In the Merry, Merry, Month of May, I Will Get Off Every Day

I think I’ll make the above title my affirmation for May, 2012. It’s Masturbation Month, after all, and I’m simply observing this great moon cycle’s greatest gift by making sure I come every day.

And I’m happy to report that, so far, I’m having excellent luck with fulfilling it. If I’m being honest, despite my proclivity for writing about sex, porn, and sometimes the intersection of those things in my own life, I’m not a very high scorer on the Orgasm Team. I didn’t figure out how to have orgasms until I was at least seventeen, and I hadn’t the foggiest how to relax enough to  have one with another person around until after I turned eighteen (because I am law abiding, dammit!). I didn’t regularly make myself have orgasms until well after twenty had come and gone (hehehe, “come” and gone), and since then I’ve been on a pretty steady diet of about 2-5 a week. Usually closer to 2 when I’m left to my own devices, though sometimes when I’m feeling feisty I’ll work up three or four in a long weekend afternoon.

But lately,  folks, I’ve got the spring fever. Much to my neighbors’ chagrin (or, perhaps, delight), I have been having a LOT of sex. And it’s been GOOD sex. And I’ve been averaging somewhere between two and ten climaxes (I won’t say orgasms–that depends on your definition and whether it involves muscle contractions, etc… but I’ve definitely been reaching numerous peaks of pleasure) every day. I swear. I’m not making that up. Some of you out there may be poo-pooing me but I AM NOT LYING. It’s fantastic. I am exhausted. And everyone at the office seems suspicious of my good mood, especially because so far all of May has been rainy, chilly, and gloomy. But I’ve been chipper if tired for weeks. Talkative. Bouncy. Very excited to go home at night.

And this has done things for my libido that I didn’t know were possible. I’m usually a slow-to-the-finish masturbation type. It takes a while. I use toys and/or visual aids (read: porn). I’m at it for a good twenty minutes. But lately I’ve had a few days where, looking ahead to my evening and realizing I may not get the sex to which I am growing accustomed (read: spoiled by), I am suddenly struck by a horniness so overwhelmingly intense that I must seek out the nearest private spot and rub one out. It’s happened twice in the past week already.

I’m proud to announce… that is, if none of my coworkers are reading this… that I just did that, frantically, with just my fingers and a very rudimentary fantasy, in the bathroom stall at work. Dear god I hope nobody I work with reads this blog. But hey, I was quiet about it and I didn’t upset anyone, so even if you are reading this, lady-down-the-hall, be proud of me for my (relative) inconspicuousness. And hey, lady-down-the-hall, it’s MAY! Go do it yourself! I won’t judge! This is activism! We’re breaking down the walls that prevent us from being sex-positive! Just not, please, the actual walls between the stalls in the bathroom. I’m absolutely supportive of your right to have quiet, pleasing orgasms at work. But I don’t need to see you having them.

(PS – That photo up there is NOT actually from inside my bathroom at work. I promise.)

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