Title tie: “It just devolved into my entire sexual history” & “What’s most infuriating is my complete awareness that HE is one missing the fuck out”

I want to tell you about a time I felt normal. 
I didn't have sex until I was 18. I wasn't specifically waiting for that age, or any age, I just never had a boyfriend until then. I wasn't going to fuck a guy I hung out with once or twice, you know? And yeah, it wasn't until I started branching out to guys at other high schools (via Myspace, IDK who anyone did anything before social media, I was born in 1988) who would see how attractive I was but not realize how socially radioactive I was. It worked the second try. And maybe because all I wanted from this guy was a date for prom (after being told by someone else that he would go with me to mine, only to get a phone call a few days later that he couldn't oblige any longer due a renewed relationship with an ex) so for the first time ever with a guy I liked I was chill about pushing things into “official” status (because I didn't care if I didn't get a boyfriend out of it I just wanted to show up with someone else when EVERYONE in my grade knew what had happened to me because the first guy was the cousin of someone in my grade at my high school, and the guy and I were witnessed by what you could loosely call a power couple in my class at a store together. I was told by someone neutral that the “popular” people were talking about me in a class, having observed me with the hot cousin of one of their own in public, as if there was something going on between us....NEEDLESS TO SAY, it helped a great deal having bagged a second guy so quickly after the first, having gone the rest of high school as IF I were unattractive).
ANYWAY, the guy who went with me to senior prom became my first real boyfriend. 
Then, on Memorial Day weekend my senior year, so many people I knew, myself included, were sexually active. My first time was neither good nor terrible. He had some sexual experience, but nothing to give a person actual talent. He was of the impression that maintaining an erection for as long as possible was the one and only marker for a superb sexual performance. I hope to God he's learned better since then. Again, who I am to talk, because eventually, especially after we broke up, the sex actually got good. When I did 100% of the work. Like not even joking, after we broke up when our first semesters of separate college freshman years started, I liked in such a city that he could come over once in awhile, he wasn't SO far away in his dorm. I stayed there once. It was gross, and doing a walk of shame across that campus isn't an experience one wants to repeat. ANYWAY. We got into a sex routine. Oral until he's hard enough for sex, then me on top, mostly cowgirl, until we're both done. Use of condom and birth control or spermicide and birth control. So, this was a period in my life when I was having good sex but getting ZERO emotional support or fulfillment from anywhere. I worked at a pet store full time, was a full time college student, and lived in an apartment with a roommate and like 14 different pets. My weeks had a scary regularity, made only different when it got worse, school/weather wise, as every fall semester is destined to do.
By the winter semester of freshman year, I didn't see Nick (my first boyfriend) all that often. He just stopped communicating with me, and I was finally starting to branch out socially with coworkers. I would be set up with a coworker's boyfriend's coworker, Chris, and he's the second person I ever had sex with. I tried having a relationship with him, but much like Josh (cousin of my classmate, guy who rescinded his prom date agreement) Chris rekindled things with an ex right after fucking me a few times. To be clear, I didn't fuck Josh. We barely did anything sexual. We made out a few times, and he tried fingering me but I wouldn't let him go inside my underwear, it's funny, I remember he specifically asked. He was that level of decent. Plus he actually called me and told me the truth, rather than ghosting me hard, which is honestly what a lot of guys would have done in his situation, then spread rumors I was some crazy stalker. Anyway. Then my second boyfriend ever was Dan, the guy who was friends with my best friend's fiance, we dated for eight months, pretty much breaking up RIGHT around my 20th birthday, which if you remember, my birthday is 4-20, when you're in college (which of course I was and Dan wasn't, and it was one of his many hilariously telling sore spots, that he'd dropped out of the very beginning of community college then never bothered even attempting to go back) the end of April is a really hard time, it's either final exam time or final paper time. So I was dealing with that, and that fact that I was getting dumped by the guy who had just a month before signed a 13 month lease with me. He “felt trapped”, he so tearfully told me, a month into the lease when we finally had an argument that ended things, after it being pretty obvious we were going to break up. I mean, we both knew it wasn't going anywhere and we were in no way compatible. I guess I'd just gotten used to being part of a certain social circle, one that involved being around my best friend a lot, obviously. But we still hung out after, don't get me wrong. But for example, there's something called the Walleye Festival near my hometown. Yes I know. But it's a social beer tent type drinking situation, there's good food trucks and booths, general merriment. I guess there's some fishing involved for some people but most just use it as a drinking excuse at the end of April. Social group that included my best friend and ex went to the Walleye Festival the week after we broke up. I remember being like...I wish I had a group of friends, or even one fucking friend I could go with. But I didn't. Just as I wouldn't this present day, except my husband. Which is fine. I'm not complaining about the spouse I got, but I'm pointing out I have zero friends. Which is better than being friends with people who, for one reason or another, suck.  Clearly I refuse to do this. You know all about it, blog. 

