I haven’t had sex for eleven days. Masturbation, sure, I even broke my vibrator, one of these days. Been with a man? Nope. Two months ago, when I was in a long distance relationship, eleven days didn’t feel like that long. But then again, eleven days never went by without joint substitutes of the phone/cyber/movie-variety. And when we met, ah, when we met, we always made up for those lackluster not-lacking-lust-but-option-days. Fuckfeasts, heaven, nirvana, saving us both from going crazy.
I need a fuckfeast now.
These past eleven days feels like eleven weeks, and I am now so horny I can barely walk down the street in an appropriate manner. Every attractive man I pass, I consider. I probably consider some I wouldn’t normally label as attractive, too. Every time I stop in my track, and every time, I want to smack myself over the head. That is not what I am supposed to be doing in this city.
I wonder if eleven days can qualify to the term “dry spell”. My girlfriends say it can’t. The one I spent last week with told me to get back to her after eleven months. Eleven MONTHS? Not gonna happen. Another friend tells me she’s happy if she never has sex again. She’s got a kid already, doesn’t need it, she says. Idea makes me wonder if we do indeed belong to the same species. Eleven days are more than long enough.
Eight of those days I was actually just fine with it. I spent them upstate, not seeing a man at all, and not thinking much about it, either. Resting, eating, working, thinking. Talking to my friends and doing my yoga. Walking the woods and staring at some water, to the degree the weather allowed it. Staying inside and staring at water when the weather didn’t. And sleeping, ah, finally, sleeping! That was so good it almost qualified as orgasmic. Then, there was that one day I spent crossing the Atlantic. One day I spent sleeping off the jet lag. And today I’ve spent going all man-hungry, in the streets of a city I do not know all that well, working with a man I have never met before but need not to embarrass myself to, we have to work together some more days, too. Serious mode. V. unserious mood.
Still, earlier this evening I managed to fall asleep in front of the hotel room TV as I was trying to find the news. I just woke up and think it is probably too late to go to a bar, considering the time I have to get up tomorrow morning. Central European Time, moment of writing: 00.34 a.m. Alarm clock set to 06.45. In other words: Tuesday is put to rest, Wednesday is not quite started. And da Lady should rather put herself to rest than start the Wednesday prematurely, or we’ll experience yet another ride on that whole not-sleeping-rollercoaster.
I guess I should not call the reception to ask them where I can buy a new vibrator at this time either.
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Your friend is right. Though 11 days is certainly a lot, it's not a dry spell yet. I wonder, is there an "official" definition of how long it must be to be considered a dry spell?
ReplyDeleteShould we ask RR to check on urbandictionary? :)
Hahaha. Taking your cue, I just checked it. Urban Dictionary says four months. Don't think that ever happened...
ReplyDeleteOh, I bet you anything you are willing to wager that's not true! :)
ReplyDeleteMay have happened once. Possibly. Approximately four months, once. But I can't guarantee it, we're talking about a period eight-nine years ago. Like some men I know like to say: Women have it easy. If we're not afraid to ask for it, getting it is generally not much of a problem.
ReplyDeleteI was simply teasing you. If you only have it once you are a very lucky person (in this regard the gender does not or at least should not matter)!
ReplyDelete