Holy Return of the Libido, Batman!

Sex. It’s been a while. Honestly? It’s been two years.

As I’ve written about at length, I went on anti-depressants the summer of ’06, after birth control pills messed my body up something fierce, at the tail end of a relationship that turned to shit in record time, while getting laid off of multiple jobs in a short period with no EI remaining. Oh, good times.

The meds were a necessary evil and I knew I needed ’em to get my body sorted out along with my life — both of which I’ve been accomplishing somethin’ fab. Since the new year I’ve been gradually decreasing the dose (with my doc’s guidance of course) and I’ve been off now entirely for 10 days.

Holy shit do I notice a difference. All of a sudden, like a wild fire in August, my libido’s back and raging. Like, oh, my god, is it back. ZING!

Must. Have. Sex. Orgasm! Now! YOU, SATISFY ME! Rowrr!

So, naturally, I posted myself a Craigslist ad. I posted two, one in the relationships section, and then the other in the casual encounters section, and now I don’t care about the LTR responses because I know I don’t want the complications of something serious yet. My casual encounters ad wasn’t entirely common, though. It began:

“Are you tired of stupid people? Are you tired of having to choose between routine sex and freaky sex, and nothing in between? Does the prospect of casual sex both appeal to you and frighten you? I mean, honestly, there are some skanky people out there. Some of these players have been around more than a 1966 RCA turntable, you get what I’m saying?…”

The responses have largely been of your “I’m a dedicated pussylickr!” type with pictures of penises and hairy bellies. [Delete] Or the most unappealing thong shot I’ve ever, ever seen. From front and back? That was really necessary? [Delete] Or riddled with spelling errors and the bad kind of non-sequiturs with nothing appealing. [Delete] Or obvious form letters that did nothing to address my 750 words. [Delete] Or very much older men with bad teeth and dirty leering looks and an almost palpable air of desperation. [Delete] Or cute guys with not much else to offer, the kind I’d always be smarter than. [Delete]

But there’s a bit of promise to be found. No, really. Like a crack of light at the bottom of a coal mine’s shaft: Surprising. Hopefully a good date looms in the next few days. And sex soon thereafter. Because that’s the whole point, no?

It’s funny, for someone who loves sex as much as I do, who loves the intimacy and the power exchange and the fun and games and orgasms abounding, I can do very, very nicely without sex for extended periods. Like, really extended periods. I think I have an inner-androgynous side that comes out when life’s complicated and the last thing I need are the mindfucks that come with sex. Really. If it’s all about the orgasms, I give myself awesome ones. (Intimacy, however, is a big thing I miss — but I didn’t miss it enough to deal with the sex-with-no-libido conundrum, or the headgames that always invariably seem to come with.)

And abstaining is so much simpler when you have anti-depressants in your system. Anyone who tells you they don’t affect sex drives is a FUCKING MORON. Anyone who tells you that, even if your libido’s still present, that your sexual response system is working properly DOESN’T KNOW JACK. They’re living in the fuckin’ 1950s, man. It messes you up.

Women, on anti-depressants, not only tend to suffer from lack of libido, but when they ARE aroused, often won’t be able to orgasm at all, or will have very, very unsatisfying orgasms when they do. (Sometimes you need that necessary evil in your life, and now there’s evidence Cialis and Viagra hold great benefit to women suffering libido issues, particularly in conjunction with mind meds.)

I figured, what’s the fucking point? I could barely orgasm, I didn’t even want the sex. Nothing interested me.

I mean, I’d rather not have sex if I can’t have it Steff-style, you know what I’m saying? Rule Number One: No sex is better than bad sex. I want good sex. *I* am capable of good sex. If it’s bad sex, it’s not my fault. Heh.

I want me a nice juicy orgasm and a good spent body. I want to want it, I want to fully enjoy it, and when I’m done, I wanna want more — and GET more. But I want a partner who’s not dumber than a doorbell and can still play well (and get dirty). Is that so wrong?

But I can’t believe it’s been two years. Not that I haven’t tried at all — I’ve met men. An endless parade of Very Bad Choices kind of men, and whatever else I may have taken leave of these last two years, my standards ain’t been among ’em. So, thanks, but no thanks.

Maybe that’s changing. Maybe orgasms loom. Maybe one day soon I’ll get that “Who needs vacations?” stay-at-home-but-get-away lock-the-doors-and-fuck-for-three-days mini-vacation that I just love so much. Wouldn’t that be fun? Nothing like a stack of DVDs and a bottle of lube.

It’s always kind of like the Olympics of sex when you have the lock-the-doors kinda weekend. Or has been behind my door, at least.

For now, that’s just a dirty thought in my mind, and another posting for another time.

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