Lonely For Sex

I’VE NEVER MASTURBATED THIS MUCH IN MY FUCKING LIFE.... HONESTLY. I'm not kidding. I'm like a fourteen year old boy. this is FUCKED. PLEASE CALL ME. send someone out to Chicago and tell them they can stay here for free and they just need to have sex with me twice a day and then they can go and do whatever they want. and I'm pretty too. send them a photo. honestly. i don’t want to put this offer public cuz i don’t want everyone to know how desperate i am. i will only tell you. PLEASE HELP ME. CALL ME. TALK TO ME. I’M SOOOO LONELY. I GOT A LESBIAN DATE TONITE. there are suitors but i can’t deal with the dating bullshit. i just want sex. and someone to lay in bed and watch TV with all day. (you were good at that).

That was an excerpt from an email to one of my long-term ex-boyfriends who is now living in Southern California. It was written earlier today while I was in a sexual frenzy. I say “long-term” because I dated him for five years and he has been my ex-boyfriend for three years. I felt TERRIBLE writing that. But it is what I feel. I am so goddamned lonely. Mostly for sex. The past week, every fucking dream I have involves sex...of all sorts...sex with people I’ve been with, sex with people I wouldn’t go near with a flaming ten-foot pole, and sex with celebrities or whoever ends up being on the television that is usually blasting next to my head while I am sleeping. I am constantly waking up humping a damn pillow, or worse...my teddy bear, whom I have taken to bed out of loneliness, but who never volunteered to become a hump toy for my monkey ass. I have stuck some things up my orifices in the past week while drunk and in a sexual frenzy that, if I told you, you would probably really enjoy it, but I endangered myself, and let’s leave it at that.

This goddamned five-dollar candy-red vibrator that I bought as a joke years ago has never gotten so much action. That fucking thing is up my vagina about six full hours a day. And when that thing is not in, it’s the ass egg that I got on full-blast up my cooch. I spend more money on batteries than I do on rent. I pay rent just for regular, everyday, around-the-house activities like washing the dishes and watching Tyra. I am like a crazed maniac. I am a fourteen-year-old boy. You know, I guess it is true: I had always heard that women reached their sexual prime around this age, and I really never thought I’d live this long, but man, this is horrible.

And this shitty relationship (if you can call it that... I prefer “this two-year trail of tears walking knee-deep through dog vomit”) has left me so goddamned sex-starved, I swear to the Lord I’m glad there is not a dog around when I drink, because if it was a Chihuahua or a small dog, I might just try to shove it up there, but if it was a bigger dog, I think the dog might look like Prince Charming…and I am not into non-consensual sex...especially with animals…but I am getting desperate. One thing Precious (my ex) was good for was the fact that he had a penis. And he (like any good ape) knew how to stick it in the right hole and pump away. It was that sort of animalistic stupidity that I think I liked so much about him. The sex was a major plus to everything. Now I have nothing.

I mean, less than a week ago, a man was paying me hundreds to put him in a diaper...and now I’m ready to shell out the dough just for some dude to come by and stick their boner in me and blow a load on my stomach and leave. He doesn’t even have to wipe it off. I don’t care anymore.

I really hate having to do this. Like I said in the email, I don’t want to sound that desperate, because I am not. I have plenty of suitors and menz ringin’ my phone. But me being a bit on the eccentric side tends to draw the most fucking goddamned insane group of men possible who won’t bone and bolt. And I’ve done that several times, and that is ultimately unsatisfying unless you can work out a schedule. And then that leads to some kind of relationship, and that’s not what I think I’m looking for.

One possible suitor is very funny. And I know that this man would not only be great in the sack, but he'd go along with anything I said. He has been trying to get me for YEARS now, and whenever I had fights with my boyfriends, there he was, bringing me flowers and saying the right things. I must reveal a small detail about this man that makes the story interesting. This man is now approaching 50 years of age. In his prime, he was a very successful pimp. And when I say pimp...I mean PIMP. He owned a block in Chicago which is STILL one of the prime strolls we have for street hookers. In Uptown. He had four girls at one time. All the best hookers in the area. They were robbing, fucking, hustling, and selling everything they could to give him money. Four of the hottest white hos money could buy. He is black. But he prefers white meat.

