That left me shivering and cold. Sobbing and hyperventilating. Completely overwhelmed.
But the orgasm didn’t really feel that strong. It felt kind of alright. I have only had a couple orgasms since I came to New England ten days ago to deal with my things, deal with the life I ran away from. Before I left I had sex with two boys, one 21 years old in the back of a car. Then immediately I went to the house of the boy who I have been infatuated with for the last several months and spent the night with him. We snuggled on his couch. I passed out, high and freshly fucked by another.
In the morning I climbed into his bed and he fisted me until it was simply time for me to go to the airport. I didn’t even shower. I reeked like sex. When I landed in New England I climbed into bed with two people I barely knew, one of them I had only known for twenty minutes.
After the earth shattering orgasm I laid on the floor shaking and crying, gasping for breath. Scared and wondering why I was in such a sate and then it hit me all at once. I have been having a lot of sex after a very long dry spell. I stayed with this boy, explored his youth and his naive inexperienced fantasies and I thought a lot about my own sexuality. He fucked me the way I need to be fucked, every day sometimes three times a day, for the better part of three months. Then it tapered off a little and I really harassed him and manipulated him into having sex with me, then I left town after essentially cheating on him out of spite.
I had sex with a very hot young man. It was good and wild and sweaty and I was sure that my little boy(toy)friend would smell the sex on me but I usually smell of sex and maybe his nose does not have a refined distinction of my sex and that of another man. Maybe he did smell it, maybe I passed out before I could shove my freshly fucked cunt into his face.
But as I am lying here on the floor I looked up to discover that I am lying under all of my sex toys. Well many, if not most, of them. They are all heaped up on a poker table. I am selling them. I need to rid myself of things I do not need. But sex is an essential part of my life and my livelihood. I laid here sobbing and coming to understand that I need a lover who needs sex in the way that I need sex. I need someone who can challenge me in the bedroom, someone who can listen to my fantasies and make them a reality with me, not cringe in fear of taboo. I don’t want to manipulate people into fucking me. I don’t want to have sex with other men out of spite.
I spent a large part of the day wondering if I was still kinky. Wondering if I was straight. Wasting a lot of time texting and sexting with a grip of dudes. Am I into men? I thought I only spent time on straight white men if they were paying me. Why has my day involved spending so much time chatting up several straight seeming white men?
One of them I talked on the phone with for four hours. Now granted it was neighbor dave. I have a special fondness for talking to neighbor dave. That bitch can gab like a hen. We hadn’t really had a chance to talk in over a year, so it was nice to say hello. But I inadvertently suggested that I was booking a ticket to come see him so we could have copious amounts of anal sex, possibly leading up to anal fisting — something I have wanted to do for a long time but have honestly not thought of as a realistic option for me due to the multi-year dry spell that led me to assume that I had become a frigid sexless old woman.
But the months with the young man changed my perspective on that.
I spent a lot of time today wondering about my own sexuality, wondering if I was kinky, if I still liked to have sex with toys, if I was really a dominatrix, if I wanted to keep any of the collection of smutty stuff I have gathered over the years. And as I laid here sobbing and shaking from what seemed like a timid kind of orgasm that took a really long time, two vibrators and a dirty book to reach; I realized that I need to come to terms with my own needs, my own desires, my fantasies, and my sexuality in a personal context — not a business one.
Sex has been my business for a very long time. I have been listening to other peoples fantasies and making them happen for sixteen years. I have had a couple of long term relationships. One lasted about ten years but stopped being a sexually fulfilling experience after what now seems like a few months. I don’t want to stay in a situation where I get wrapped up with someone and stay together because we managed to build a library together. I need a sex partner.
And this young man has been fucking me like I have not been fucked in over a decade. Yeah it is that good.
But things got strange. I let myself make silly and downright stupid choices. I got emotionally involved. But looking at it now I think that was my inner twelve year old girl. I have been deprived of sexual love for so very long. I have not been true to myself about who I am and what I need to make my life a happy place. I am an extremely sexual person. I now am beginning to face my own fantasies and having the desire to actually enjoy sex for me, not for my bank account, not for anyone else.
Lying on the ground under all these toys that I have been sorting and brooding over all day I looked up to see that my sexuality is entering a new phase. I told my friend TaraEmory.com that I got my slut on in New Orleans. That is not entirely true. I did have a lot of sex but it was all with one person until the last day when I had sex with another to spite the man I had been sleeping with. That last week we had some very violent dark sex. It was disturbing to me. I think it killed part of his innocence. I also think that he no longer wants me to perv out on him. He certainly wants me to stop obsessing over him like a love struck tween.
But none of my behavior has anything to do with him. I’m just reacting to the physical touch, to the overwhelming sensations of having a satisfying sexual relationship after being lost, alone, unloved, untouched in a hostile world that we jokingly started calling misery-land (ie new england).
