Friday, October 23, 2009
SEX
As some of you know, a big part of this blog records the sexcapades of P. The theme of flings, affairs and rampant sex has summed up my life to date here P personifies the modern, wanton woman who constantly thinks about sex, indulges in the pleasures of the flesh with strangers and half-strangers and possesses the sexual curiosity and independence to pleasure herself more with toys.
What if I tell you that the truth is, I, P in her usual, emotionally stable state will be just like that prude you know (from church or across your work desk) with no libido?
Does that surprise you?
*****
In recent months, I have begun to come out from that pendulum-ic state of emotional instability. It has taken a good long decade for my disturbed soul to ebb. Even so, it is still ever so fragile and this week, I felt my emotions stirred.
I reflected upon my growing up years and my more-than-a-decade old experience in the intimacy department. I was around 15 when I first started having my first sensual contact with a boy. This year I turned 30.
All my teeny bopper relationships had been short-lived. They mostly ended abruptly before the honey moon effect had even subsided. I was left still feeling hot and bothered like a cat in heat whose mating session was curtailed by an intruder. So I continued fantasizing and replaying the scenes late at night whilst nursing my broken heart. With every next guy that came along, I went straight for that delirious factor of physical excitement and pleasure and repeated the cycle all over again.
Each time, by chance or misfortune, I went out with a cheater or what you would call a two-timer.
So DL came along- a lovely boy-next-door with a long time girlfriend back home awaiting him. He met a fun-loving girl called P who could be assertive and yet charming at the same time. P was merely feeding her Ego (because the tone of that girlfriend’s voice offended her over the phone once when they first started hanging out as friends) when they started having a bit of hanky panky.
I have always been independent. I never longed for a boyfriend like most girls did. I’ve always felt young and always wanted to be free.
“All the honey of matrimony but none of the sting”- I picked up that quote in Literature class from “The Cavalier”.
Affection and companionship would be nice. But nothing more.
*****
Throughout my life, I imagined endless adventures and thrills that I could embarked on.
The thrill of voluntarily being someone’s lover (instead of my previously hapless fate of being played out by my then boyfriends) was that new liberating social experiment I needed. I felt in control of my situation this time.
So like most couples, especially illicit ones, we had rampant sex in interesting positions and places. I opened his mind as he did mine. We were in that honey mooney state for what seemed like forever. A whole semester, actually and still we just couldn’t stop being in love and loving each other.
We even bought a matching pair of silver rings with carved with a naked couple in the “69” position. Friends around us knew what sex machines we were. We didn’t care what other approved or disapproved. We were in a world of our own.
Our burning passions fired up our imaginations further.
I was at a mentally difficult place in my life before DL came. I reckon he had saved my life. I had stopped eating for a while and was at that stage, clocking in two 2-hour gym sessions each day.
I started eating again when we got together. In fact, I ballooned. I was happy- romance does make the world goes round.
What started off as casual grew serious. DL had prided himself as a man who could never cheat, hitherto to his unchallenged mindset. The guilt got the better of him and he decided to take a decision. He walked away from his girlfriend and me. Somehow, I found him back in my life not long after.
So we continued our loving. That summer, I even stopped thinking about Mr. London, the so-called guy of my life who had got away and whom I couldn’t stop thinking for a good four years by that stage even when I was Down Under and he in London. DL and I had too much loving and it was that one and only summer we were both home together in Singapore. That year was 2000.
I introduced him to my parents and vice versa.
The second boy in my life.
*******
It was a first for me. A relationship turned overly serious. I hadn’t quite mentally prepared myself for such a committed undertaking. I was one who always had a plan. Allocating room for a serious boyfriend was definitely NOT the plan.
I was growing into my young adulthood and being overseas meant I had to learn quickly to grow up. We moved in together by the time I turned 22, thinking that we would bask in our own little love nest. What I didn’t factored in was managing the bills, bills and more bills. We even made bold and adopted our pet-child, Fluffball. Then there were also our different living habits and our opposing pet peeves overlooked on our quest to joint domestic (un)bliss.
