I thought I was going to have sex on Wednesday evening. I thought I was going to have sex right up until 7pm, when I realised that he wasn’t going to text me back and I’d wasted a whole day not making plans because I wanted to make plans with him. I’d been eager to suck his dick, and he didn’t respect my time enough to text me to tell me he wasn’t up for a fuck. It was’t until then that I understood that I’d let myself be vulnerable. And when I realised that, I broke down.
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This is the question I kept asking myself. I miss my sex drive. In the past I’ve been told by friends that I have one of the highest sex drives of the people they know. I don’t recognised myself in that description anymore, and I wish I did. I want my sex drive back, but I’m not going to do something stupid to force it to kick back in. Something stupid like having casual sex to fuck my sex drive back to life.
A few weeks ago I went on a date with a cis boy. Or rather, I met him for what I thought was a pre-fuck coffee but it didn’t end with me sucking his dick. While sexting and swapping nudes doesn’t mean that consent is ever a ‘given’, I admit that I was expecting that our first date would end in sex.
I’ve been thinking about writing this post for a long time, but didn’t want to share it until I could be sure that someone reading could potentially take something from my worst sex ever. It’s also important to note that I’ve published this with the knowledge and consent of the person I’m writing about in this post.
This is another writing-as-therapy blog post, where I again explore emotions through song lyrics. I’ve spent a lot of the last few days flirting with cute humans and trying to arrange sex dates, and thus thinking a lot about how what I want out of a relationships. Do I want candlelight or face-fucking? Piss or roses? Do I have to make a choice at all?