My body is on hiatus. Maybe it’s been the stress of an uncertain living situation for so long and then the actual move. Or maybe it’s recent disappointments worming their way into my psyche. I don’t know.
If I had a penis, pretty sure I’d be going through some kind of erectile dysfunction issue right now.
I try to masturbate every day. Usually in the morning before I get up.
It’s not some grand and sexy goal, I’m just very aware that my body is prone to going into hibernation when I don’t have an erotic target who’s firing up my synapses, and I vaguely worry that if I don’t remind it what it’s capable of, it will forget.
My desire is primed and stoked by having someone to aim it at and when that’s lacking it’s frighteningly easy for me to just… turn it off and forget about it. But I think about my body like a machine, and I worry that if I don’t regularly get it out and take it for a run, all the parts will seize up.
At least some of that is worrying that the passing years will render my sexuality asunder. When I find myself excited about someone anew, I am always more than a little relieved to find that that isn’t the case. In the meantime, I try to keep it humming.
The last couple of times I’ve come it has been so very flat: Less a fabulous peak of pleasure and more just my body sullenly acknowledging that it did the thing it was supposed to do and it’s done now.
Need to do something about that…