I get into shit — like really into shit. I get overwhelmed with emotion. I’m a passionate human. I embrace things completely and let them consume me. I just spent three months playing house with a boy eleven years younger than me. We had a pregnancy scare — I just got my tubes tied and thought that my very late period represented what it did last time I was sleeping with a man and jumped to conclusions. My body is going though a lot of changes and I have not been nice to it. I have been living a very excessive life. My late period was stress related and altering my birthcontrol only served to facilitate the panic. We had a conversation that we should not have had about the possibility of me being knocked up. I had my tubes tied for a reason, he does not like to kill things. He is young and idealistic. I am older and more cynical. Babies at this stage in my life are a horrible idea. I can’t even take care of myself anymore, no. No babies.
But I got caught up in a sexy time that would have been just a sexy time if it had played out any different. But it turned into this drawn out mini-relationship with all of the madness of a year long saga in just a few short months.
And I miss the little twerp. I’m not even sure I like him. I’m pretty sure he does not like me. We like each other sexually and that is where our enjoyment of one another ends. But it seems to me that he is very closed off to new sexual experiences that do not revolve around direct contact with my sex. For the first time in a long time I actually have a sex drive of my own. I want to try things that I have not had the opportunity to do, or to do for fun. I want to play extreme gender games. I want to dress like a boy and be fucked in the ass in seedy public toilets. I want to corset train and make myself look like a sex doll. I want to turn on my webcam and get dressed up in fetish clothing — for my pleasure, not profit. This desire to have pleasure for the sake of pleasure (sans financial profit) does not make sense to me. But he does not want to turn on his camera. I brought my camera with me so I could have camsex, he wants no part of it. I’m going though my sex toys and thinking about the sort of things I want to do to him but I find myself wondering if he will be into these things and then I wonder why I care what he likes. I want to force it on him, make him like it. But I don’t want to fight anyone to enjoy sex with me. I’m an awesome lover. I want to find new partners.
But finding people who I am sexually compatible with is easier typed out than done. I’m just not that into most people. People have little appeal to me. And this boy is acting like a prick. I know he wants me to go the fuck away. I assume that once I really do he will come calling but once I get over him I will be on to something else.
I kind of wish I could turn my sex drive off again. I did that rather intentionally when I started grad school. But that was six years ago and I have been miserable ever since. I don’t want to go six more years with no sex. I don’t want to go six more days with no sex. I have an insatiable sexuality. But I’m really kind of picky. I like a certain kind of person. And after the sobbing orgasm I think I need to really focus on making my sex life a priority.
This is a slippery slope. My sexuality is all tied up with money. I like to do smutty things for cash. I very much enjoy the exchange of energy that happens with the exchange of sex for currency. It somehow makes it hotter. Even if it isn’t the sort of person I would sleep with if I wasn’t being paid. Even when the sex is mediocre. Maybe it’s the taboo of whoring that makes it hot. Maybe it’s the timeframe — “quick we have an hour or two let’s make this hot!” It’s the intimate understanding that happens with the exchange of cash for sex — both people involved need that kind of connection, for whatever reason, no questions asked. But I’m somehow hoping to get away from sex work. I’m not really sure why because it is incredibly satisfying to me. I guess cause I don’t want to get arrested. There is a witch hunt going on out there. I don’t want to be looking around wondering if I’m walking into a sting, if I slept with that random guy over there with his family, if anyone will ever really love me.
I’m in a place right now where I find myself wanting to explore my own sexual fantasies and having no one to explore them with. I have served the sexual needs of thousands of men over the years. I know the drill. I know how to ask the questions, how to get the important aspects of the fantasy out into the open. I am open and honest about what I need during a sexy time. But I’m alone in my journey, like so many of my clients have been. If I had money to pay sex workers I would have sought their services a number of years ago. I like the exchange of cash for sex. I like the therapeutic necessity of seeking sex workers services. I like the matter of fact conversation that happens, no need to be coy or nervous — it never helps the scene.
But I am only now coming to terms with my new life. I ran away from home many months back and have not really settled down yet. I only just came back to New England to deal with the boxes of books and sex toys, the broken old cars, the fuckton of shoes, the misery and dissatisfaction — the old life I ran away from. So here I am on the floor of someone’s house who I barely know. I’m digging through my things frantically. I’m trying to keep calm but it is not easy. I need to sell all the things. I need to pay my rent and bills. I need to get some of my things back to my new place. I keep saying I’m getting rid of all the things but I’m not sure that is even remotely feasible. Besides needing some of the things like a few pairs of pants and socks (I have been living with one pair of pants for months) I would like to keep some of the artwork, a couple of corsets, some books and my sex toys. I want to keep all the toys. I want to cling to them. I want to hold them close and hope that they will satisfy me sexually, emotionally, spiritually. They will not. The only way I can get what I am looking for is to move past the old life that I ran away from. I have to take a cold hard look at the things I have surrounded myself with and see what is no longer serving me. I need to sell some of my sex toys. I need to sell things that I acquired thinking things would make me happy.
Then I should send that boy a letter and find a new lover. For the first time in a long time I want to have someone hold me, touch me, kiss me. I have been a stone cold bitch for too long. I have been miserable and I’m tired of dancing around my needs, groping strangers in dark strip clubs as a solitary means of physical contact. I want someone to make wild passionate love with. But how in the hell am I supposed to find that?
That left me shivering and cold. Sobbing and hyperventilating. Completely overwhelmed.