Tuesday, 17 July 2012

Unclean! Unclean!

Well, haven't I been in a strange mood this week? Two situations ripe for sexy comedy - my one year anniversary with Catherine coinciding with a trip with my strange (but lovely) friends to the pub to organise our pending holiday (end of August, just to give you some preliminary warning) - and nothing comes out. My fingers are still. Kaput. I can't even wrangle anything sexy, because... well... there hasn't been any sex.

I have, however, been feeling really filthy recently. Within ILB parameters, of course, meaning that what I consider filthy would be little more than one toe slightly closer to the line of depravity that most people would draw in the pristine sand. Needless to say, there hasn't been any thoughts of anything except vanilla sex. In fact, there haven't been that many thoughts at all.

It's mostly been feelings. I've been feeling dirty. Not literally, of course; it's just that my body's been thumping with some form of lust at incredibly random intervals. There have been dreams, other than the one the other night which involved my cousin being poly (I had to explain the concept of polyamory to Mane last night - he seemed to take a genuine interest until I admitted to him that I'm not the best person to ask) - very few of which actually seem to involve sexual intercourse, but all of which without exception involving either an opportunity or a concept, all of which would be disturbing to me in waking life, but seem to be not only acceptable, but the norm, in dreamtime.

Then there's the erections. They, also, appear at mostly random intervals. Morning wood is one thing, but midday wood? I'm not in a place to even be thinking about sex at work (well, I am, but I don't). And so I don't think about it. But I feel it. The place I work is near a hostel full of young people, so I guess there's some sexual energy there - I mean, there's got to be - but why am I picking up on it so potently? Especially when I'm not thinking about sex?

And yet when I sit down here, netbook humming quietly away, and my fingers are ready to tap it all out into a blog post, it's just... not there any more. It's gone. I don't have the sexual urge to touch myself, except at inopportune moments, when I can't - and, when I read my friends' sexy sexual sex blog posts, my immediate reaction is to applaud them, issue a huzzah and then move on. I used to get more involved. But when I do get the urge, over the last few days, what I feel is... well, as I said, filthy.

I'm aware the likely explanation is that my body may be realigning itself after... well, after whatever it is that destabilised me last week.

Or I could be evolving. Let's go with that instead.

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