I need someone to fuck my brains out (respectfully)

It’s no secret that I love sex; on the messed-up sheets, on kitchen counters, on the floor, and even flushed in the back of someone’s small car. I love sex, I repeat to myself every time I have sex, even though it doesn’t provide me with the same release my partner seems to get from it.

I was reading Want by Anonymous and assembled by the one and only Gillian Anderson, a book filled with women and gender non-conforming folk about their sexual fantasies and the desires they’re the most ashamed of, which made me realize, I didn’t have a sexual fantasy.

I’ve run out of them, and I’m only 25 years old. When I was reading about these women’s fantasies, I was thinking back to times I did just exactly what they wished to do, and none of them have brought me close to an orgasm.

I’m like a sexual anthropologist, and like Samantha from Sex and the City once said, ‘I’m try-sexual, I’ll try anything once,’ although I’ve never had sex with a micro-penis. I walk through someone’s bedroom for the first time, clocking in their trinkets, knowing exactly, based on the way the room looks, the kind of sex we will have. I use sex as a field of research, approaching it methodically, and exploring the vast jungle that is sexuality and tasting its every shade, deciding what is for me and what isn’t.

Very few things are off the menu for me.

And yet, while I’ve tried a wide range of things with a wide range of people across multiple genders (cis and trans), nothing makes me cum unless I have my Satisfyer with me on my clit. No one has ever brought me an orgasm.

I think it’s because I’ve never had sex with someone I had feelings for; feelings seem so foreign to me since the last time I had feelings for someone was 5 years ago. I’m sure that if I had sex with someone I had feelings for instead of juggling conquests, the sex would feel different. Instead of being sweaty skin against sweaty skin, it could be feelings against feelings, adoring eyes against adoring eyes. And that sounds beautiful.

To everyone in my life, I’m some form of a sex god, a sexual prophet, someone who always has a lot of it and isn’t shy to discuss the details. I’m a Samantha at heart, and that’s why it was even more painful to stop fucking, and that’s why this year I’m reporting a high body count of 2, for the first time in ten years of sexual activity.

Truth is, I don’t even know my body count. I have manic episodes, which make me hypersexual, and then I’m not to blame for what happens next. I blacked out my body count when I was 20 and downloaded Tinder (oh gods, I know).

I made a vow to myself earlier this year that I wouldn’t have sex with someone unless I had feelings for them. So far, I’m holding on strong, but I don’t know how much longer I can last. Especially now that people are coming back into my life for threesomes OF ALL THINGS.

The truth is, I don’t think I’ve been that attracted to the people I slept with. They were there, there was sexual tension going on, and I went with it, hence why I never finished when they did (I take sex very seriously and don’t stop until my partner has cum).

So yeah, it’s just me and my Satisfyer against the world, a good amateur porn (yes, I know it can be revenge porn, but shut up), and the sounds of flesh against flesh making me cum every night. Which, if you think about it, is better than having 5 one-night stands in one week (who hasn’t been there before).

I have friends who, like me, have a lot of sex and manage to cum successfully, but that has never been the case with me. I don’t know how to unwind and get to that vulnerable place with someone I don’t fully trust. Kudos to those who can do it, as long as you’re getting tested regularly, I’m happy for you.

But for me and for my own peace of mind, I’ve stopped having sex, and I’ve never been better or happier. I don’t even want to hear about my friends’ sex lives or dating stories anymore. I wanna know about the books they’re reading and the movies they watched. I found that my relationships have deepened, and a different bond ties me to my loved ones.

Conclusion is, I wanna be fucked but I wanna be fucked right, with someone who’s willing to learn the intricacies of my body and someone I trust and respect (rare combo). Until then, I’ll keep on drinking Beaujolais Nouveau on my own with my rolled cigarettes.

From Marseille with Love,

*vapes away*