To ride a wave on your inhaling.

Need. Need and crave and want so very, very much…

It’s been nearly a year since I’ve been fucked. Late January last year was when I went in to fake a “let’s kiss and make up” with my ex, and this after having been without since early November before that. Yeah, the make-up sex was hot, but it was a desperate (and dangerous) move.  I had the option then, though — now I’m alone.

This lust hits me hard in the late night hours, when I’m in bed and drowsy but not yet exhausted.  The time when I’d be at the peak of my “afternoon” if I were keeping to my natural sleep cycle, when my body and mind want to be full-on and engaged, but more often are left strained and weary… but either way, I’m sitting here horny as all fuck with nothing I can do about it.

Sometimes, if I remember, I pick up single-use lube packets and condoms from the folks who run the weekly needle exchange, HIV test, and safe sex supplies deal down the block, but more often I forget.  I recently found out that I can stop by their main office to pick up the same supplies, but that means fighting the same “business hours” bullshit as everything else, and remembering to try heading out there when I’m figuring out what I’m doing on any given day.  Considering that much of my day is spent on “fuckfuckfuck gotta keep it together through this major panic attack long enough to get myself dressed, cleaned up and out the goddamned door right fucking now!” it’s honestly surprising that I accomplish as much as I do.

Sure, I meet girls somewhat often.  Many are interested in being friends — and I won’t deny that having good people in my life as friends is a huge thing that I haven’t had in a long time.  None of them are interested in being “girlfriends,” though.  None of them are interested in a relationship that involves hanging out now and then, going out for drinks and conversation, and also fucking sometimes.  I don’t necessarily need a primary romantic partner right now — a “girlfriend” — though I do eventually hope to find someone to fit that role with me (and I for her.)  What I really need now is sex — sex and cuddles and good physical pain, but mostly the sex.

When I have all the supplies on hand, I have a few toys I can put in my ass, but I don’t have the ability to fuck myself with any of them.  It’s just not something I can do.  Things go in, they feel good in certain ways, and then they come out at some point afterwards. What I need is someone else to control the process, to be the one who fucks me, so that I can let go of all the thinking and planning and deciding how and what to do and just lie there enjoying being fucked.

I can’t pleasure myself in many of the ways that my body demands it.  Even if I had the technical means, I don’t think I could get any enjoyment from giving myself pain, or filling and fucking my own ass with a toy, or running my own fingers and hands across my skin.  Much of the joy in those things comes from knowing that the pain is given by someone who finds joy in doing so, that I’m being fucked by someone who wants to fuck me because it feels good for them too, that a gentle caress is shared to show affection for another beautiful human.

When I’m trying to balance all of that on top of the stresses and anxiety triggers at home, and struggling to find somewhere else to live, and working towards (but still often failing to accomplish) eating enough, sleeping enough, keeping my personal hygiene in order and masturbating regularly (definitely not taking care of that one, see “no lube” above) I feel overwhelmed and discouraged about even the smallest things — and less likely to get the small stuff done next time around, which piles up into a huge wad of “small stuff” bogging me down to the point of near-insurmountability.

The advice that should fit this situation just sounds hollow — be patient, good things take time, love will find you, look at what you do have not what you don’t, life’s a bitch sometimes, other people have it bad/have it worse… none of that changes the fact that I need to be fucked tonight, that I’m not being fucked tonight, and that I don’t know when I will be fucked again.  Yes, I laugh about my ability to be patient; my ability to wait is not a wonderful skill that fills me with great pride, it’s a coping mechanism which I loathe because it is so well-developed from regular and frequent use.  I’m good at waiting forever for something to go right because if I couldn’t handle that, I’d have completely lost myself by now.

I’m not lost, but I am damned tired of waiting.

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