Beast of a Burden

Some of this content may be triggering and/or explicit. 

Hypersexuality is a beast of a burden. For the past year, I’ve been doing well in controlling my hypersexuality by not having sex by seeking self-pleasure, fantasies, and copious amount of porn instead. Oh, yeah! And Ben & Jerry’s too! Well, that changed a couple of days ago. I finally saw Fire after an entire year. I was able to turn him a way a couple of times but the craving was still there. A sista was backed up and needed to unclog her drain!

After days of texting back and forth, I decided to see him. I greeted him at the door in a satin robe and white laces panties that he requested. He kissed on my neck and I undressed before him. Then I dropped to my knees and took him in my mouth. The sex was just as raw and intense as I remembered. About halfway through the session, something in me switched. I became maniac. I assumed it was ecstasy initially but now I know that it wasn’t. He began to tell me during sex that when he first saw he had to go to the bathroom and jack off because my big breasts were such a turn on. Ordinarily I wouldn’t engage such a statement but I wanted to know more. “Tell me more,” I said as I thrust him deeper inside of me.

“Those big titties turned me on so much I wanted to take you behind the building and rape the hell out of you!”

Instead of the side eye or an “Oh no you didn’t just say that!” I responded “Oh yeah!!! Rape me!!!”

“Next time I’ll bring a fake knife and pretend to rape you.”

I began to laugh manically.

Who gets turned on or laugh about being raped? I was a rape victim for Pete’s sake!

Afterwards he showed me pics of well endowed black women on his phone and I had no qualms looking at them. Before he left he said that he wanted us to sexually exclusive. He claims I’m the only woman he’s been with sexually since we’ve met but I don’t believe it. I told him that I wouldn’t sleep with anyone else. I don’t know why I agreed to the arrangement. It’s not like he’s my boyfriend or buys my lavish gifts! We haven’t even been on an official date! I didn’t hold up my end on the “bargain” though. The beast took over. I wanted more. My pussy was sore and I still wanted more. I felt like a bottomless pit.

Several hours later I sent a nude pic to Soothed. He told me that I was beautiful and that he missed me. Those words rushed through my veins and felt like glitter. I felt so sparkly on the inside.

“What do you miss about me?” I said in an attempt to fish for more compliments.

“I miss your comfortable presence. I miss your hugs and your laugh. I miss how easy it is to hang out with you. I miss how silly you get with wine. I miss your boobs and your orgasms and your warm body under my fingers.”

His response sound like it came from a chick flick. The only thing missing was an epic kiss in the pouring rain. More glitter rushed into my veins. I needed to release all this DAMN glitter! He asked if he could come over and cuddle. Cuddle is the equivalent of Netflix and Chill in my opinion. We cuddled for about ten minutes before he began massaging me. He traced his fingers all over my body. His touch felt like fire and I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Taste me. Please taste me,” I said desperately as I lowered his head. And for a few hours we caressed and tasted each other. When it was all over I could feel the glitter dancing on my clitoris. I still wanted more!

He spent the night and we got the chance to actually cuddle. I felt so safe in his arms. The next day as he embraced me I said, “You comfort me a lot. Maybe it’s the hugs.”

He looked me deep in my eyes and said “You mean a lot to me.”

Last night I rolled over in bed hoping to feel him there. I’m afraid that might happen again tonight…

Same Sh*t, Same Toilet

My apologies for the 4 month absence but I didn’t have much to blog about. A mere exception would be the drunken oral sex with Soothed in late May. You know how the story goes. I was so hypersexual that I was about to burst and I needed someone’s hands and mouth all over me. It was flooding in Houston and the power outage somehow sent a surge to my nipples and genitals. I went outside, told him I wanted to drink, and he ate the whore out of me. We had a moment afterwards where he expressed how much he missed me. Of course in my head it translated as, “I missed how you sucked my cock.” We haven’t really chatted much since and I’m perfectly okay with that.

Besides that, life has been quite mundane and uninspiring. Still trying to see just where I fit in this world. Still unemployed. I’m considering ditching grad school.

I haven’t been compliant with my bipolar medication. I know. I know. Shame on me. It’s a constant struggle for me. Do I continue to take them and feel like a zombie or go off meds to feel it all—good and bad? I’ve been on Zoloft, Celexa, Wellbutrin, Equetro, Prozac, Latuda, Ability, and heavens know what else. When I’m on them I feel like a flat soda. When I’m off my meds I feel like I’m full of fizz. Of course I eventually water down but that fizz is where it’s at honey! There’s nothing like it! I crave that fizz even when it’s shooting up all over the place. Ahhh. Refreshing.

Perhaps happiness is not at the end of a prescription bottle. If not, where in the entire fuck is it? It’s not in sex…well maybe temporarily. It’s been so long that I have been penetrated I could scream! It’s definitely not in binge eating although it helps me cope until I feel like the biggest whale that has ever lived. I’m currently 257 pounds at 5’6″. That’s definitely whale status. When I started this blog I think I was about 20 pounds lighter. I blame blogging. Typing makes me fatter. Ha ha ha.

I know what you’re going to say. “Gosh you’re a McFattie and happiness starts from within. Blah. Blah. Blah.” I feel like I’m rummaging in a bottomless pit in search of something. Anything. I grow tired and become paralyzed. I feel it’s the only thing that I’m good at.

I feel like I’m floating in place. I wake up only to float in that same spot day in and day out. At times I’m afraid to move because it’s all I know. I feel too tired and worthless to wiggle out of the stillness of depression and complancey. I think it’s hard for someone who does not have a mental illness to fully understand. They figure you should pull yourself up by your bootstraps when you feel that your soles are made of broken glass. They figure you should get over it when a simple task of getting out of bed feels like you’re descending from the highest mountain. Here’s my all-time favorite, “Just pray about it.” I by no means follow dogma or religion so calling out to Allah, the Seven African powers, or to white or black Jesus isn’t an option for me. No offense.

Well I guess this wasn’t much of an update. Same shit, same toilet. Hand me some toilet why don’t ya?