Sometimes I lie to my psychiatrist. I know I shouldn’t. He’s just here to help me. But due to some post-traumatic stress I no longer trust people in the medical field. And when I’m honest it can open a can of worms. I mean, I don’t want to lie to my psychiatrist but I think if I was more honest he might think I have an unhealthy preoccupation with sex. Which I’m not gonna deny, I’m writing a sex blog for fucks sake! But when I see him I really just wanna score my prescriptions and cut out. No, they aren’t cool drugs that you wanna mix with alcohol to get a good buzz. Sorry.
While my psychiatrist might have a thing or two to say about my sexual liberation, I’m not too worried. I don’t think I’m a sex addict or anything. I admit I’ve used sex for evil, I’ve been less than careful on occasions and I’m quick to fall in bed with someone. But on this rollercoaster many call sluttiness, I’ve learned a lot. I shot porn, which taught me a great deal regarding human nature, and how to light a double penetration close up properly (it’s not easy!). I got to be a sex educator for a while, spreading the word about g-spots and prostate stimulation and accumulated enough sex toys to last me a lifetime and beyond. (Is it weird to put your stainless steel butt plug in your will?) I even get to shock people at dinner parties with all my inappropriate knowledge, which is incredibly fun.
And I’ve even had some sex.
I wouldn’t say I’ve had A LOT of partners. It’s enough that I have to sit down to really think about what my number is but I have not out-slutted some of my wonderful, inspiring slutty friends. And I’ve been with enough people to probably make some of my partners uncomfortable, while others scoff as they proceed to intimidate me with their numbers.
For the most part I’ve had a good time with my list. Some were fun, some were love, some were just to keep me warm. I’m not perfect. And I’m definitely not done adding notches to my bedpost. But nothing compares to the best partner I’ve ever had. ME!
I love to masturbate. I mean, I enjoy sex with other people, but no one ever gets it done just right like me. I know what I want, which can change. Sometimes just one toy, sometimes two or three, maybe with a fantasy or with the help of porn or absolutely nothing in my mind at all. In this position or that. On the bed or in the shower. But I know exactly what’s gonna work and my self-induced orgasms are always insane. I make some mean love to myself.
Being selfish, I also love masturbation because I don’t have to think about another person. No worries about anyone else being happy or turned on. No premature ejaculation or weird kinks. No carpal tunnel from stroking or dealing with my over sensitive gag reflex. No pressure to make someone else come. Just me.
Not only can I enjoy a record time orgasm by myself, but I also don’t have to cuddle or whisper sweet nothings in my ear. If I wanna lie in bed and just enjoy the afterglow or jump up and clean my oven, I don’t have to worry about someone else’s feelings.
I realize this can sound a little cold. People are constantly searching for human contact. We need people to hold, to love, to experience life with. But it can get a little out of hand. I see people searching for those human connections to validate themselves, to make them complete. Which doesn’t work for the usual reason single people console themselves with: You have to love yourself before anyone else can love you. Like, love yourselves, people. Down there, in your pants. Oh and love yourself for your mind too or whatever.
I’ve even met people who don’t really think an orgasm matters unless they are having it with someone else. Like, if an orgasm happens in a forest and no one is there to hear it, does it count? Of course it fucking does! You don’t need someone there to approve of it.
I really do like people, sometimes love them. I especially love to cuddle, which is hard to do on your own. So it’s not that I don’t want to share my bed and heart with other people, I just think we really place too much importance on having someone to give us something we are more than equipped to give ourselves.
So love yourself. Often and intensely. I know I will. And I think even my psychiatrist would say that’s healthy. I just won’t tell him how often I do it.