Diary Of A Sex Fiend

by Abby Lee

  I’ve never been unfaithful to a guy. I’m probably old-fashioned like that. I am beginning to think that a monogamous relationship with a man is more of a sacred bond to me, rather than a bind – I want to be with one, special man and I think I am ready for it too.

  I would also enjoy the excitement of having sex with another to add spice to our otherwise monogamous sex life – an occasional threesome with my partner could surely spice up the monotony of our twosome?

  But this wasn’t the arrangement that I, Jake and his girlfriend had. We snuck around behind her back, making quiet calls and sending brief texts to work out how and where we would next meet. Our dalliance was secretive, our relationship duplicitous.

  I always thought that affairs were nasty things where you would find yourself stealing brief moments to shag senselessly. Not so in this case. Perhaps the reason it affected us both so badly was that often we just met to talk, the physical contact limited to our eyes locking and our fingers touching. We had a connection, but it wasn’t purely sexual.

  Maybe this was what was so difficult about the whole episode. The Abby that Jake got to know was not the neurotic self-absorbed woman obsessed with sex, but the thoughtful idealist who wore her heart on her sleeve. He embraced that part – romanced it – and I felt completely at ease with him. I was able just to relax and be myself and he loved me all the more for it.

  And, some months later, when we finally did make it into bed, he discovered my inner sex fiend too and made me feel like I was normal, rather than just needy. We made love with a passion and I felt connected to him on every level.

  The guilt ate both of us up, though, and rightly so. Even though I regret doing something I can now see as morally wrong, I’m also glad I experienced being with him. Jake helped me be the woman I could be, one who is able to connect mentally with a lover and express her emotions. He showed me that there was a man out there who was so entranced by me that he would want to meet up with me just to talk, rather than fuck me. Jake made me see that I didn’t have to battle between love and lust – that with the right person it, and I, will fall naturally into place.

  So I look back on that situation with mixed emotions: feeling a longing for him and the closeness we had; feeling guilt about what we did; and feeling a pang in my heart because I miss having this connection with someone.

  And now, when I think of Blog Boy, I wonder if this is what we have. Is our connection as deep? Or do his feelings for me lie closer to his cock than the depths of his heart?

  Friday 16th December

  ‘So, what do you think?’

  I looked down at the package Tim had placed on the table and considered my response.

  I could be honest. This would be the best result overall, but would mean he got the full wrath of my judgment.

  I could lie. This would be immoral, but also ensure his feelings did not get hurt.

  I could withhold my opinion. This would give him the opportunity to show off his purchase and receive the feedback he needed.

  I chose the last. ‘They’re y-fronts,’ I remarked nonchalantly, wondering if he would understand how much of a mistake I thought he had made with his pant-buying just by the tone of my voice.

  ‘Yes,’ he said excitedly, ‘nice, aren’t they?’

  ‘Well, they’re y-fronts,’ I stated, thinking that perhaps if I just repeated myself that would eliminate any possibility of my being rude to him absentmindedly.

  He picked up the packet of three white pants and handed them to me. ‘Have a look. What do you reckon?’

  I held the package in my hand and an image of him wearing y-fronts suddenly entered my head. Given that I normally like the thought of men in pants (especially if I have the chance to rip them off), it was not without some irony that I found myself trying to empty my mind of this particular thought. But even though I shagged him years ago, I really didn’t want to think of Tim in that way again – especially not with y-fronts on.

  I wondered how I could respond in the least offensive manner. Perhaps if I came up with a question, it would deflect attention away from my negative opinion and onto his enthusiasm instead.

  ‘So, do you actually use the hole in the front, then?’ I asked, prodding the pants through the plastic wrapping. ‘Does it make for easy access?’

  I looked up at him and suddenly took in the inappropriateness of my question. Another image of him in pants appeared in my head.