Not to mention the fundamental contrast in our characters. I am as much an industrious go-getter bent on winning as he was an ultra laid back relaxer. I resented what I called his laziness in many aspects, initially with his studies and more so later with his initial resistance at looking for a part-time job, with our surmounting expenses. I found myself retreating to the study room a lot as I couldn’t bear the sight of my sloth-boyfriend on the couch watching TV or playing the Playstation.
My stress levels were rising and so was my blood pressure. I was a time bomb waiting to explode.
Those were my dark years.
I kept away from friends at home- I went missing. I was trapped and broke and vulnerable.
I stopped wanting sex. Every attempt at initiating physical intimacy from DL as he wrapped his arms around me affectionately and teasingly moved his fingers to stroke my privates were rejected by my breaking away.
When I did obliged, it didn’t feel right. He knew and I knew. Once, his dick must have literally felt like he was rubbing against sandpaper when he was inside me. He pulled his manhood out in sadness and I didn’t know what to feel except I didn’t feel like it. I was dry as a desert.
I thought this was it- the story of P’s life.
This is how it would be in a real relationship. The honey moon is over.
I would never enjoy sex again.
******
In the dark years, a big part of my spirit was broken.
I felt disillusioned.
I was a Living Dead.
I felt trapped in the mundane realities of joint domestic responsibility,
In hindsight, I was very unwell. I lacked emotional support from close friends and family from home.
A big part of my survival instincts hung on to a conflicting relationship.
DL loved me in many ways-he just couldn’t make me happy or gave me the comfort I needed to make me feel contented.
Now I have learnt that the key to happiness lie within myself.
*****
Somewhere deep in my artist soul, I craved adventure in order to live.
The quest for puer aeternus, Enternal Youth.
I needed a shake up and I wanted to feel alive again.
So I travelled alone and to places I dreamt of going in my childhood, alone to find myself planning and finally embarking on my adventures again.
I called these trips time out for myself.
*****
In Paris, the city of romance, I was truly happy with my art. I devoted most of my energy in my fashion designing- I sketched ceaselessly and I was hardly out of ideas. But I was still a pained soul, not knowing what to do about my relationship with DL back home. I continuously carried the burden of financial worries for him.
The growing anxiety meant that I found every quick fix opportunity to forget my worries and make merry from the indulgence of friends, alcohol and weed. I found myself wanting to indulge and experiment in short, casual romantic affairs. I wanted to feel young and free again. Inevitably, I was having sex with different people. I was mostly drunk.
When I sober up, the guilt of infidelity meant I would repeat the vicious cycle with dawn upon me. I would get drunk to forget it all, then get into some hapless or random encounter again and then repeat the cycle for the next outing. I psyched myself to think that the more I do it, the more I would be resilient to guilt. In my tipsy state, whilst my half-stranger of a lover and I were in the act of copulating, my mind often wander to another person or thoughts. Sometimes, I hear my own voice in my head musing, “So now you are doing it...” or “not another one night stand...” I even made a mental note about my getting wet down there.
Still I felt no excitement or pleasure like I did for when DL and I had first started.
I would do what I needed to do to make the other person cum. I would mentally make another note that I would make a good sex worker. Still, whatever excitement it had stirred within me from the pashings or foreplay earlier in the night that led us in the bedroom direction, the actualisation of the sex act, with the hardened cock in my lubricated pussy (who would gradually tighten up in anticipation to the climaxing of the male member) would kill it. One part of me is left feeling irritated and wanting to hasten the finale. “Next please...” I heard that voice in my head.
I figured that fire within me would never re-ignite again.
Finally, I met the French, Aura and he did something magical.He had the moves so to speak.
Our physical chemistry fitted like a hand and a glove (to use the cliché).
I was a ravenous lover and he had the moves too.
We were two charged lovers with the horsepower in the night.
It was awhile since I felt I had a good workout on the bed.
I was satiated. The next morning, I woke up a convert, knowing full well I found my mojo again.
I was alive once more.
*****
I came back to Australia and found my libido with DL again.
“Terrorist”, he would call me affectionately.
But I was never the same person again.
A part of me in my quest for that “high” meant I could never stopped becoming that compulsive shoplifter, always looking for that next fix/ thrill to keep my soul alive. I had come to like having affairs and flings to keep my libido going and my relationship feeling “normal”. Then, I also did developed feelings for some (or was it the “high” that some have kept me addicted to their company?)
