It's mainly when I sit at Uni. The stress of studying means that I want to do anything but study, and then my mind turns to sex.
The type of lust I feel can only be cured by sex. Masturbation alone is never fulfilling, so that means that I am always unsatisfied. The feelings that I feel writing stories like this, semi-autobiographical, except for details that would identify people, gives me some relief from that I would call the mind-tension tension that builds up in me. There is the physical tension of sex, and then the mind-tension.
The part of me that needs fulfilling is extra to the physical need of orgasm. It is mental sex, the need to see, feel, hear, imagine, vision that doesn't come from masturbation.
The visions I have are similar to when I use to be going through a period of severe psychiatric stress. Perhaps it is even off-putting for some people for me to talk about psychiatric problems and sex in the same sentence, but my mind and personality is very much who I am, and that includes the mad parts of me.
Parts of my blog speaks of having full-on hallucinations. Some people have asked me if that was made up or whether it was fiction. It was real alright, and I'm glad that sort of thing happens very, very rarely.
But when I have a normal vision or imagination, they can sometimes seem very real. Like waking up from a dream, it can take quite a while for me to tell whether what I dreamed actually happened or not. Was it last night or the night before....it was the night before last that I wrote an erotic story, a short one, in the same seat at the university library that I am sitting in now.
I saved what I wrote, replied to a few emails and then stood up to walk home. As I stood up, my juices literally ticked my leg, as it made contact with the side of my thighs. AND, that was with me wearing knickers.
I reckon that mad people sometimes have really extreme desires. With my past relationships I've noticed that it was the mad ones who had these insatiable sexual drives. They could do it for hours, days, weeks, and would do as well, if it weren't for those other necessaries of life – food, work, sleep.
The juices tickled my thigh. They aren't ticking my thighs now, because I am wearing a pair of jeans, sitting up back straight, my knees apart on a typists' chair, feeling the push between my legs because I am swollen down there.
I'm never sure what to call that thing between my legs, although I opt for cunt so as not to be accused of being too sensitive. For that wet stuff, I have even less of an idea. Juice, wetness, waters, whatever.
I was horny when I left university. The night before last. I was aware of how I was dressed because it is still freezing in Sydney at the moment. Well, freezing here means 15 degrees Celsius, so it is all relative. Wearing a skirt with no tights, a blouse with nothing else except a bra, it was cold.
The first road I crossed I imagined a car pulling up, men getting out and dragging me into it. I can hear the thud of the door close. To be taken, perhaps, to some lonely spot and raped. Was that something that really happened in my past, or was it a fantasy, or something that I wrote in a story? It is all mixed up to me. But there was a rush to the idea, a bit sexual but more like an adrenalin rush, the sort that comes from when you are crossing the road against the lights and you suddenly realize you better run the rest of the way or be hit by a car.
I make it home without being abducted or kidnapped by aliens. Julie is home, she puts on the kettle because she knows I like a tea when I get home. We kiss each other on the cheeks and hug briefly, not like the lovers we once were, but as friends.
