Of course Mrs. Gump thought life was like a box of chocolates….

….She got knocked up before the invention of ante-natal scans.

I’m feeling pretty low and foolish today. My legs are in bits. All grazed up and shit. Plus, I booked flights to go home and see my buds, socialise without restraint…  Yip dee dee motherfuckers!  Maybe I’ll meet up with someone I used to screw but stopped screwing for excellent reasons I have now forgotten! Maybe I’ll go out with some friends and wrange me some nice drunk homeboy…

Mrrr… Anyway I think I’ve spent all my horniness on ridiculous fantasies and depressing self-love. Feel kind of disgusted by the idea of sex right now. Being naked with someone? Having to touch them with my mouth and intimate places? Shit. Don’t want that.

This happens. I go through periods of intense nymphomania… then frigid revulsion towards genitals. Maybe it’s my body protecting itself from the constant waste of energy that is getting me ready for penetration. It has probably given up. No more need to fuck around. The desire to own cats will start to set in soon. My own body thinks it’s an evolutionary dead end. Well whatever, it’s kind of nice to feel normal again.

Can go back to having conversations without internally repeating the mantra of “don’t announce y0u give good head don’t announce you give good head don’t announce you give good head”.

And the other thing that’s creeping in at the sides of my diseased mind: the uncomfortable truth that if I actually do snag myself a male to play with, what next? I’m actually really bad in bed. It’s just one more physical, team player activity for me to fail at. I’m all talk and very limited, jerky action. I do fine with that kind of man who bends and positions me into all sorts of shapes and churns my leg around while I watch, amused… but no matter how I try to avoid it, I always find myself on top, straddling some guy in a way I thought would be awesome and sexy… and then what? My thighs are not steel. I find myself enjoying the motion, and I relax and forget to move. Or I tire out… really fucking quickly. Awkward moment… no real recovery after that. I really am a terrible fuck. They don’t call me “Chesty the Plank Le Roux” for nothing (or at all) I want to confess it loud and proud… I’m crap in bed. But no one would believe it because I exude sexual overconfidence. I act like a good fuck. It’s a lie goddamit a lie. I talk to my friends about sex (of course) and I try to pinpoint the moment they got some mysterious internal lessons about this shit, and why I missed out. It’s always the dumbest fuckers who seem to have the greatest success in the sack. It’s like riding a bike… for years I puzzled over how that fucking moron neighbour of mine could circle the block yelling “look mom, no hands!” (actually that might not have been a real person, but an ad for milkybars or something) when I, the smart one… I, who still half believe my IQ is 187, 10 years after taking a seriously bullshit online test, couldn’t even ride with stabilisers. Seriously.

My little friends sat at home late into schoolnights while their mothers hovered behind them prompting… “A…A… App… App” while I wanted to scream “It’s fucking apple! How can you not read? But you can ride a bike and I can’t? What the fuck!” And I taunted them in their captivity as I rolled my hoop outside… actually, not a real scene from my childhood. I was probably indoors playing Age of Empires or building sex dungeons for my lego people.

So yeah. I’m not a physical person. I’m a sitting down doing clever (and/or weird) person stuff person. I’m a bad dancer too. And I avoid errant footballs in the park like the bubonic plague.

If I was a man things would have gone a lot differently. But when puberty hit me like a train the night, I buried the nerd part deep, unrecognisably deep under makeup and sluttiness. But I really just wanted to play warhammer. It looked fun. But boys didn’t want to be beat by a girl. And girls didn’t want to play any more. And my parents wouldn’t let me fuck around with the pc in any way… because once my stepdad went on a file-deleting vigilante binge when he first learned shift-delete…. deleting anything that “didn’t look right.” Any drivers, any system files… anyway I kind of blame his wrecking of the first windows pc… for the fact that for a big ole computer nerd, I know fuck all about computers. I was barely allowed change the screensaver. Stupid previous generations and their ignorant paranoia. “No! My Windows! What have you done with it!” It’s just a crappy picture with the windows logo. We are not keeping it as a screensaver. Anyway sorry I’m sinking into nostalgia…. I think.

Fuck it. I made my choice. I chose to get drunk and kiss boys and smoke and take drugs and sleep rough and abandon my clever nerd potential and…. and drop out of college and oh shit I think what’s happening is the alcohol from a heavy week is leaving my system and has taken my sex drive and cheerful demeanor with it. I wondered how I got off so lightly… it’s suicide tuesday, for people who work weekends and have to go out midweek. So now I’m aware of this I will cheer the fuck up because tonight I’m going to get SHITFACED.

Party tonight and my cake looks fucking delicious..I ate a shitload of icing last night. and I have a shitload of wine. I’m bringing a 5 litre box of really nice wine… I DARE people not to love me. I might even get my libido back. Don’t know if I want it… it was starting to frighten and disgust me.

Tomorrow I will probably have loads of ridiculous bullshit to impart to you from my miserable station at work. And I’m wearing matching underwear- haven’t entirely given up. I still got it. I’m probably just going through a necessary morning where I am not horny. This probably happens to everyone at some point, not just depressing spinster woman with shrivelled up fallopian tubes.

And on that image, I leave you….

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