I was becoming increasingly numb and better at compartmentalising the guilt of my infidelity.
But some days, it would insidiously creep up and in one big dump, I get the big heart squeeze of a panic attack hit me regarding my integrity as girlfriend. Oh, what have happen to me?
*****
Recently, I took a mental headcount of the number of affairs and flings I had.
I noted that I was mostly tipsy. I needed Dutch Courage like most people.
I remembered in my warped state of mind during that period of my life, I wanted to prove to myself that I was one who could handle having casual sex when I am sober. So the next day, after one drunk and rampant sexcapade with Ted from the previous night, I made sure I didn’t drink enough to get a buzz when I did him again. That night we did it in the moving vehicle with other passengers and more when he walked me into my bedroom.
What the FUCK was I trying to prove?
*****
So as many of you know where my story went, my guilt did get the better of me and DL and I split up for close to a year.
I was hurting and then I got on with the Old Boy.
There were also others including Koran and the Norweigian.
I was officially single so I could sleep with whomever I pleased.
I needn’t feel guilt. I wanted to make sense of my infidelity and desire for intimacy with strangers.
Did I truly like sex or do I simply crave for new adventures?
I needed to dig deeper to understand myself.
In those affairs, I thoroughly enjoyed my intimacy with the Old Boy.
It wasn’t like an instant chemistry that makes you go “wow” like I did with the French. Aura the first time. That was the ultimate sexual compatibility I think I could ever have with someone, albeit short-lived. One in a million, really.
But what I realised was this.
That same enjoyment and passion I gave the Old Boy was one and the same I had with DL. It bore out of a level of comfort I felt with him about my body but also my emotional state. He was my best friend, just as how DL and I started off as good friends.
But I do have problem. I have a short attention span that renders any sexual gratification I desire to get to be instant. To ignite that part of me, the nature of this exchange of intimacy has to be thrilling, hence my attraction to illicit affairs. But for me to ultimately enjoy and get a good orgasm from it, I have to trust that partner enough to feel comfy about putting whatever physical reservations of myself on hold.
My affair with the Old Boy, too had been short-lived. With no other relationships with similar dynamics to gauge, I too wonder if my sexual wanton-ess for the Old Boy would too peter out if we were at it long enough, just like DL and I?
*****
I am currently in a more mentally stable state of being.
I neither feel my imagination being fired up nor do I feel a sense of restlessness to embark on another on-the-side thrill.
Docile, I would term my current state.
Hence, I felt no libido.
The number of times I make love to DL since my return to Australia from Singapore in July can be counted on my one hand.
Immediately when I touched down in Australia, we started unpacking and moving into a new house with a big lovely garden and generous living space. Somehow, we’ve never done it in the house.
Making love since to only be part of the milieu for when we do weekend getaway trips.
Today, I mentioned to him again about our lack of.
Somehow I know a big part of me has a pivotal role to play- I have been lazy and perhaps too comfortable, talking about it but not putting real action into making it happen.
As for him, he had said he never really knew where he stood (in my heart), e specially after learning about all my on-the-side affairs. He once said that if he had chosen to get back and be with a (infidel)person like me, he had pretty much chosen to relinquish his bargaining chip. Twice over. I have been “cold” for so long. Perhaps one part of him is waiting for me to initiate a concrete move. Who likes to be knocked back with another rejection right?
For me, having the lack of sex for the most parts in the year meant that I have grown used to the state I am in. Perhaps I seek comfort from it because sex can sometimes fuck up one’s emotions.
Or maybe in my “normal” state plus possessing a short attention span, I am just someone with a very low sex drive.
******
Each day, I am healing from the self-destruction of my past.
I reflected on the pattern of how my past excessive indulgences had a direct correlation to the extreme temperature of my deluded state of mind.
Somehow, the lack of sex feels almost right now.
I am relatively angst free.
That is why any propositions that came my way in the last few months failed to stir me to excitment or fired up my imagination to action.
But hopefully, I will find that mojo with DL again- slowly but surely.
No more quick fix indulgence to mask my debilitating emotional state.
But right now, I prefer deriving instant gratification from this simple push button publishing technology.
