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Once again it seems I have taken a hiatus from my leisurely blogging about my skimpy adventures. Of course, such is life. In the grand scheme of work, play, friends, and my renewed hobby of pole dancing, it’s been quite a busy time. Moreover, I’ve been trying my hand at this monogamy thing (an uncustomary trait of a common whore). The experience is, dare I say, wonderful. And, as the dedicated readers of my blog (all two of you) shall know soon enough, the sex is spectacular.
It’s kinda funny to think about. Number 15, the main squeeze, was a pretty atypical choice for me and made me think a lot about my personal opinions on sex, love and relationships. Of course, as modern whore, I know my fair share of meaningless sex for a gamet of reasons: the story, for fun, the result of alcoholism, the story, to pass the time, spite, the story, or a coping mechanism. Did I mention the story?
What’s different about Number 15 is that it’s probably the first time in a long time first came feelings, then came sex. To be explicit, I was Number 15’s Number 1. Interestingly enough, against my natural instinct to abandon ship when I found out my potential partner was not on the same experience level as I was, I decided to stick it out. After all, I’m used to not getting passed the second date without cracking. So, after a few weeks of combating his nervousness and anxiety, we finally got around to my favourite activity. And I am happy to report that, like all learning, a patient and willing teacher creates an amiable product. The sex is mind-blowing five months later and it’s put my sex teacher skills to the test :).
Don’t despair, however, that my monogamy will end my contribution to a rich and excite sex blog. A modern whore always has stories to share 🙂
I do apologize for that long hiatus. It seems as though I lost sight of why began this blog as I tried to trudge forward in the dating world. I forgot how therapeutic it is to pour these intimate details onto the world wide web. I also realize how easy it is to get lost in the search for meaning or a partner.
Let me have a moment to be super melodramatic for a moment (for we do not have enough moments like these in blogging right?). After a little less than a year of being broken up, Number 1 has found someone else. It’s weird trying to find the word to describe how that makes me feel. Surprised? Well, no, people usually move on. Hurt? Well, no, he’s not doing it to hurt me; he’s finding happiness. Jealous? Maybe a little, but I feel like that word implies some bitterness that isn’t there? Oh, I know…empty. Whilst the one I love(d?) is moving on and finding meaning and happiness, I’m grasping at straws. So desperate, even, that I almost gave Number 10 (the do you want to touch it fellow) a ring.
There are advantages and perks to being themodernwhore. First, of course, are the experiences. My stories are funny and great to reflect on. Second, there’s something very liberating about being uninhibited. I feel more brave and confident because my experience often gives me leverage or my security helps me move along while others may be too insecure to explore.
But the burden of it, however, is the empty, meaningless feeling I have at the end of the day. Everyone I ever loved out of all my trysts have now moved on and found their own meaning in people who just aren’t me, which leaves me weighing my options with slim pickings. I fuck and I fuck and I fuck. Yet it’s like being so hungry for something and only getting a little to eat, leaving you starved for more. At the end of the night, they leave, off to find the next person who will likely mean more to them.
I’m not sure where I’m at in my life now. I’m not too fond of the idea of hanging the whore hat just yet, but I am sort of burning through options and potential fast and it leaves me with a sad, cold feeling. However do I find a happy median?
The past year has been really rough for me. Actually that may be a little bit of an understatement. The past year for me has been about as unpleasant as a hysterectomy. About seven months ago my boyfriend of three years broke up with me. Yet, those things happen all the time, so I’m sure it’s certainly nothing the internet needs more sob stories about. It was not the break-up itself, but the road leading up to it and the massive spiral downward subsequent to it that has made this year so rough and my love-life so interesting.
Let me back up a bit before we get lost in this tangled web. I’m going to refer to my men by numbers, numbers denoting who they were on my list of fucks sequentially. Number 1, the boyfriend of three years, and I had an open relationship. Number one was my first, but in the three years we dated I made it up to Number 9 (who, ironically, I slept with only three days before I was dumped). Sure, I bet there are bigger whores out there (and they should give themselves a pat on the back, because this is hard work), but it’s a continuing process.
Anyway, the last year of my relationship with Number 1 was rough and full of doubt. Some of that can be attributed to my youth, an most of it can be attributed to the long-distance relationship we had. Ultimately, as we reached the later part of our relationship, I found my sexual appetite spiraling out of control, fucking friends, friends of friends, co-workers, and strangers. Eventually, through my sexual adventures, I met and fell in love with another man while I was on the other side of the country from my boyfriend. Was I in the wrong? Well, of course, and that’s why I ended up feeling like an asshole in the end when the boyfriend left me and the other man found a real girlfriend. Wiping the egg off my face, I struggled forward, one meaningless hook-up to the next, trying to fuck the heartbreak away when really fucking is what got me in trouble in the first place.
The reason I have ultimately decided to start this blog is twofold. First, I thought it would be mildly entertaining to share my sexual anecdotes, not just from the past year, but my whole experience. Second, because of the rough time I’ve had the past year, I’ve decided I need to get a hobby. After all, getting drunk beyond brain function and taking off your pants every time you get a whiff of a guy that smells good can’t be the only way to pass the time. I consider my sharing therapeutic, even if it is merely entertainment for you.
themodernwhore 