With a resume like that, the man is a definite contender. And he wants to take care of me. He is no longer a pimp. He has like eighteen kids and lives with his sister. Our relationship came about because he was friends with my ex-boyfriend. And then we became friends. He’s funny and very smart. He is even cute. He doesn’t dress all flashy, but of course he used to back in the day. I mean, he was a real badass. The reason I see him now is strictly bidnezz. But it ain’t pimpin’. He wants me, and when he does come over it is hard to get him to leave once he comes to my house. He obviously does not want to leave without a piece. And in the rabid-dog sex-starved state I am in now...I just might let this old pimp fuck me. But I can’t. It’ll just bring problems. I remind him of his old hos. And he’s barely making it right now. I just know he’ll keep calling. And he’s not 30 anymore. He’s looking for something permanent.

Like I said, this is pathetic. I have already decided what happens to a gal like me. It is a six-step theory that I have come up with, and the sixth step is yet to happen, but it is in the process of unfolding. So I’ll share it with you. When you live the type of life I have lived, it is absolutely inevitable that you will end up a reclusive lesbian. This is why.

Step 1. Have a really fucked-up childhood and your first real relationship with a girl in high school. And have all kinds of fucked-up sexual things happen to you as a kid.

Step 2. Get on a TON of hard drugs and then start dating a fellow and turn him onto all of the drugs and live for three years with him in some insane, drug-fueled relationship.

Step 3. Get out of that relationship and mostly get off drugs, but get addicted to sex and start sleeping with any terribly diseased, cold-sore-pockmarked cock that will point my way. Meet a lot of shitheads in bars and have a lot of sex with them.

Step 4. Get sick of fucking shitheads, and go onto meeting the GRANDMASTER OF THE SHITHEADS, and start dating him. Make sure you move in with him RIGHT AWAY. Get into an abusive relationship with this shithead. Have him beat you and steal from you and treat you like shit.

Step 5. Get a job doing daily sex work and witness the craziest sex acts known to man. Allow this to sink in slowly, and along with the drugs, the abuse, the childhood shit, and everything, make sure you come out of it the best person you can possibly be.

Step 6. Meet a girl who also works in the sex industry and has a shitty boyfriend, and have her live with you and do videos and stuff only to make money, but become reclusive lesbians.

That’s my 6-step plan. I seem to fall somewhere in the beginning of Step 6. I have met my potential reclusive lesbian partner. Things just need to happen. They will. I don’t doubt it. Haven’t you ever watched a porno or looked at a magazine or had a fucked-up female friend and wondered, “Gee, whatever happened to Candy? I know she’s not dead, but where the hell could she be?” I guarantee seven times out of ten she’s become a reclusive lesbian.

That is my destiny. I have a date with the girl tonight, in fact, and if she is anything like me (since she is in charge of driving), she will not show up and we will talk several more times before we finally meet, get drunk, and inevitably hook up. You see, if you follow my 6-step plan above, she falls somewhere between Steps 4 and 5, and she’s living with this abusive, fucked-up retard. She needs a place to stay. Meg will open her house, her arms, and her legs to this wayward porno actress, and she can stay as long as she wants. And we will sit around, get fat, and eventually become BBW models.

The bottom line, though, is that I do not like girls, but there is an exception. Gender spans much further than just boy/girl. So when I say I’m not attracted to girls, I mean women, but then there’s all this other shit. You see, I LOVE boobs, but I am not sexually attracted to "girls"...but working at the fetish dungeon, I got to experience some ladies who are quite proficient with a strap-on, and all you dudes out there who think you’re the shit with your big cocks and great bodies...guess what...STRAP-ONS COME IN EVERY SIZE, SHAPE, COLOR, AND MATERIAL. If I want a glass dick, I get a glass dick. If I want SOLID GOLD...I can get SOLID FUCKING GOLD. Also, men have gross, hairy chests, and I know all you men out there agree that boobs are WAY the fuck better than their male alternatives. So honestly, there is no need for a male, I guess. I can get the best of both worlds.

Unfortunately, what I am writing right now is all fantasy. Fortunately, it is not too far from reality. Like I said, my future lezzy friend has indicated she needs a place to stay for refuge from her apish retard of a boyfriend. The wheels are in motion. But in the meantime...I need SOMETHING. Cuz goddamn’, I’m a-humpin’ furniture here. I stand in front of the fucking window naked, hoping that at least some dude is gettin’ off to it. I do love my toys, and my legal pharmaceuticals, and my liquor, but I need a HUMAN BEING.

