All poofed into thin air.
It was now 4 days since the last time I’d been touched, and depression was starting to set in.
I probably haven’t mentioned this, but returning to a regular sex life has pretty much eliminated my depression and rendered me more of an extrovert.
I know… WHAT?
But I have to have sex about every 3-4 days minimum or the clouds return. It doesn’t even have to be good sex. (I know I know, all you reading this are asking why don’t I seek medication rather than a sexual addiction. I’ve tried medication. My doctor’s refuse to put me on it anymore because I react suicidally to all of those types of psych meds. So… since sex works.. sex it is.)
Because of this “medical need”, I’ve gotten into more of a habit of treating sex like men in my past have. Like an itch that needs scratched. Casual. Normal. Guiltless. Shameless.
It’s actually quite freeing. I’d probably be a lot less shameless or guilt-free if I had someone in my life watching my every move and commenting on it. But since I don’t… I’m actually just having fun, and so seem to be the men in my life.
Anyway last night, was the last straw. I found myself wanting to cry into my vodka and super upset with a friend for being himself. And I knew if I didn’t do something, I was going to be in a heap of depressive mess by Friday night (tonight).
So I messaged Hair Petter. Got him to agree to sex in the middle of the night.
He kisses gross, but he knows the right words to say during sex. So it evened out.
He could barely stay hard, so he said, “Here let me please your pussy. I’d really like to pleasure you.”
What girl is going to say no to that?
Then came the very dominant teasing threat of.. “Are you going to cum easy for me?”
Then the… “Cum for me. I want you to cum now.” Certain things I’m pretty obedient on.
He did later manage to stay hard enough for me to orgasm from vaginal, but alas not long enough for him to release himself… and I got out of there with minimal work on my part.
He’s now on my “If I have to” list.
I miss being with John still.