who I was as a person and knew that this was going to be a really fun, interesting experience. In the end, it was better than expected, not only did we enjoy in depth discussions around feminism, but I was pleasantly surprised when I was presented with a rather large gift later.
I love sex, and I have never been in the position to enjoy it with whoever I wanted to before. It’s so fucking fun, so long as you are safe and respectful to those you’re enjoying it with (consent is king).
I refuse to ever think less of myself because I enjoy that or watch porn, or to feel like I am a ‘bad girl’ or ‘tainted’ in some way because of these things. Hell, I have been planning a sex-scapade with someone not even in the country for months now and I can’t wait.
It’s incredibly empowering to be sexually open minded and free, but it’s not for everyone. Whatever floats your boat, that’s all good. Just always remember, you are a garbage can, not a garbage cannot.