Not Enough

Not Enough

I said “Enough!” and I meant it. Quite frankly, I wish I could run a mile from all sorts of sexual difficulties at the moment – and then again, it isn’t to do with sex. Not really. The sexual nature of everything is almost the simplest part of the equation.

Enough! I said.

But then there is the other side. Not enough.

And sometimes in life, there is “not enough”. Not enough time to talk and then spend the rest of the day together, and the night too. Not enough time to hold one another, be with one another, relaxing together and just doing basic things together. Not enough time to apologise. Not enought time to reassure.

Not enough! But I am not talking about that for now – my “not enough” is totally about the reality and rawness of sexual desire today.

And I have made a decision that I am never going to cry out “enough!” on that one.

I was watching the television programme about the Sex Researchers on Channel Four (as promised, more on that in another blog, hopefully tomorrow) where they were discussing the treatment for hysteria as Zenpuss has blogged about previously. Swarms of Victorian women were clamouring to be ‘treated’ for their hysteria as though they were queuing up to climb the school ropes for “that funny feeling”. These poor women were sent off for the melancholy treatment only to discover something that they had never experienced and were damn sure that they wanted to experience it again – the female orgasm.

Historically, there are some that see these women as victims; oppressed middle class ladies, sent off to try and sort themselves out so that they could be accommodating to their husbands’ sexual needs after treatment. But in many ways, these women weren’t the victims. They were the blessed. Because someone took the trouble to wake up their sexuality and stick and great big rogering instrument up their fannies to give them an experience of utter delight.

Now maybe some of them went away from their treatment and decided that perhaps their husband’s cock could give them the same pleasure. So surely, they couldn’t then be classified as victims. However, I suspect that others were possibly maltreated with expectancy and the worst thing of all is that I would expect that the majority of them never climaxed from the potentially non-existent stimulation from the husbands after receiving their treatment which is why they returned time and time again back to the fucking machine – literally!

Sometimes a girl just needs plastic or in the case of the Victorian women, wooden or glass dildos with electric forces to stimulate the allegedly non-existent G-Spot.

Hysteria – oh yes, we all suffer from it from time to time and some more than others.

Hysteria, panic, fear, angst, anguish: I wish I had a decent orgasmatron doctor on tap to accommodate my needs when faced with an unhealthy dose of hysteria.

But that’s right. I do!

And surely the one treatment for a woman who feels her lover is deserting her is a gentle or not so gentle reminder that her cunt is still the most delicious thing and he wants to get his hard cock right up inside it as it showers his head with a multitude of grateful eruptions.

I am a fucking volcano, and sometimes that can actually be quite a good thing because just as my passion can air itself in a feisty and negative way, then so too does the positive force of fire comes into play.

And when I am hysterical, albeit in as a controlled way as I can muster, what I need more than anything then is some fucking. Yes, hard and shameless fucking but in the long run I also need some seriously sensual love making to make me feel as the significant woman that I am.

But it all makes me think. Would I have been quite as hysterical about everything had I not been deprived of a decent amount of sex for a few days too many? Am I actually a woman who needs sex on a daily basis, if not two or three times a day?

I think I am.

I think I need my break of fast in the morning with sex, just as others might feel the need for a piece of toast. I need cock, and if I cannot have cock then the dildo will have to do.

I need sex for lunch – perhaps a nice raunchy fuck to enliven me for the rest of the day, and I need an evening session of making love, of bonding, of closeness to ease me into an evening of slumber or aloneness.

I really do need a fuck – very, very frequently and at this moment in my life, I only want it from one source.

But my need for a fuck is almost exacerbated by the conversations that we have had recently, and bizarrely, as much as I yearn for a couple of hours in bed with my lover (when was the last time we did without having to go through more breaking news, more anguish and tears, more comforting and placating?) I also want some deeply passionate love-making. It may look too urgent or even aggressive to be love-making but I happen to believe that even the most desperate of fucks is precisely that for me and my lover.

In my hysteria I need a fuck even more. My fucks are not recreational sex. However much they may seem so, I do not fuck my lover as a recreation, though of course there is an element of recreational enjoyment in it. I need it to be more than that though. Yet, I really, really do need fucking at the moment; not as reassurance but because there is a physical need to get something moving in my body so that I can firmly stay in the now for every second possible.

Maybe it is a sort of therapy. Maybe it is a sort of denial – everything will be fine as long as I have his cock up my cunt. But there is nothing wrong with living in the now and there is nothing wrong with admitting that you are a bit more needy than usual on the sex side, not out of envy, not as part of proving a point, merely a very urgent need to be fucked as a partial resolution for my hysteria.

Now admittedly, it would be hard to recognise the difference; horny Zenpuss or hysterical Zenpuss? They both need regular fucking.

But whilst horny Zenpuss can just be a little bit patient if a day goes by without a fuck, hsyterial Zenpuss is a little more upset by the prospect, and may I reiterate once more that it is not a conscious decision or consideration that I am trying to prove my sexual prowess. At this point in time, I’d be mortified if I was having to do that after all the years of sensational fucking. As much as I may be a desperate moo, I’m not desperate enough to have cock up me for sympathy!

But of course, there is a confidence thing. Mine has been knocked, and I find it difficult to consider that sex with me is not as enjoyable as it once was because of the presence of another sexual being in my lover’s life.

But that aside, it is clear that there may be a multitude of reasons why I need sex more at the moment, but I am convinced that some of it is due to calming my destructive emotions. If I fill my mind, body and soul with passionate feelings and heightened sexuality then the rest of the world does not exist.

There is a time and place for everything. I need sensual. I need adoration too. I need to know my lover longs for me as much as I do him but I also need a damn good fuck.

Don’t try this at home, they say. DO try this at home.

My cunt is exploding with mini-orgasms some six hours after I had made love today. My cunt is so gloriously aroused that I can get myself off in an instant. My dildo is beside me ready to be inserted the minute I stop writing, and tomorrow morning I will still need to be stuffed full of fingers or cock at the earliest opportunity.

So what do I need you to try at home? A fucking fisting, that’s what. A deliciously urgent fisting, preferably after requesting it, KY smothered on the whole of the hand and a gradual sliding in to immerse the whole hand up my cunt.

Do try this at home, especially if you are feeling a little hysterical, and if you’re not, then pretend! In fact, perhaps I ought to continue being hysterical and carrying a load of destructive emotions if the end product is this much passion – but of course I jest. I’ll still want the sex without the hysteria – be assured.

And after the fist has been removed, make sure you knock a big cock up there as soon as the hand has withdrawn. The orgasm is fucking unbelievable, prolonged and intense. I love it!

Sex is not the answer to everything. It is causal as well as effective but those Victorians were onto something with their treatment and maybe we should be aware of the great healing powers of Zen sex that is totally about the passion, togetherness, raunchiness and wonderment of the single moment in time.

Definitely NEVER enough.