So now that I’m fucking listing them. Then, about nine months after Dan and I broke up there was, as you know him, Doug. His real name is Drew. I don’t know why I’m SO worried about telling these super common, generic names. And if someone is just fucking dying to figure out who I am….I seriously worry for this person’s sanity, and I’m not joking at all. It’s SO easy to not give a fuck about me, case and point the fucking dudes I’m listing.
Also, if you’re curious, after Doug who was number four, extending a few times across a few months, until the June I was 21 (2009), when I met my husband. I think I was high on and/or coming down from Adderoll and I texted him some pretty cunty shit, because he was NOT receptive when, a bit into my relationship with my future husband, I suggested we hang out. My bad. Don’t totally recall, but my husband seemed to. He was probably glad I was being a bitch to someone he assumed I still liked. Honestly, and I don’t know if I ever even told my husband this, but one of the things that first interested me in him, that made me actually give him a chance, was that he sort of reminded me of Drew. In more than one way. So I was like..okay…what if you would like this guy like you’ve liked Drew? Don’t pass that up because you’re not super attracted to this guy. I remember, my best friend and I went shopping at a far away expensive mall and while we were eating at PF Chang’s she seemed disapproving regarding him, like she didn’t see why someone would be into him. But, I mean, sometimes your bestie not being into someone is grounds for thinking maybe they do have value, like in the sense that SHE seems to be into guys I couldn’t stand…I guess that sounds mean but IDK except for her current guy I’ve been like bleh and boo to every guy she’s dated. Anyway.
So then yeah, there was a one time thing with a guy named Matt RIGHT before I met my husband. He ended up being a huge dick. Whatever. Sometimes it’s nice to be like…you know you don’t like drunk after-bar with a hot stranger you met recently sex….you’ve tried girl, you’ve tried.
So my future husband, when we had sex for the first time about a month into our relationship, was number six. Then it stayed that for a long time. Then R, as you know him, was number seven.
Then it gets unclear.
As you know I was with R for awhile, it was honestly a solid year start to finish. It was odd experiencing the end of relationship that I was glad for. That was rarely if ever the case. And the sex had been so great with R. Goes to show, attraction just CANNOT be everything.
Then, my husband and I swang with those two couples. With the first one, the one we only met up with once, we went bowling then went back to her house. I guess, technically, that guy and I had sex for like…a second. But he was incapable of maintaining an erection with a condom on. So that was the end of the that. We’d also been drinking a ton, and it was late and cold and a ton of lights were on. Anyway we never heard from them again. Months and months later HE tried to hook up with me on his own and I was highly unresponsive. NO THANKS. One of the many times I restarted a Tinder under a fake name I saw him come up. Yeah I know where that door leads, no thanks. Plus his dick wasn’t even remotely impressive, and he wasn’t hot enough in any way to distract you from that. Chris was like that – unimpressive package but SO fine otherwise. Nick and Doug were both pretty blessed, especially Drew but holy fuck what lousy self esteem, to the point where it annoyed me. Dan was your standard super average size, so not like pathetically small but also like…barely enough I guess. My husband is pretty much the same size as Nick, and my husband is also is stupid good shape. I mean maybe I’m shallow, but what you gonna do? I knew my husband would go bald when I met him, so I can’t really count that against him. Obviously I’m sure I mentioned R was pretty well endowed. Yeah. Both swinging guys were really unimpressive in that area. It’s like…but my imagination and porn taught me to think hot, hung guys did this. Eff.
