I spent seven days in a YMCA in Penzance, Cornwall, in the company of my unofficial brother whose sister I almost married, a short German/Italian hybrid with incredibly long hair and an asexual art teacher who is obsessed with history and tells Hitler jokes.
Don't worry. It's a lot better than it sounds.
I spent a large majority of my holiday snapping things with a new camera. This new camera, I must add, is something that I got as a present from someone sexy, presumably so I can take naked pictures of myself with it. But instead, I'm using it for holiday snaps. How subversive. Hound Tor, Penzance, Mousehole, castles, stones, ruined villages, restaurants, churches, beaches, cliffs, hills, forests, gardens, FUCKING STONEHENGE... they all went in my camera. The amount of times my trigger finger went off may account for the fact that 47 and I almost saved the UN. We didn't quite get there, but we were close. I got to use the same finger on my light gun, see.
We tripped. A playlist lurched bizarrely through various selections and genres of music in a mixture of intents and languages. 47's car valiantly took hills with a worrying amount of groaning. We took bends as if corners, letting out a pleasing "wheeeee!" with our voices as 47's poor girlfriend held onto her seat for dear life. And we ate. I made food. Lots of food. And despite feeling healthy, I have certainly gained a lot of weight in a mere seven days. The salad wraps that I perfected making for everyone probably being cancelled out by the side order of chips and cheese I got with our last meal - the side order that was larger than the main course. I knew I should have ordered the garlic bread.
I didn't orgasm.
I didn't even masturbate. I think I just forgot all about my libido. I do have an overactive libido, I'll admit to that. It's not something I need to be ashamed of, really. I write a sex blog, for the love of Glod. It just wasn't particularly active during the whole seven days. Why? No idea. Not the foggiest. It's not courteous, nor is it even socially acceptable, to masturbate while you're staying with someone, and in a YMCA sex doesn't exist. But still, sneaking off in the night to submit to your human desires is merely tallying with Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs... wherever you do so or whoever you're with. I just didn't do so. I didn't really want to, and at some points when I did (and there were some, of course there were) I was too tired... too busy... feeling too uneasy... to begin to attempt to carry out the deed.
My libido's thought process probably went something like, "well, he's on holiday, it'd be difficult for him to express any sexuality while it's happening, better shut down for a week." Or to put it more succinctly, "No."
It's not a new thing. I've gone a whole week between orgasms before. It's just... well... I was about 15 and hadn't had an orgasm deliberately. So, essentially, it was something I needed to re-familiarise myself with. Although I didn't think about it... much. I didn't lie awake wondering why I wasn't indulging in self-pleasure at every waking opportunity. I lay awake wondering about other things, like where my skill at bowling went and why I was so shit at Dance Dance Revolution! when I usually dance pretty well on a floor. I didn't think about it, I didn't do it, I didn't orgasm. I had a great time. The two probably aren't related.
I felt my libido recharging as 47 drove me closer to orgasm. London, I mean. London. We returned today and although the playlist was still shuffling its way through the songs, the car wasn't banking in such an exciting way and everyone looked ready to fall asleep at some points. Except maybe 47. Thankfully. I certainly almost drifted off a few times, and the time when I was wide awake was mostly spent on Twitter via my faithful BlackBerry. Bits of my sexual self awakened and sniffed the air hopefully. But I had to wait until I got home to properly browse through Twitter and the blogs before I could re-assert myself as a sexual being. So, erm, I did.
I had a large orgasm.
That is, alas, all it was. It was a large orgasm and I made a mess with it. I even took a picture (yes, with the new camera - it needed to lose its virginity somehow). But although it was a good orgasm, it wasn't the world-shaking, earth-moving, bone-shattering bucketload of pleasure I was thinking it might be. I'm starting to think that maybe I forced myself into it, and that's not conducive to the best kind of orgasm.
Still, I've been on holiday. I've saved up a lot. There's nothing to stop me trying again...
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