Yes, I know I am turning into a prude;)
As some of you know, a big part of this blog records the sexcapades of P. The theme of flings, affairs and rampant sex has summed up my life to date here P personifies the modern, wanton woman who constantly thinks about sex, indulges in the pleasures of the flesh with strangers and half-strangers and possesses the sexual curiosity and independence to pleasure herself more with toys.
What if I tell you that the truth is, I, P in her usual, emotionally stable state will be just like that prude you know (from church or across your work desk) with no libido?
Does that surprise you?
*****
In recent months, I have begun to come out from that pendulum-ic state of emotional instability. It has taken a good long decade for my disturbed soul to ebb. Even so, it is still ever so fragile and this week, I felt my emotions stirred.
I reflected upon my growing up years and my more-than-a-decade old experience in the intimacy department. I was around 15 when I first started having my first sensual contact with a boy. This year I turned 30.
All my teeny bopper relationships had been short-lived. They mostly ended abruptly before the honey moon effect had even subsided. I was left still feeling hot and bothered like a cat in heat whose mating session was curtailed by an intruder. So I continued fantasizing and replaying the scenes late at night whilst nursing my broken heart. With every next guy that came along, I went straight for that delirious factor of physical excitement and pleasure and repeated the cycle all over again.
Each time, by chance or misfortune, I went out with a cheater or what you would call a two-timer.
So DL came along- a lovely boy-next-door with a long time girlfriend back home awaiting him. He met a fun-loving girl called P who could be assertive and yet charming at the same time. P was merely feeding her Ego (because the tone of that girlfriend’s voice offended her over the phone once when they first started hanging out as friends) when they started having a bit of hanky panky.
I have always been independent. I never longed for a boyfriend like most girls did. I’ve always felt young and always wanted to be free.
“All the honey of matrimony but none of the sting”- I picked up that quote in Literature class from “The Cavalier”.
Affection and companionship would be nice. But nothing more.
*****
Throughout my life, I imagined endless adventures and thrills that I could embarked on.
The thrill of voluntarily being someone’s lover (instead of my previously hapless fate of being played out by my then boyfriends) was that new liberating social experiment I needed. I felt in control of my situation this time.
So like most couples, especially illicit ones, we had rampant sex in interesting positions and places. I opened his mind as he did mine. We were in that honey mooney state for what seemed like forever. A whole semester, actually and still we just couldn’t stop being in love and loving each other.
We even bought a matching pair of silver rings with carved with a naked couple in the “69” position. Friends around us knew what sex machines we were. We didn’t care what other approved or disapproved. We were in a world of our own.
Our burning passions fired up our imaginations further.
I was at a mentally difficult place in my life before DL came. I reckon he had saved my life. I had stopped eating for a while and was at that stage, clocking in two 2-hour gym sessions each day.
I started eating again when we got together. In fact, I ballooned. I was happy- romance does make the world goes round.
What started off as casual grew serious. DL had prided himself as a man who could never cheat, hitherto to his unchallenged mindset. The guilt got the better of him and he decided to take a decision. He walked away from his girlfriend and me. Somehow, I found him back in my life not long after.
So we continued our loving. That summer, I even stopped thinking about Mr. London, the so-called guy of my life who had got away and whom I couldn’t stop thinking for a good four years by that stage even when I was Down Under and he in London. DL and I had too much loving and it was that one and only summer we were both home together in Singapore. That year was 2000.
I introduced him to my parents and vice versa.
The second boy in my life.
*******
It was a first for me. A relationship turned overly serious. I hadn’t quite mentally prepared myself for such a committed undertaking. I was one who always had a plan. Allocating room for a serious boyfriend was definitely NOT the plan.
I was growing into my young adulthood and being overseas meant I had to learn quickly to grow up. We moved in together by the time I turned 22, thinking that we would bask in our own little love nest. What I didn’t factored in was managing the bills, bills and more bills. We even made bold and adopted our pet-child, Fluffball. Then there were also our different living habits and our opposing pet peeves overlooked on our quest to joint domestic (un)bliss.