The pimp would have been GREAT had this been 20 years ago. These days he wants a lady to spend his elder years with. I can’t be that lady. If he was a strapping young black pimp I would be on that shit like a white runaway at the bus station to a black hustler, but now...it is different.

How does a girl like me find solace? I’m in my fucking sexual prime. Why in the fuck did whoever created us make males get their sexual prime when they’re like 14 and women wanting to do it all the time in their like late 20s, early 30s, if they KNEW that there would be a law saying that a gal like me can’t do it with a high-school dude? It’s just not right. I’d be trolling the high schools if it weren’t illegal.

Everything is pathetic right now. My stupid love life has never been an issue. It’s been like a revolving door. But now I’m secluded and agoraphobic. Oh, shit. It’s time to change the batteries again. What do I do, Ann Landers???? What would Tyra say??? How about that carpet-munchin’ Ellen??? I bet she can feel my plight. Someone give me some advice...or their fourteen-year-old son...or more batteries.

Sometime after writing this.... I had a very much needed and very sordid 48 hours solo on the mean streets of Chicago. Well I was an alcohol fueled, sex starved, ex whore who was on the rebound. It was a recipe for disaster... and I left many bodies in my wake.

It was spurned by an event that happened Friday evening my good friend and ex pimp who I referred to earlier, and will refer to as "Chicago" (that's his street name anyway, and you know you gotta be good when the place you live in names itself after you) was over. We were having a talk about how terrible and fucking dumb as bricks old Precious was. Chicago was comforting me by sharing stories about his stupidity that I had not been privvy to before. Mostly times where he'd been intoxicated and.....well the best story was about when a very drunk and coked up Precious told Chicago he would be allowed to have sex with me if he wanted, but Precious really didn't want him to do that. He told Chicago that he loved me too much and would be very sad if we were to have sex, but that he could sleep with me if he wanted. Yes. That happened. I know it makes almost no sense... but that is how much of a buffoon this man is. Really folks... It's indescribable. Even the most eloquent wordsmith could not fully paint the picture of the pure fucking goddamned idiot this man was. You just had to be there or be unfortunate enough to know or meet him to fully understand. I may sound like a bitter ex girlfriend. But aside from all of the bitterness... my last turd had the intelligence of Doogie Howser compared to him.

I bring this up because this particular night he decided to call me and harass the hell out of me. I'll spare you from all the terrible details of the phone call, although it was hilarious and a story in itself. But he starts to run his mouth, along with is 800 lb monstrosity of a brother. He was wheesing insults through the bites of the whole turkey he was probably devouring raw and the beer that he was inevitably spitting all over himself. "You (cough) thuching thut better gooddamned leave my bltorther alone... He'th gooth hith own lifthaehs." I put Chicago on the phone and tell him to act all gangster and say he's my boyfriend. He knows Precious, so he tries to disguise his voice as this white gangster. That moment in itself was classic. He is this seasoned hustler, and he gets on the phone trying to do his best impression of some fast talking white man. First of all, his pitch goes up to this really high voice and he says in his best White Man voice, "You better watch out buddy. You leave my new girlfriend alone or I'll get the mafia on you." I screamed "NOT WHITE GANGSTER BLACK GANGSTER". It was a classic moment. He was so unconvincing. But it was worth it to hear what he thought a white gangster was. Aside from that the entire phone call left me sick from anger and I KNEW I had to explode somewhere. After that, and a rather funny comment from Chicago asking me if I had teeth in my vagina (which I think I do). I had to depart from Chicago and get the fuck out of the house.

I had known it would be trouble when I got in touch with my 50 year old cab driver friend. Don't get me wrong, he is a wonderful influence, but I would be going out, seeing my old people, and I knew that the old life would soon come to me. I needed sex. I had one thing on my mind. My car did not even work but I was determined to get it 5 miles to my friend's house where he would enable me to get to a party where I could find a hard penis. This is always easy for a girl. I have complained in the past as to why there are no bathhouses for women, and it is unfair. But I must say, if a woman is determined to get sex, she'll get it. No matter how she looks, but I guess I am on the blindingly gorgeous side, so I really can't get anyone I want, but the guys I do get are descent looking at least, and that's all I need.