We can be horny, we can be hopeful, we can be keen, we can be enthusiastic, but woe betide us if we’re desperate.
Desperation is unsexy
There’s nothing less sexy than someone who whines for you. Who doesn’t just want you but who needs you in a pitiful, clingy way. I’ve been guilty in the past of turning my nose up at such people. You know the ones – the ones who text you straight after a first date asking for another, the ones who try to wheedle an invite back to yours even though you’ve already said no. The ones who send you emails saying “why didn’t you reply to my last email?”
I snort dismissively, delete their texts, and pity the poor fools who think I’m anything special to fuss over.
But I’m wrong, and I’m cruel, and I know that this is bad. I shouldn’t write off the desperation of others because I fall victim to exactly the same feelings. The difference between my desperation and yours is that mine feels more true, and raw and painful.
We’re all desperate sometimes
Tonight I’m having an evening of self-imposed celibacy, and as a consequence I’m pathetically desperate for sex. Not just sex, either – I specifically want to be beaten. I want to be toyed and fucked with. I want a guy to bend me over, spank me with the palm of his hand, dip his fingers into my cunt to feel how wet I am, then beat me some more.
Sometimes I wonder if I’m capable of walking to the nearest pub, picking the loneliest-looking guy, and begging him to take me roughly in the beer garden. And then I get hornier and more desperate and I realise that I can’t – sex with a stranger will scratch a different itch to the one I actually have – the desperation to fuck a guy who knows me, and who can beat me with the strength and lustful conviction of someone who knows how I like it.
Have a wank, then
When I confided in a friend about this problem he said exactly that: “why don’t you have a wank?” but unfortunately it doesn’t work like that. I don’t know if it’s the same for everyone (what I do know, though, is that it’s rarely the same for everyone), but if I come home from work and rub one out, five minutes later in the kitchen as I’m pouring a gin and tonic, it occurs to me that – well, the last wank was nice, why not have another? And another? And… you get the idea.
Wanking is not a nice, relaxing release of tension. It’s like Pringles.
Sometimes you have to beg
The only solution to this problem is to find a boy I like fucking, and persuade him that – no, it doesn’t matter that it’s a school night – he has to fuck me right now. This works sometimes, and the resulting sex is satisfying and powerful and – usually – incredibly quick.
But I don’t think it’s easy to do this. Doing this properly involves putting yourself out there as a desperate person. Texting someone to say ‘I desperately need sex now – are you free?’ is far more difficult than saying ‘Free tonight? Fancy a shag?’.
‘Fancy a shag?’ has less baggage – it’s less needy – it’s more likely to get a reply.
But it’s also less likely to be successful. I once sent a casual message of this type to a friend, after a similar self imposed (but this time week-long) celibacy, and he offered to come and pick me up and take me to his house. My cunt twitched and ached as I waited in the cold outside the train station – imagining a quick journey to his, followed by a swift beating and a cold, functional fuck bent over the side of his sofa.
I didn’t wear knickers, I hadn’t even bothered to wear shoes – flip-flops thrown on as soon as his ‘yes’ text came through meant I was prepared for nothing other than a quick shag. I needed it just to calm me, to prevent me from rubbing my thighs together on a train in a manner that was starting to look suspicious to those who regularly joined my carriage.
He stopped nearby, and I limped over to his car, wondering if there was somewhere nearby we could retire to, saving ourselves the ten minutes of dripping, twitching agony as we drove to his house.
But I’d been too casual. I’d been too jokey and calm. ‘Fancy a shag?’ hadn’t fully conveyed my need. He stopped at a pub on the way, and insisted that we had a pint. I downed my drink then squirmed for 20 minutes, staring at him. I batted my eyelashes and crossed my legs and jiggled my knee up and down under the table, willing him to drink up.
It was the longest twenty minutes of my entire life.
8 Comments
“I didn’t wear knickers, I hadn’t even bothered to wear shoes”
Tsk. I’d have sent you back for some high heels. ;)
Especially if I’d realised that you were desperate. *grins*
I’ve received the desperation fuck text once in my life from a girl I was fucking.
She lived on the other side of town (and Sydney is a pretty fucking massive city), it was peak hour traffic and I’d be going against it.
