Sex and Self ImagePosted: March 15, 2014
It has been two weeks since I have had sex. Two weeks exactly. That is probably not long for some people, but for me, at this point in my life, it feels like an eternity. I am horny as fuck.
Not only am I horny as fuck, but additionally, I feel absolutely worthless.
It’s interesting. Assuming that women have sex to feel value is a cliche I have always hated. I think it is total bullshit, and that it does women a disservice. It spreads the ridiculous stereotype that women do not want sex, that they are not all that sexual, but that they do it because they mistakenly think it will give them something else they want–security, belonging, love, affection, attention, self-esteem, whatever. Women are sexual beings, just like men, and we are totally capable of having sex for no reason other than that it is fun and we enjoy getting off.
I don’t have sex because I want to belong, and I don’t have sex so that I can feel attractive. However. I have to say, NOT having anyone to have sex with? It definitely does not improve my self-image. When I have sex, when someone wants me, worships my body, gets off because of what we are doing to each other–that makes me feel powerful. Not only does it make me feel powerful, but it is hard to feel like I am anything but beautiful when that is happening. I want to be sexy. I want to be hot. I want to be desired and wanted.
Sex is a drug. It gets me higher than any substance I have ever encountered. But there is something to be said for knowing that someone is hot for me. Without it, I go back to feeling like the desperate, lonely wife of a man who is fine having sex four or five times a year. A woman who men look right through. Someone with zero sex appeal, without the magnetic pull of a siren. I hate being that woman.
I am beyond horny, and I guess that feeling like I am not desirable, adds insult to injury. As in, I am so horny I can’t even see straight and on top of all that, plain to boot–Ouch.
One day I will tell you the story of my month and a half long stint as a Pet. One day I will tell you about the Sir I wanted, but who wasn’t mine. One day I will tell you about how it all shattered, leaving me in a place I never wanted to be, a woman I never thought I would become. I will tell you about my despair, and how I reasoned myself out of it. I will tell you about my guilt and devastation, and how even that was not enough to set me on a different path. I will tell you of the fear that resides me in now, the horror that I may have ruined my entire life because I am ruled by my traitorous body. I will show you that I am, irrevocably, a slut and an addict–for better or worse.
But tonight, I will tell you, only this: It hurts to be desperate. It hurts to be alone. It hurts to be discarded.
P.S. Forgive me any typos. I am in the process of getting hammered so that I can jump my husband without feeling pathetic about the fact that he so obviously does not want me. Because that’s how we do it at my place.