  He stammered a little. ‘Well, yes, of course. I mean—’

  ‘Right,’ I interrupted, fully aware that neither of us really wanted to be debating the merits of him being able to stick his cock through a front opening – of any sort. ‘So they must be comfortable, I imagine?’

  ‘Ooh yes, really comfy,’ he said, sounding relieved I had moved the debate on. ‘What size are you?’

  ‘Me? I’m a medium. Why?’

  ‘I reckon a man’s small would fit you,’ he said, adding ‘and I have a pack of them at home.’

  ‘But they’re boys’ pants!’ I exclaimed, still trying to get the image of him modelling the y-fronts out of my head. ‘I’m a girl!’ And no way would I wear anything like that.

  ‘You could look like Sarah Jessica Parker!’ he said, excitedly.

  ‘What?’

  ‘She wore her boyfriend’s y-fronts in Sex and the City. You could definitely get away with it like she did. They’d look great on you. I’ll give you the spare pack I’ve got,’ he went on.

  Oh great. A bloke is reciting an episode of Sex and the City to me. And he’s not gay. And he thinks y-fronts look good on women too. Clearly he has no taste. Oh God, how do I get out of this without totally offending him?

  I weighed up my options for a moment and then came up with the best answer I could. Leaning over to him, I gently placed my hand on his and in my most seductive voice said, ‘Why would a woman want to wear pants made for boys when there are the silkiest thongs, the laciest French knickers and the sheerest tie-string pants to choose from?’

  He looked at me for a moment, thinking, and then said, somewhat triumphantly, ‘Fair enough. But what about to sleep in, then, ‘Eh?’

  I smiled at him. ‘My dear Tim, the joy of underwear is to take it off – preferably in front of someone else. There is never a need to wear pants to bed. At least, not in my bed.’

  He laughed. ‘OK, yeah, you’re right, good point.’

  ‘Save them for your next girlfriend,’ I said, as he hurriedly put the packet of y-fronts away.

  But we clearly still have some work to do if you’re determined to stick with the y-fronts whilst dating.

  Sunday 18th December

  Earlier today:

  ‘It’ll take a while before it reformats,’ Tom said, sitting back in the chair, as my laptop screen burst into action in front of him.

  ‘Would you like some tea?’ I asked, as he pushed himself away from the desk.

  ‘No thanks, but I’d like something else,’ he replied.

  ‘What’s that, then?’ I asked, thinking perhaps he’d prefer a beer.

  ‘I’d like for you to take off that t-shirt and show me your tits,’ he responded.

  I shouldn’t have been shocked really; after all, the last time we were alone together he was spanking my arse hard as he fucked me from behind, but that was many months ago and things have changed for both of us since then – not least him getting back with his old girlfriend and me now really wanting to give things a go with Blog Boy.

  ‘C’mon,’ I said, trying to sound convincing, ‘you know we’re just friends now.’

  ‘OK then, you can leave your bra on. I just want to see your lovely big bosoms outside that top.’ He smiled at me wickedly and fixed his gaze on my nipples. I felt them begin to harden slightly and knew that he would be able to see their outline through my t-shirt.

  ‘I’d really prefer not to,’ I pleaded. ‘How about a nice cuppa?’

  ‘I’ll just have to use my imagination then, Abby,’ he said, and with that he u
nzipped himself and pulled down his jeans, revealing a growing bulge protruding through his jockey shorts.

  I glanced down for a moment and took in the view, knowing that as I did so, it would get him harder. His hand ran slowly across his groin and then rested on his cock.

  ‘Come on, touch it. You know you want to.’ He ran his thumb along the outline of his erection and then cupped himself gently under his balls.

  I looked back up at him and saw the wicked glint in his eye. It struck me how this would have driven me crazy just a few months ago – just seeing his desire for me would have made me want to jump on him and fuck him breathlessly. Not any more. I watched this man sitting there, holding his stiff dick right in front of me, and knew that I didn’t want him at all.