I got there in half an hour. It usually takes me an hour to get there without traffic.
Point is: I don’t know many guys who could even ponder the thought of saying no to a girl who begged them for sex.
As always Girl, you make me think. Here is my twopence worth from my personal point of view.
When I am desperate for something, it’s usually to satisfy a need that is deep within me and is purely selfish. It’s not about the other person, honesty or connection. It’s transactional. It may feel like an ocean of emotional need but it’s purely, piggishly selfish. I don’t really care about what the other person wants or needs, I am not engaged with them. They are there to serve my need. And with that I will become manipulative and use every trick in the book to appear like I care about them so they can serve my need. This of course backfires because human beings are smart in the same way I am being smart by being manipulative – the other person sees it. And f they don’t – they’ll misunderstand me because I am presenting something quite opposite to what I really feel so I end up getting not what I wanted.
I once went to my fave fetish club and gallivanted with a gorgeous man all night. He was hot, we fooled around and I set my mind on fucking him later. But… he then refused to go home with me. Politely and kindly – he was going off with his mates who he abandoned in the first place to hang out with me. Instead of taking it for what it was – i.e. a man wanted to hang out with his mates after serving my every whim for hours, I took it to be a personal rejection of me. I was unattractive and unworthy. Hence, when I was approached by the bar by a guy, perfectly nice but not my type who flattered the fuck out of me, I responded with my sex goddess act, radiating sexual confidence and availability where in fact I was miserable and down. By the time we were in the cab, I knew it was a bad idea. And I was not desperate for a fuck. I was desperate for someone to want me. To negate that perceived rejection from before. Result: Got home, pranced around seductively without letting him touch me, he was trying to appear dominant to please me and was rubbish at it because he was naturally more submissive and I of course totally called him on that. I then decided the whole scenario was fucked, switched my mood from nice to ‘fuck of’ in a 108 degrees Exorcist style turn and sent him on his way without as much as a kiss. He was visibly confused upset and distressed. It was a vile thing to do. I felt pretty fucking horrible at the end.
What would I do now? I would say what I really felt like saying: “Hey, thank you for being so lovely. Actually, I am feeling a bit upset. It’s the end of the night. Everyone is getting off with someone and I feel lonely. I don’t even fancy a shag now, just a hug.”
What would happen instead? I don’t know. He could have said he fancied a shag not a hug and go off to look for someone else. He could have given me a hug. We could have had an honest giggly chat about how we feel like the only people that didn’t score that night because maybe he felt a bit lonely too. Fuck knows. But whatever would have happened at least it would have authentic and I am pretty sure that I would not feel like a desperate fraud at the end of it with a guy storming out cursing under his breath.
After this long winded intro here is my suggestion of a text to a suitable boy next time you feel that way (using your own fabulous words):
“I want you to bend me over, spank me with the palm of your hand, dip your fingers into my cunt to feel how wet I am, then beat me some more. Fancy that?”
That’s not desperate. That’s brave. And fucking hot. And I can pretty much guarantee there would be no pints on the way.
How you felt in that long 20 minutes is how all of us feel reading your blog…forever.
“Wanking is not a nice, relaxing release of tension. It’s like Pringles.”
I realize it shouldn’t, but realizing I was at that point–where wanking was no longer satisfying–it felt pretty sad to me.
I guess it made me realize that I can’t be self-reliant for everything, and I really really hate that feeling. Of course, yes, it can be empowering too, but I’m not there yet.
I’m working on it. *sigh*
“Wanking is not a nice, relaxing release of tension. It’s like Pringles.” I absolutely LOVE this line… it is soooo fucking true, once you start popping em out just can’t stop… an addictive activity that is only fun in the moment but ultimately leave wanting full roast dinner with trimmings rather than just a snack.
Mollyxxx
See, I read “I desperately need sex” and my hindbrain was like “I’ll be right over, which way is your place” before my cortex had caught up.
I sincerely hope he was properly thankful =D
Huh. It’s actually easier for me to say “I’m really, really needy right now” than “Fancy a shag?” It was tough to figure out a submissive way to ask, but once we did … well. Yes. It was nice. :)