It has been so long since I've gotten laid that I honest-to-god can't remember if it's been two years or three years. I'm pretty sure it's two years. Two years and two months.
If you had told me five years ago, and especially if you had told me ten years ago when I was the OEN having sex every five minutes that I would be in this situation, I would have been horrified. And mortified. And very gravely concerned. Am I sick? Did I break something important down there? Did I run out of guys in the metropolitan area?
To some extent, I can genuinely blame my health as it came out about two years ago that I have hypothyroidism which lowers one's libido, but I've been taking meds for that for a year and a half. So that's a moot point, right? I think.
Then covid happened.
Covid just royally fucked up all the things.
As a self-admitted hypochondriac, I refuse to go out to public indoor spaces unless it's for a doctor's appointment I absolutely have to go to. Or once for donuts, because, duh, cinnamon twist and I'm not going to pay for GrubHub to deliver me a $2.49 donut. But I was really desperate at that point! And I went in the middle of the afternoon when the place was empty.
I should mention that I have a standing offer with my ex-fuck buddy Contractor, who recently got married to a lovely woman. She's open to swinging and they have expressed interest in me me because he wants me to teach her how to squirt.
Okay, going from no sex in two (or is it three?) years to being Professor Squirtsville sounds like asking for a lot. Like I'm not sure I could even find the right things at the appropriate times especially once things got all slippery. [I have been masturbating rarely because it's easier not to have sex when I'm not revving the engine.]
Contractor and his wife are probably the safest bet and will be the most understanding of any fumbling I have in bed as I'm reinitiated in the bedroom arts, but then there's the big fat monkey wrench of having a pussy on top of a dick to maneuver. I've turned into a bit of a pillow princess in my older days so that may end up in disappointment for them when I'm popping up every thirty seconds to ask if I'm doing it right.
I could always go on Tinder or Bumble or whatever the hell it is kids use these days to find a hookup buddy, but then I'm trusting that they're telling the truth when they say they're vaccinated and boostered. Fortunately I live in Oregon which has a high vaccination rate, unlike Texas where my family lives surrounded by psycho anti-vaxxers, but still. Is it weird to ask for photographic proof of a vaccination card before agreeing to meet in person? Does that make me look like a freaked out hypochondriac? Or is it just good sense?
The reason I'm being a huge hypochondriac about covid is because my health is already dodgy from having lived in an apartment severely contaminated with black mold for three and a half years. Black mold affects multiple systems in your body and takes years, literally years for you to return to full health. As it is, I sleep twelve hours a day because there is still black mold in my body even though I moved to an ERMI-approved apartment a year and a half ago and have been undergoing an insane regimen of supplements and medication in that time.
So I don't want to mess with covid. My body is already giving me the silent treatment. What if I got long covid with brain fog and the fatigue that lasts for months afterward? Christ, I'd be sleeping 16 hours a day and unable to work the few hours I was awake. NO THANKS.
But... sex.
I miss sex. From what I remember of sex, it's quite enjoyable. Maybe I'll just look at all those dick pics I saved ten years ago and try to get over the fact that none of the guys in the photos are wearing face masks.
