Diary Of A Sex Fiend

by Abby Lee

  ABBY

  Yes, I’d love some, thanks.

  Be down in a sec.

  Silence; good. I close my eyes again, and think about running my tongue around Blog Boy’s chest, stopping to kiss his nipples. I begin to throb again, and resume my position, sliding my fingers back inside. I can almost taste his skin …

  MY MOTHER

  Do you want cream or milk with that? I know you like cream; I made sure we got enough, so would you like that instead?

  ABBY

  (under my breath)

  For fuck’s sake

  (raising my voice)

  Yes, please, that’d be lovely

  MY MOTHER

  Well, are you coming down, then?

  ABBY

  I’ll be one sec

  MY MOTHER

  OK, it’s on the table

  ABBY

  Thanks

  I begin to rub myself frantically, whilst also trying to keep quiet and stop the bed moving. I was almost there, on the brink, when:

  MY MOTHER

  What are you doing up there?

  I stop dead. What could I say? Guiltily, I move my fingers away.

  ABBY

  (urgently)

  I’m just in the middle of texting someone; gotta finish it off, won’t be a minute

  MY MOTHER

  Oh, OK, then. Don’t blame me if it gets cold

  I breathe a sigh of relief and refocus on my objective: an orgasm – and pronto. I thrust my fingers back down again, frig away silently and moments later, with a repressed shudder, an almost inaudible groan, and some mild teeth grinding, I finally climax.

  When the last spasm wears off, I jump out of bed and grab a dressing gown. I pop to the loo, wash my hands and hop downstairs to join everyone else, hoping that no one notices the flush covering my face and neck.

  It wasn’t until I lift the (semi-cold, but very delicious) coffee to my lips that I became aware that the biggest give-away of all was still mildly perceptible: my fingers still smell of my pudenda.

  I smile to myself. I got away with it – this time.

  Thursday 29th December

  I saw Blog Boy again last night. Unsurprisingly we ended up in bed together once more, pouncing on each other after a meal out. I tried not to shag him, I really did, but my desire was too strong. When his hand grazed my arse as we walked down the street, I felt myself respond inevitably and longed for more of his touch.

  But when we got back to his place, I knew that I had to pluck up the courage to talk to him; I couldn’t go into the New Year not knowing where things stand – it’s doing my head in.

  As if he knew what was on my mind he broached the subject first, just after we’d collapsed exhausted onto his bed from a wonderful long shag.

  ‘So, have you had any Christmassy action?’ he asked.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I replied.

  ‘You know. Any other shagging?’

  I was stunned that he had asked me that. Surely he knew that I only wanted to be with him now? Could he really think that I would want another man as well? ‘No,’ I said, quietly. ‘You’re the only person I have slept with recently.’

  He was silent for a moment. ‘Anyone you fancy then, that you want to snog?’

  No, just you. I am falling for you and wish you were for me too. ‘No,’ I said, even more quietly. ‘No one at all.’ I paused. ‘What about you?’

  He shook his head, ‘No’.

  I wondered why he had asked me that. Perhaps he was just being my mate and making idle chit-chat. But maybe there was a possibility that he felt something more for me too and was testing the water to see how serious I was about him. I knew I had to tell him how I felt – it was now or never.

  So I took a deep breath and asked him what he wanted from being with me.

  Hesitating for a moment, he told me he was unsure, that his gut instinct was that he didn’t see anything happening with us – he couldn’t see a future with me.

  I felt myself go numb, as if I was observing the events from outside my own body. I nodded at him, an automatic response to the gnawing feeling that was slowly making its way from the pit of my stomach up to my heart.

  Blog Boy took my hand, nervously smiled at me and then asked me what I wanted from him.

  That was when I felt the tears well up in my eyes. I couldn’t help it. ‘I, um, I had hoped that we might get into something,’ I said, trying not to look in his eyes, for fear that if I did, the tears would pour out of mine. ‘I’ve started to realise that I care about you, that I want more than just being friends and this’ – I gestured to our entwined bodies. ‘But, er, I guess not …’

  Blog Boy gripped my hand harder. ‘Abby, I’m sorry. It’s not that there isn’t attraction between us – clearly there is – I like you very much; you are terrific company. But I just don’t feel that thing … the chemistry … where you know you want to be in a relationship with somebody – it’s not there for me. And I’ve considered it – I’ve thought about it, but it just hasn’t happened for me. Sorry.’

  I bit my lip, holding back the tears. They could come later – when I was alone. ‘I understand,’ I said, calmly, as if it were the most normal, relaxing thing in the world to be rejected by someone you cared deeply for. ‘It’s fine. I’ll be fine.’