Not to mention the fundamental contrast in our characters. I am as much an industrious go-getter bent on winning as he was an ultra laid back relaxer. I resented what I called his laziness in many aspects, initially with his studies and more so later with his initial resistance at looking for a part-time job, with our surmounting expenses. I found myself retreating to the study room a lot as I couldn’t bear the sight of my sloth-boyfriend on the couch watching TV or playing the Playstation.
My stress levels were rising and so was my blood pressure. I was a time bomb waiting to explode.
Those were my dark years.
I kept away from friends at home- I went missing. I was trapped and broke and vulnerable.
I stopped wanting sex. Every attempt at initiating physical intimacy from DL as he wrapped his arms around me affectionately and teasingly moved his fingers to stroke my privates were rejected by my breaking away.
When I did obliged, it didn’t feel right. He knew and I knew. Once, his dick must have literally felt like he was rubbing against sandpaper when he was inside me. He pulled his manhood out in sadness and I didn’t know what to feel except I didn’t feel like it. I was dry as a desert.
I thought this was it- the story of P’s life.
This is how it would be in a real relationship. The honey moon is over.
I would never enjoy sex again.
******
In the dark years, a big part of my spirit was broken.
I felt disillusioned.
I was a Living Dead.
I felt trapped in the mundane realities of joint domestic responsibility,
In hindsight, I was very unwell. I lacked emotional support from close friends and family from home.
A big part of my survival instincts hung on to a conflicting relationship.
DL loved me in many ways-he just couldn’t make me happy or gave me the comfort I needed to make me feel contented.
Now I have learnt that the key to happiness lie within myself.
*****
Somewhere deep in my artist soul, I craved adventure in order to live.
The quest for puer aeternus, Enternal Youth.
I needed a shake up and I wanted to feel alive again.
So I travelled alone and to places I dreamt of going in my childhood, alone to find myself planning and finally embarking on my adventures again.
I called these trips time out for myself.
*****
In Paris, the city of romance, I was truly happy with my art. I devoted most of my energy in my fashion designing- I sketched ceaselessly and I was hardly out of ideas. But I was still a pained soul, not knowing what to do about my relationship with DL back home. I continuously carried the burden of financial worries for him.
The growing anxiety meant that I found every quick fix opportunity to forget my worries and make merry from the indulgence of friends, alcohol and weed. I found myself wanting to indulge and experiment in short, casual romantic affairs. I wanted to feel young and free again. Inevitably, I was having sex with different people. I was mostly drunk.
When I sober up, the guilt of infidelity meant I would repeat the vicious cycle with dawn upon me. I would get drunk to forget it all, then get into some hapless or random encounter again and then repeat the cycle for the next outing. I psyched myself to think that the more I do it, the more I would be resilient to guilt. In my tipsy state, whilst my half-stranger of a lover and I were in the act of copulating, my mind often wander to another person or thoughts. Sometimes, I hear my own voice in my head musing, “So now you are doing it...” or “not another one night stand...” I even made a mental note about my getting wet down there.
Still I felt no excitement or pleasure like I did for when DL and I had first started.
I would do what I needed to do to make the other person cum. I would mentally make another note that I would make a good sex worker. Still, whatever excitement it had stirred within me from the pashings or foreplay earlier in the night that led us in the bedroom direction, the actualisation of the sex act, with the hardened cock in my lubricated pussy (who would gradually tighten up in anticipation to the climaxing of the male member) would kill it. One part of me is left feeling irritated and wanting to hasten the finale. “Next please...” I heard that voice in my head.
I figured that fire within me would never re-ignite again.
Finally, I met the French, Aura and he did something magical.He had the moves so to speak.
Our physical chemistry fitted like a hand and a glove (to use the cliché).
I was a ravenous lover and he had the moves too.
We were two charged lovers with the horsepower in the night.
It was awhile since I felt I had a good workout on the bed.
I was satiated. The next morning, I woke up a convert, knowing full well I found my mojo again.
I was alive once more.
*****
I came back to Australia and found my libido with DL again.
“Terrorist”, he would call me affectionately.
But I was never the same person again.
A part of me in my quest for that “high” meant I could never stopped becoming that compulsive shoplifter, always looking for that next fix/ thrill to keep my soul alive. I had come to like having affairs and flings to keep my libido going and my relationship feeling “normal”. Then, I also did developed feelings for some (or was it the “high” that some have kept me addicted to their company?)