  ‘I think you should put your trousers back on and behave – we’re friends, let’s keep it that way, OK?’

  ‘You didn’t used to say that, Abby, I know what you’re like!’ he said, as he grabbed my hand and attempted to place it onto his lap.

  ‘Now, now, none of that!’ I said, trying to be polite. ‘I’d really prefer not to, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Really?’ He seemed disappointed. ‘You not attracted to me any more, then?’

  I tried to think of the most honest and least insulting way possible to let his ego down gently. ‘Um, well, there’s this guy and I really like him [though he doesn’t know it], and although we’re not “in” something [but I wish we were], I just want to see how things go and not shag anyone else right now [because he means more to me than just sex].’

  He laughed. ‘Ah, monogamy – that old game. You’re a serious one, aren’t you?’ He seized my hand again and tried to get me to touch him once more.

  I snapped my hand back. ‘Yeah, I’m far more serious than you know, actually. It must be my degree in sarcasm that had you confused.’

  ‘Quite likely, though I must say I am rather surprised, given our previous dalliances,’ he replied, grinning. I noticed that his hand was slowly rubbing his cock through his underwear. I also noticed that I wasn’t turned on at all.

  ‘Look, I’ll go make us tea, you put your clothes back on, and everything will be fine,’ I tried to reason.

  ‘With this?’ he exclaimed, gesturing towards his now rather pointed erection which was poking through his pants. ‘I think this is going to have to get some air.’

  And with that he pulled down his pants altogether.

  I sat there and stared at him. He seemed rather pleased that his meat and two veg were on full display before me and reached down to grip himself.

  ‘Touch it. Go on. Touch it. Please …’ he pleaded.

  ‘No. I’m not going to. I don’t want to,’ I said. And as an afterthought, ‘Sorry.’

  That didn’t stop him. His eyes were shining brightly as he watched me, his cock in his hand, slowly stroking it.

  ‘OK then, you won’t mind if I sort myself out, I’ve really got the fucking horn right now,’ he said, rubbing his cock faster, the pre-come glistening on the head.

  For a moment I thought about telling him to fuck off, that if he wanted a wank, he should at least go into the bathroom and do it privately, that I didn’t want to have to witness him doing it, but given that just a few months ago, my mouth would have been wrapped around his cock, and my hand sliding in between my own legs, I felt bad that I was shutting him out so coldly. It seemed mean to be so harsh with him, under the circumstances.

  Plus – and more importantly – he was fixing my ever-sosick computer for free, so the least I could do was let him rub one out, as a way of saying thank you.

  ‘Just don’t get any of it near my laptop, OK?’ I said, as I handed him some tissue, recalling that he fired off quite some distance when he came.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m very neat, and I have good aim,’ he said, somewhat unconvincingly.

  I watched him as he got close, surprising myself when I did not find it in the least bit erotic or arousing in any way – unusual for me, given that I have loved watching men masturbate before.

  What I did find gripping – so to speak – was his expression. He watched me watching him, and his face turned from frustrated sexual need to one of rapturous delight; as he saw me smile whilst he ejaculated into his hand.

  ‘Good boy,’ I said, as he caught every last drop in the tissue.

  ‘Right, that’s better, I can concentrate now,’ he said, pulling up his pants and trousers, ‘and your computer looks like it’s all good now, too.’

  Eventually my computer got sorted, although I didn’t, but this wasn’t to my disappointment. On the contrary, I have learned that even when faced with a cock waved in front of me, I can turn it down, that there is more to life than revisiting sex with old fuck-buddies, and that in any situation you should always have tissues at the ready – you never know when they might come in handy. Literally.

  Saturday 24th December

  Although I tried to have no expectations about last night, I still got on the tube to meet Blog Boy filled with some hope, despite my insecurity, about how things stand. I couldn’t help but want to have sex with him, not only because of our amazing chemistry, but because I have missed being intimate with him.

