I have officially stopped masturbating.
Believe me, I’m just as surprised as you are. It started about two weeks ago. That was the last time I got myself off. Since then, the thought has occurred to me, but whenever it does I end up deciding “what’s the point?” Something is clearly very, very wrong with this picture. Sigh.
Along with Britney Spears and Disney World, orgasms are in my Top 3 favorite things in this world. They’re the reason I got to the point where I needed to stop having sex and blog about it because I think I was sort of addicted to them. When I told you about my first time, I mentioned that Skater Boy was adamant about ensuring that I knew how to climax. Since then, the big finish has been a hallmark of my (many) sexual experiences. Don’t get me wrong, I love foreplay and the act of intercourse itself. But I’ve never gone into a heated moment without the end game in mind. So again, I have to ask, what the Hell has happened to me?
My friend RK says orgasms beget more orgasms. That means when you’re getting them regularly, you crave them more. I suppose that makes sense. Maybe my body has just grown accustomed to not getting off so I simply don’t miss it as much. I had no idea that was going to happen. I figured by this point I would have had to buy rechargeable batteries and wear a brace on my wrist to stave off the Carpal Tunnel Syndrome. As it turns out, not so much. And I can’t decide if this is a good thing or a bad thing. Perhaps it’s both.
Maybe, the fact that I’m no longer obsessed with my own orgasms is indicative of a New Allie Era in which I focus on the non-sexual aspects of my life that I enjoy such as writing or spending time with friends. Or maybe I’ve just lost my volition to cum, and therefore my will to live. Hell, perhaps I’m just getting lazy.
The truth is, I don’t anticipate having sex anytime soon. However, I do anticipate doing battle with temptation again in the very near future. I fully intend to start dating again. I also intend to make-out. And, let’s be honest, kissing is a gateway drug. In my experience it can, and has, led to sex. So after the date I have planned for July 2nd (oh c’mon, you didn’t think I wouldn’t have that booked already, did you?) perhaps all of the sexual tension and kissing will lead to me to get back on that horse, or Sybian, or whatever, and ride.
Dear God, I sure hope so. Because when Allie B stops getting off for good, the Apocalypse can’t be far behind.