“It’s not even the actual sex that I miss, it’s the foreplay and cuddling. I need a cuddle buddy.”
“You need to learn how to cuddle yourself first,” my therapist Joan replied to me with a stern, yet loving look.
She gets it, though. It’s been ages since I’ve engaged in anything sexual, unless you count an occasional quick hug, a kiss goodbye or goodnight and a few pathetic attempts at more intricate things.
Asshat was having a difficult time raising the roof. He led me to believe that it was just a combination of him being dead tired after working a whole 6 hours a day, not to mention that I was in pain ALL THE TIME (total turn off to him.)
I’d try to explain that I could handle the extra pain if it meant being intimate with him again. I’d take an extra pain pill or smoke an entire bowl of weed beforehand. I’d do whatever he wanted to make him feel more comfortable touching my fucking fragile body, but he would always find an excuse to get out of it.
It was a major red flag relationship problem that I naively thought was just circumstantial. I held onto the hope that if I kept trying to show him that I was “fine,” things would go back to normal again, maybe back to twice a week if we were lucky.
Little did I know the real reason why he had no interest in touching me anymore. It was because he’d been fucking around behind my back for years, but now he had himself a regular skank-ass hoe to whet his sexual appetite with.
And now he’s gone for good and I’m footloose and fancy free!
My sex drive had gone missing while I was going through a deep depression in 2015 (who wants to get funky when all you can think about is wanting to die?) and ironically, that’s about the time that the fucker started sharing his peen with someone other than myself, exclusively.
While I do agree with my therapist that I need to learn how to cuddle my own damn self, it still doesn’t erase the fact that I’m extremely horny.
I could find someone to have sex with easily enough, but that isn’t how things work for me nowadays. It was easier back in my 20’s to just hook up with a guy, but now that I’m in my 40’s, I require an emotional connection before I could even consider letting a man see me naked.
My lustful and lascivious urges will either have to stay in my head or be written down in a saucy poem, like this one.
Will your touch set me free
From my myriads of insecurity?
The chance of just one night
Whisper my name in the heated hush
Making me shiver, first, then flush
Together, engaged in intense rotation
Making storms of our own formation
Stare into my eyes, as we become one
Our bodies warmed by a tantamount sun
If only for one night