  So I still shaved and trimmed all the necessaries, wore a new set of see-through black pants and bra, and rolled on some hold-up stockings. Presumptuous, I know, but there’s a part of me – a stupid part, perhaps – that thought that maybe if he saw me like this, he might think me beautiful and that perhaps he would want me for more than just sex.

  The evening went well. It was fabulous to see him again after several weeks of not hearing a word. Time went by so quickly that before I knew it, six hours had passed and we’d both missed our last trains. I was about to suggest that I called a mini-cab to take myself home, when he asked me if I would like to come back to his place. I was relieved. If we were going to be so intimate again, I wanted it to be him that initiated it, not me.

  And he did.

  We had beautiful sex. All night. We barely slept in between each session. His sex drive is just like mine – it’s wonderful – he never tires of fucking, and he kept making me climax, like one long eternal orgasm. I just kept coming and coming. It was glorious.

  But what was so special was the closeness between us; it seemed different, more intimate than before and there was one particular moment that was very intense for me. He was spooning me from behind and I had already climaxed, I don’t know … five times already. I was close again and I turned my body so I could see his face. He was watching me and we both looked at each other intensely.

  I suddenly felt more connected with him than I have ever been, as if in his expression, he was showing a depth of feeling for me that I hadn’t seen before. I was overwhelmed with a sudden desire to tell him how much I felt for him and how this moment was about us being together, and not about the sex, that I didn’t want it to end.

  I wanted to tell him that I have finally realised that I want a relationship again, that my feelings for him have slowly developed over this year and about how I had tried to forget him when he had gone travelling, because I didn’t want to be hurt. How I had fucked other men, not only because I wanted to have fun, but lately, so that I could get him out of my mind and move on, and how having sex with him again and again kept stirring up all those thoughts and feelings, making me realise just how strongly I felt.

  But instead, in my insecurity, all I could do was run my fingers over his face and smile at him, hoping that through my touch, he would see how much he meant to me.

  He smiled back at me as I stroked him and with that, I climaxed again and turned away from him, pulling him deeper into me as I felt his orgasm approach.

  During the night he always sought out my feet with his and rested them against mine. A small gesture, but one that made me feel all the more close to him. With his arm around me as we slept, I wondered if perhaps he now saw me as someone he could be in love with. I wrapped my arms around him too and felt that
, at least for this night, I could pretend there was something more than sex between us.

  But I know that I have to find out how he feels – all this sex with him is just distracting me from the inevitable. And it’s making me hurt inside.

  Monday 26th December

  There’s nothing like being cooped up indoors for a few days with all your relatives to get your blood boiling. And I don’t mean boiling with fury here, though in my case, the level of frustration I feel has been pretty furious.

  I am referring to my sexual frustration, which has been made all the more difficult to cope with due to the regular and close proximity of family members. Picture the scene –

  INT. BEDROOM. MORNING

  Me lying in bed, hand between my legs. My breathing is deep, my body moving slightly against my hand. The bed squeaks. I stop moving.

  Cut to:

  INT. KITCHEN. MORNING

  My mother and father preparing breakfast.

  Cut back to:

  INT. BEDROOM. MORNING

  My body moving back and forth. I slide my fingers between my legs, wetting them. I moan, then have to stop myself; trying to breathe silently through my nose. Suddenly:

  MY MOTHER

  Abby, are you awake?

  My fingers stop moving. I lay there motionless.

  ABBY

  Uh, yeah …

  MY MOTHER

  Do you want some tea?

  ABBY

  Um, no thanks

  I quickly resume fiddling, concentrating on keeping the bed perfectly still. My fingers are slippery and wet now. I slide two of them inside, gasping quietly as they went in. I pretend they are Blog Boy’s cock inside me and I drift away into the fantasy, until:

  MY MOTHER

  Well, do you want some coffee, then?

  The cock disappears. I groan, stop moving my fingers, and open my eyes.