2005-01-22


Sex is degrading and I'm glad I don't have it. I avoid it like the plague and resort to my hand.

My life is so much easier without sex. Two years ago you never could have convinced me that I'd be happier without sex. I suppose it's a turn-off now after all my experience with Will. Sex with him is good but the psychology is so desecrating. I am the receptacle and that's how it feels.

I never had sex until I was quite beyond puberty so I grew accostomed to fantasy. Fantasy is flavorless, stenchless, and perfect. Sex is the anthesis of fantasy in every sensual facet.

I have considered affairs but have dropped the idea of sex. What appeals to me is the romance (seriously). Reflecting on my dating past, romance was my preference. I savored the low-lit dining, the steamy cars at night, the clinking cups at toast.

Making out is my vice. Giving head and receiving is okay and sometimes exciting but, honestly, not my forte.

What I've always been savvy at is love. I am a barrel of affection and passion. I love Will because he supplies my demand for affection. That's what really keeps me at his side: The sudden kisses on my nape while I wash the dishes, the phone calls to tell me I'm lovely, waking up in embrace, the constant hugs and kisses...

I am loved despite whatever Will does. I suppose that's all I need.

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