I was becoming increasingly numb and better at compartmentalising the guilt of my infidelity.
But some days, it would insidiously creep up and in one big dump, I get the big heart squeeze of a panic attack hit me regarding my integrity as girlfriend. Oh, what have happen to me?
*****
Recently, I took a mental headcount of the number of affairs and flings I had.
I noted that I was mostly tipsy. I needed Dutch Courage like most people.
I remembered in my warped state of mind during that period of my life, I wanted to prove to myself that I was one who could handle having casual sex when I am sober. So the next day, after one drunk and rampant sexcapade with Ted from the previous night, I made sure I didn’t drink enough to get a buzz when I did him again. That night we did it in the moving vehicle with other passengers and more when he walked me into my bedroom.
What the FUCK was I trying to prove?
*****
So as many of you know where my story went, my guilt did get the better of me and DL and I split up for close to a year.
I was hurting and then I got on with the Old Boy.
There were also others including Koran and the Norweigian.
I was officially single so I could sleep with whomever I pleased.
I needn’t feel guilt. I wanted to make sense of my infidelity and desire for intimacy with strangers.
Did I truly like sex or do I simply crave for new adventures?
I needed to dig deeper to understand myself.
In those affairs, I thoroughly enjoyed my intimacy with the Old Boy.
It wasn’t like an instant chemistry that makes you go “wow” like I did with the French. Aura the first time. That was the ultimate sexual compatibility I think I could ever have with someone, albeit short-lived. One in a million, really.
But what I realised was this.
That same enjoyment and passion I gave the Old Boy was one and the same I had with DL. It bore out of a level of comfort I felt with him about my body but also my emotional state. He was my best friend, just as how DL and I started off as good friends.
But I do have problem. I have a short attention span that renders any sexual gratification I desire to get to be instant. To ignite that part of me, the nature of this exchange of intimacy has to be thrilling, hence my attraction to illicit affairs. But for me to ultimately enjoy and get a good orgasm from it, I have to trust that partner enough to feel comfy about putting whatever physical reservations of myself on hold.
My affair with the Old Boy, too had been short-lived. With no other relationships with similar dynamics to gauge, I too wonder if my sexual wanton-ess for the Old Boy would too peter out if we were at it long enough, just like DL and I?
*****
I am currently in a more mentally stable state of being.
I neither feel my imagination being fired up nor do I feel a sense of restlessness to embark on another on-the-side thrill.
Docile, I would term my current state.
Hence, I felt no libido.
The number of times I make love to DL since my return to Australia from Singapore in July can be counted on my one hand.
Immediately when I touched down in Australia, we started unpacking and moving into a new house with a big lovely garden and generous living space. Somehow, we’ve never done it in the house.
Making love since to only be part of the milieu for when we do weekend getaway trips.
Today, I mentioned to him again about our lack of.
Somehow I know a big part of me has a pivotal role to play- I have been lazy and perhaps too comfortable, talking about it but not putting real action into making it happen.
As for him, he had said he never really knew where he stood (in my heart), e specially after learning about all my on-the-side affairs. He once said that if he had chosen to get back and be with a (infidel)person like me, he had pretty much chosen to relinquish his bargaining chip. Twice over. I have been “cold” for so long. Perhaps one part of him is waiting for me to initiate a concrete move. Who likes to be knocked back with another rejection right?
For me, having the lack of sex for the most parts in the year meant that I have grown used to the state I am in. Perhaps I seek comfort from it because sex can sometimes fuck up one’s emotions.
Or maybe in my “normal” state plus possessing a short attention span, I am just someone with a very low sex drive.
******
Each day, I am healing from the self-destruction of my past.
I reflected on the pattern of how my past excessive indulgences had a direct correlation to the extreme temperature of my deluded state of mind.
Somehow, the lack of sex feels almost right now.
I am relatively angst free.
That is why any propositions that came my way in the last few months failed to stir me to excitment or fired up my imagination to action.
But hopefully, I will find that mojo with DL again- slowly but surely.
No more quick fix indulgence to mask my debilitating emotional state.
But right now, I prefer deriving instant gratification from this simple push button publishing technology.
Yes, I know I am turning into a prude;)
