"Be good, okay?"

Woah, sorry about that last entry. I don't even remember writing it.

This past weekend has been a crazy blur of drinking, dancing and sex. Rob was over again last night. We had butt secks. :D

I think this is one of those times where I start worrying about being a nympho. It eventually does take a toll on your emotions, believe it or not. Last night, after Rob left, I was kind of a wreck.

I've always been an advocate of safe sex. I'm very careful with all my partners; I get tested 4 times a year for STDs and STIs, I have an IUD in place to prevent pregnancy without making my hormones all out of whack, and anytime I have a new partner, (or one that I worry about) I use a condom. Regardless, there is no one way to prevent these things 100%. The older I get, the more I worry about it.

And then there's the fact that I know I'm using sex as the equivalent of a drug. I'm a junkie; I get my fix and everything's okay until I'm left alone. Fucking Rob's brain out doesn't make my hearing go away. Sucking Dave's dick until he's blue in the face won't change the fact that I'm very much without a loving partner.

As a woman and a human being, this gets tiresome.

Whatever love you get for that half hour is enough to get me through one day. But then I realize how absolutely sad and pathetic that sounds, and it makes me a little bit sick.


But then I realize that even if I comprehend and change that fact, my "vicious sexual appetite" isn't going to go away. There's nothing I can do to stop this. Right now, it's a coping mechanism. But in a month, a year, five years, it won't be a coping mechanism- it will be something that I simply need.

So I decide that the only thing to do is...fuck someone.

If that's not a fucking Catch 22, I don't know what is.