Sex

It always seems to come down to sex.

Maybe I’m a pervert. Maybe I’m single-minded. Maybe I’m brainwashed by the media to believe men want to have sex all the time.

But, god damn it, every time I’m mad at my boyfriend, it loops back to sex. Why don’t we have more sex? Why don’t you want to have sex with me? Why is this not important to you?

We had sex this week. Good sex. But, somehow, that makes it worse. If it can be good, and satisfying for both parties, why is it happening so infrequently?

I get angry over stupid things, because, really, I am angry we don’t have sex.

I’m lost here. We’ve talked about it. We’ve promised to make it happen more. But the longer it goes on, the more bitter and uncooperative I feel. I’m resentful and I don’t want to try anymore. I don’t want to be the one putting forth the effort when, clearly, I’m the one who wants the sex and he doesn’t seem to care. Why doesn’t he care? He used to care. And I know I should know better; I should realize that this media idea of men as sex-crazed morons is false, but I still feel terrible. I still feel rejected.

For the first time, two scary words cross my mind. Break. Up. I have no desire to break up. I would be fucked, financially and emotionally. But I don’t know how much longer I can put up with this. It’s not even likely that breaking up would increase the overall amount of sex I have. But, at least I wouldn’t feel so rejected and undesirable all the time.

I have too much time to think this month, with my lull in work. I need work to get back into my mind, to keep me focused on something (anything) else. Or I sit here reading my high school diary, noticing I feel exactly the same way about sex: OMG I want to have it. Why can’t I have it?

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