  He smiled at me. ‘And we’ll still be friends – yeah?’

  I nodded, whilst thinking – but we can no longer be friends that fuck: I can’t deal with that any more.

  We kissed and lay in each other’s arms. As I drifted off to sleep, I felt a mixture of emotions: relief that I finally knew where things stood between us, frustration that I wouldn’t be able to continue having fantastic sex with him, and sadness that he didn’t want to be with me.

  I know it’s stupid, and I need to focus on positive things, but as I curled up with him next to me, I couldn’t stop myself thinking, What’s so wrong with me that he doesn’t want to be with me?

  Saturday 31st December

  It’s weird. The last few days I’ve felt oddly content. Mildly happy, even. I thought I would be more upset about Blog Boy, that I would be crying buckets of tears. After so long liking him it’d be normal to weep more than just a little when he rejected me, surely?

  But I feel detached from it and calm, somehow. I don’t feel overly emotional, just sad that things didn’t work out. Maybe a part of me knew that it wasn’t going to work out. Maybe I had been preparing for that all along.

  What I do feel sad about, though, is this: tomorrow is a New Year and I am still single – and shagless – and I don’t want to be.

  Last year I lived my life as a single woman quite happily. I wasn’t looking to get involved with a guy, I didn’t want the hassle of dealing with their baggage. I think this was partly due to my feeling betrayed by Steven and then not trusting men as a result, but partly it was because I just wanted to have some laid-back fun with no strings attached.

  And I have. Boy, I have. It’s been a good time all round: I have enjoyed all my experiences, even the bad ones.

  But the thing with Blog Boy threw me a little. There I was living it up as a single woman and yet in him I felt as though I had found something I wanted – something more than just one night of hot shagging.

  I used to think that good orgasms were what was important and that if a guy was good in the sack I would be content.

  Since the experiences I shared with Blog Boy I have come to the conclusion that even the best sex in the world can be unfulfilling in the long term. I need something more now. I may be a sex fiend, but even the thought of multiple orgasms with a fantastic lover has begun to feel empty to me, because there is no emotion involved in the process.

  Over the last few days, I have discovered something else: maybe the reason I am not overwhelmed with sadness about it not working out with Blog Boy is that I wasn’t actually in love with him. Perhaps, instead, I was in love with the idea of him. Maybe Blog Boy represented that which I didn’t think I wanted unt
il recently: a relationship. I do want a partner. I can now see that they might be a positive addition to my life, rather than a hindrance.

  I am beginning to understand that I am just like any other girl: I too want someone to cuddle at night and who’ll watch me fall asleep; someone who will know the real me; someone who wants to love me as well as make love with me. And maybe there are other women just like me too, girls with ravenous sex drives who want to shag all the time.

  When I now see other women partnered up, with the babies, the career – it seems to me that they have it all, including the sex, and that although I feel happy and successful in my own life and love shagging with abandon, I am also lonely.

  So maybe I do need the mental thing, the closeness, the companionship and all that malarkey once again. Maybe I do need to be in love instead of in lust. Maybe I want to make love again too.

  But sex is – and always will be – very important to me; I have been with partners where it was not a prority for them, and it left me very unhappy. So as a bare minimum, my partner would need to have a good libido and not be put off by mine being high.

  Certainly, when faced with a man who says, ‘I’m far too tired to shag, but why don’t you play with yourself and tell me all about it in the morning, when you are riding my cock,’ or a man who says, ‘You’re horny again? God, what are you, some kind of nymphomaniac?’ and then turns away from me and goes to sleep, I would go with the former every time.

  So with that in mind, sex is very important. Or rather, a man’s attitude to sex is what is important and I think it is this that I am going to have to remember if I want to find that special someone.

  Because although I now want more than just a shag from a bloke, I also know that it’ll be a special kind of man who understands and appreciates that I’m a girl who wants to be thrown on the dining room table and fucked hard from behind when our kids are asleep.

  I’m optimistic that such a man is out there. I hope to find him – and soon. It’s time to settle down, I think. But I also plan on continuing to have fun while I’m out searching for him. After all, a girl’s gotta shag a few frogs before she finds her prince, hasn’t she?

  1 Obviously this does not apply if they are a) a Tory, b) a sexist pig, c) are so boring that they can only talk about shoes, shopping or football.

  2 Do not, however, pretend you are less intelligent than them, or that you are only interested in getting in their pants (even if it is true).

  3 Touching their private parts comes later, when you know what the score is.

  4 With apologies to my lesbian sisters once more, but you are most definitely missing out here.

  5 But twice a day is still necessary, or I’ll go insane.