So yeah, it wasn’t worth it. And I barely count either of these guy as true sexual partners. The second one and I never had vaginal sex, I sucked his dick A LOT, because, guess what, couldn’t stand a condom, I guess, again. For being dudes “in the lifestyle” they SURE didn’t seem compatible with fucking super necessary protection. JEEZ.
So, R was #7, which is funny because dude was anything but lucky, in any way, for himself or me or anyone, then swinging guys were SORT of #8 and #9, but IDK, I barely count any of that.
Then that’s it. If you count the sort of sex stuff I did with the chicks, that puts me at #10 and #11, but IDK I don’t really count that either, but if we’re REALLY splitting hairs here.
And that’s it. I of course thought I had a sure thing lined up making someone I used to know #8/#12 (depending on how you look at the list).
Oh well.
As it turns out, I don’t want to waste my time chasing dick, as it were. I just want to talk to someone about my problems. You don’t do it for me blog, not in the way I need. But this is a good place to discuss your kinda depressing sexual history, I guess, because I just did it. I mean whatever, I’m not out to impress or convert anyone to anything. I’m just out here talking to myself, like we all fucking are. I’m just one of those people who doesn’t worry about running out of things to say. There’s A LOT of stuff I worry about, but not that.
So yeah, maybe R will be my last extracurricular sex. Who knows. Maybe in therapy I’ll realize I was not doing that because I enjoy it. I would not be shocked. But maybe I do. I mean it was fun, a little, at the beginning. But also in so many ways exhausting and uncomfortable. Like R would keep us up really late at night, not giving a single fraction of a fuck that I had to get up and go to work at 6am the next morning because HE would sleep until when he wanted then wake up and play video games until he and I talked on Facebook messenger on my lunch break.
We’ll see, I guess. I’m also not looking for it, at all anymore. I disabled everything. I even took my Twitter app off my phone. The account is still there, but I was spending SO MUCH TIME on Twitter, and fucking why? So now it’s there for a place to share my blogs, but that’s pretty much it, and I don’t need the app on my phone to do that, so you know.
That’s my sexual past. Sort of 7 dudes, sort of 9 dudes and 2 chicks. That how I like to look at it. I fucking tried to make it 10 dudes. I really did. What’s MOST infuriating is my complete and total awareness that HE is the one missing the fuck out.
That’s literally why all of this, alllllllll of the fucking jerking around that was my emotional/romantic/sexual life until I met my husband, who was smart enough to not play games for longer than like two weeks (he would take FOREVER to respond to my texts, at the beginning of our interaction, for example) was so hard for me.
Like I was aware, the whole time, that I was fucking too good for all of these fuckers to begin with. I mean, maybe I acted like it? But I don’t know, I put up with A LOT, and I did A LOT to show how into these guys I was. So. IDK.
But again, it’s like there’s something about me that screams “treat me like shit” because BOY does it happen a lot.
Anyway. I need to get to my actual writing. But I wanted to talk about the time on Memorial Day Weekend of senior year when I felt normal, and it devolved into my entire sexual history. Enjoy.

DUDE aka I was right, you know

Therapy. Was. Awesome.

It’s only a $30 copay with no deductible. Even on our worst weeks we can swing that.

Pretty excited.

I was right, you know.

That was what I wanted.

Too bad I fucked around for so long with other shit. And other people. I wanted a dude therapist. Fucking shocking.

Do I tell him about the blog?

I’m sure you’ll come up.

Oh well what you gonna do.

Peace out lovely sluts