Today life got in the way of life. I don’t know if that makes sense to anyone, unless you’ve experienced it. It way a day that makes me want to cozy up in sweat pants (check), pour a glass of wine (check), smoke a joint (damn, all out!), fuck (check), and go to bed (I can hear it calling).
After dinner and dishes, getting the kids bathed (thank you M) and in bed, I sit down with my laptop to proceed with my blogging obligations… (On a completely different track, it’s been 3 1/2 weeks, 25 posts, and as of sometime between 2 am and 7 am, I reached 1000 total views – it may not be much, but I’m excited). M, who knows I blog and probably figures, since he knows me as well as he does, that it’s about sex, picks up my leather-bound journal that’s sitting beside me on the couch. I carry it with me everywhere I go. Not for journaling perse, but for writing: post ideas, sexy things I come across during the day, beginning of posts I write while waiting on a client, etc. He asks what it is and I say that it’s stuff for my blog. He begins flipping through it while I read emails.
“What the fuck are you writing about?” — “What do you mean?” I ask. — “You know what I mean.”— “Sex,” I say, wondering if he stumbled upon something on masturbation or something more personal or one of the erotic stories I’ve been playing around with. M just kind of shakes his head, “Humph” and doesn’t say anything else.
Fast forward thirty minutes. My phone starts to ring. M starts to bitch. “That’s my wife. With her fucking embarrassing ringtone.” My ringtone is Buckcherry’s “Crazy Bitch.” Not necessarily because I am a Buckcherry fan (although I am), but because it’s a great song about having great sex (…you fuck so good I’m top of it. When I dream, I’m doing you all night, scratches all down my back…). Okay. I understand that it is not the most appropriate ringtone. Afterall, I’m a professional. I’m a mom. I’m a fucking Girl Scout leader. But you know what, that’s why they make vibration settings on phones.
Earlier in the day, I went to lunch with a co-worker, a cute girl, but a good girl. I happened to mention my lack of sleep as of late, and she asked why. I say that I’ve been writing. “Really,” she asks, “about what?” — “I blog” — “What’s it about?” — “Well,” I stall. “It’s probably inappropriate to be talking about with someone I work with.” She gives me a look. “It’s mainly focused on keeping things exciting in long-term relationships.” — “Like sex and stuff?” — “Yeah… And stuff.” — She giggles and the subject changes…
Ok. Finally getting to my point. I’m sexual. Very sexual. I like sex. A lot. Fuck, my first tattoo, which was my birthday present to myself at 22, means “sex” (everyone always said not to get something you will hate when you’re 80).
Sometimes, I’ll find myself touching my pussy while on my way to work. But so what? Why is it a big deal to enjoy sex? I’m not ashamed. I’m not embarrassed. Anyone who knows me, knows that I like sex. I was the girl in high school that other girls, girls I wasn’t even friends with, would come up to, asking questions about sex. Hell, the night before Thanksgiving, I was out at the bar with my bff (hi babe) and talking to a guy I haven’t seen since 10th grade. I said something about my five-year-old being kind of promiscuous. He looked at me, laughed, and said, “I wonder where she gets that from.” But you know what? Fuck you all. I’m not a slut (and really, who cares if I am). You can all hide behind your bedroom doors, beating off to your own little kinks. I embrace mine. I hug them, I kiss them, I fuck them. And you want to guess whose happier, whose more fulfilled? Nine times out of ten it’s me. So what if I like to suck cock. Yeah, I like it in the ass. Tie me to the bed and pull out a paddle, and I’ll be cumming all over the place. So what!?! (*Focus, LSAM, Focus*)
Merriam-Webster dictionary defines hypersexual as ” exhibiting unusual or excessive concern with or indulgence in sexual activity.” Again, I need to ask, why is it so wrong to like to indulge in sexual activity? I tend to think it’s unhealthy to not want to indulge in sex. And I’m not saying that everyone needs to be preoccupied with sex, or think about it as much as I do. But you know what – you should like it. A lot. We’re designed to like it. If you don’t like sex, then I think is a problem. Go see a doctor. Go see a therapist. Sex is one of the greatest things on Earth. Fuck, perhaps it IS the greatest thing on Earth.
I understand that there is sexual deviance. I’m not supportive of sexual deviance. But if I like sex more than the normal girl, good for me! People have called me a sex addict. And I’m not saying there aren’t sex addicts out there. Maybe I am one, I don’t know. But let me tell you, I’ve been working with addicts (drugs and alcohol) for years. Sex does not inhibit on my daily functioning. I may be preoccupied with it, I may even plan my day around obtaining it (both signs of addiction), but I am a productive, responsible member of society. I go to work everyday (although I may pull over a time or to to rub one down). I pay taxes. I do not cause harm. I am not supporting illegal trafficking. What am I doing? I’m fucking the shit out of my husband. When he’s not willing, I masturbate. I write about it. I think about it. I read about it.
Does all of this make me a bad person? A deviant? A pervert? An addict? I don’t know. I can tell you what it does make me. A sexy girl who will fuck your brains out. A woman who will suck your cock like there is no tomorrow. A lover who will try just about anything. A fuck that you will remember for years to come.