Self-Loving Darling

‘Did you miss me?’ Asked the doctor.
‘I did actually.’
‘I thought you were in deeply love with your boyfriend, whatever his name is.’ He accused.
‘ I thought I was. And I think I am, but you know what? I think when I’m allowed to love a person completely, which means to say I have that love returned in some way, eventually, I just stop loving in that obsessive manner. Nah, I think I can only ever love myself.
And I didn’t miss you, I missed hanging out with you. Go figure. Same, same but different, la.’

The truth is, I don’t think I can only ever love myself. But I’ll never know how correct that is until I have a child. Maybe our own children are ever the only people we can love more then ourselves, I’ve no idea. I’ve never been deeply in love with anyone. And I did miss hanging out with him, although I didn’t particularly miss him. I missed the solitude of our afternoon lunches, the heat and the breeze. The cold wine, the intellectual conversations and the ones about his children. The empty promises which cannot really disappoint me, since I grant them the benefit of the doubt that they are empty (that’s why I’m so frank about asking for cash).

But all that aside, I feel like talking about masturbation today. It’s odd, but I don’t think I’ve ever discussed it, and it’s such an important part of my existence (and probably yours). It was one of the things I really missed while traveling with Ethan. I simply didn’t have a moments peace to myself to jill off in perfect solitude. It was annoying. I have my best orgasms jilling of alone, because I can really, really concentrate. He kept on demanding that I looked into his eyes when I came, and when I didn’t, he’d pinch my grasp my chin in his hands and forced my head back so that it was horribly… uncomfortable, and he wouldn’t let go until I opened my eyes. I did it anyway, to amuse him. I supposed I could have told him to fuck off just as easily, but it’s just not something I do.

It was horrible. Maybe I can never love him properly because he can be such a jerk in bed. I didn’t tell him how annoyed I felt with his behaviour until the second week when it became too much and I played dead when he fucked me.

It felt good to jill off alone again the moment I got back. It felt good to jill off alone when Élan had left for work the next day (the day I came back, I stayed at his place), it felt good to be with men that didn’t feel the need to fuck you every second. And lying naked in bed with Martine, without his hands all over me continuously was wonderful.

Can you imagine being touched every fucking second? It got so bad I turned on the television whenever I got out of the shower to ensure he didn’t bother me too much. I had to put on all my clothes the moment I came out of the bath, and there was never any such thing as just cuddling without him trying to get into my panties. It was terrible.

Dr. Seuss supposed that the sex was good. On a purely physical level, there was absolutely nothing I could complain about. But otherwise? It was frustrating.

In KL, we stayed at my uncle’s place, and he didn’t feel comfortable using his bathroom unless I allowed it and I thought I’d take the opportunity to be alone. For the first time, in too many weeks, I felt really liberated. When I came with the pressure of the water against my in betweens, I really felt myself thinking that it was the ultimate act of self-love, and that I really missed being able to show myself that.

Oh yeah, masturbation.

It’s a big thing with me, a big big big thing. I do it too often, but like it anyway. I’m comfortable with my need for it; maybe because I didn’t grow up with anyone thinking it was a big deal. Hell, somehow everyone just knew it if someone else was doing the good old self love routine, and no one cared. In fact, if anyone bothered any one else, they deserved to get yelled at.

I remember how Tori was whacking away in the shower once, when my brother started making fun of her, and she yelled back, ‘Well, it’s not as if you didn’t have a dick.’

I’ve no idea how it is with men. They don’t seem to prefer masturbation to sex; I won’t say I do, but I won’t say I like sex more then masturbation either. They’re both important, and I cannot do without either for even too short a time.

xoxox