It’s been two weeks and three days

It’s been two weeks and three days since I had sex and, I believe, the longest I have gone without in … years? I’ve thought long and hard about this but with the exception of a 12-day run when I was hiking to base camp and back, I can’t recall another dry stint that comes close to this.

The reason, of course, is that I lost my long-standing fuck buddy and best friend. Like the worn out place your arse makes on the lounge, there was comfort in knowing he was there, dick at the ready. But with him turning out to be a liar, I had to cut ties and the sex on tap dried up.

There have been others since him that I have seen, dated even. But the last time I experienced the pleasure of a big fat cock driving into me was, alas, a long 17 days ago. Now we’re in lockdown and finding someone for a quick fuck under the guise of joining my singles bubble is proving to be more difficult than first imagined.

With this has come the shocking revelation that while many men are happy to send me a dick pic in the hope of wrangling an invite in normal times, they won’t risk seeing me for this undoubtedly essential reason to leave home. To discover I’m not worth a $1000 fine in exchange for the sweet exchange of bodily fluids is kinda hilarious but frankly insulting. More importantly, this has left me increasingly frustrated by the men who have no qualms striking up an unsolicited chat on a dating app to exchange sexts.

I don’t give a fuck how hard your dick was when you woke up this morning or how turned on my photos make you. I don’t care that you are stroking yourself and leaking cum on your trackies. I don’t appreciate hearing your fantasies about watching me touch myself. And the reason for this is simple: If you’re not going to come to my house and come in or on some part of my body, I don’t want to talk to your boring arse. A girl’s got needs dammit and it’s about time one of you manned up and fucked me.