Celibacy Pt. 1

i think too much. it's my nature. i overanalyze and dwell and repeat until whatever i've originally obsessed about has become some warped deviation from any remote rational train of thought.



and this is applicable to just about everything.



as of late, i've been thinking about my sex life, or as recent, the lack thereof. it's on purpose; i've decided to go celibate and, no, not because i secretly think i'm a whore that needs to hang up her tramp-ways in order to get herself wholesome for her future husband. it's not like my number is astronomical (58) and it sincerely is not about that. i enjoy sex. gawd, do i enjoy sex! but call it maturity, call it some sort of self-repent, but i can't do meaningless sex anymore.

::clears throat::
yes, i just said that i can't do meaningless, carnal, casual sex.

though the only relationship in which i've been [shamefully] admittedly in love was oprah, lifetime movie worthy, my feelings were genuine for him, for it. to be blunt it was the first time i'd ever had an orgasm with a man. (And that statement is to imply that i've been the only other, nothing else.) at one point i was perplexed with the possibility that i associated the orgasms with love, but then i had my last fling in which the sex was infuckingcredible and i orgasmed and i dropped it like it was nothing. at this point, it's been months and he still wonders when we're going to get back together. i've never been a playette of any kind so confrontation with feelings that are not mine put me in a bit of a stuttering jam. i continuously, not too deftly, avoid, change, eviscerate the subject to save face (over the phone of course). it's hard trust me, but something in me won't let my vagina take over.

and trust, she is ready.