Should I give up, or should I just keep chasing penis?

Yes, sometimes the way to the penis is long and hazardous.  And you find yourself questioning, does it lead anywhere?  Hopefully, it does...  Pleasure, Satisfaction, Orgasms, Self-Fulfillment, and all that other shit that takes into account your well-being before that of others.  Because let’s face it, in many cases, especially those of women, we put everyone and everything before us; that includes, his penis, his orgasms, his satisfaction, his well-being, and all that other shit that does not take your needs into account.  And so let’s be honest: I had sex.  And I feel my life slowly but surely turning into a "Sex and the City-esque" kinda life... with lots of the sex components and none of the rest.  There are no fancy shoes, fancy clothes, awesome apartments in NYC, famous celebrities, failed marriages, etc.  It's just me, the guys, and the "romanticizing" of sex.

I've purposely placed "romanticizing" in quotation marks because I am not really romanticizing it.  I'll give you a hard and cold account of the events that led me to writing my post, with some exceptions, because that's what writers do.  And so I begin by confessing that I lied in my previous post.  I actually did have sex with the theater geek.  I also had sex with the caveman, but that was after I published it.  

Theater Geek:  He came over.  We had beers and wine.  We watched Netflix... and then we chilled.  And yeah, I mean the other "perverted" context of chilled.  He talked a lot about his life which seemed interesting.  He also talked a lot to the point where I couldn't get a word in.  After a couple of glasses of wine, I put my leg on his... He started rubbing my thighs, and I literally can't remember how one thing led to another, but he kissed me.  After making out for what seemed to be a solid minute, we fucked.  Unfortunately the details are a bit hazy since I was drunk on wine.

I know he fucked me on my couch.  I know he fucked me from behind.  I know he was on top of me at a certain point.  I know he used and abused my tender breasts... One week later I still have battle scars (bruises).  I also know he had a statuesque naked body which he pranced around like he had no care in the world.  I also--UNFORTUNATELY--noticed that he had ugly feet.  I'm petty for that... I KNOW.  It's been about two weeks and the communication between each other is at sending and receiving naked pictures on snapchat... It's mostly me on the receiving end.  The verdict:  it was good at its best and okay at its worst.  I've definitely have had worse.  Would I fuck him again?  Maybe.  

So, should I give up?  Or, Should I keep chasing penis?  Well, I fucked the caveman about 4 days after this one.  I guess I'm still chasing penis.  And that, my faithful readers, will be another post.  

-Angie

It's been a while...

I decided to post the mess that is my previous post, because I want to stay as honest as possible.  I've started going to therapy for anxiety and depression, and I've been told that I'm doing a lot of suppression.  They suggested keeping a journal, and this is it for me.  The thing is, I stopped.

At the beginning of my break up with Mark, I felt overwhelmed by emotions.  I cried, and cried, and constantly felt like I had so much in me, that I decided to start writing as a method of getting a bit of that weight out of my heart.  It helped.  After every post I felt my heart getting lighter and lighter.  I was able to smile and genuinely laugh out loud.  I thought to myself that years from now, it would be interesting to come back to my feelings but definitely not now.

Coming back to my feelings/blog meant that I would have to face my emotions.  It meant that I would probably cry again.  It meant that I would no longer ignore what's been weighing heavily on me.  But I'm not so sure about that anymore.

Way back, about two weeks into the break up, I thought it would be a good idea to start seeing other people... Not for anything serious, but for fun and to keep me busy.  Turns out I couldn't hold down a conversation without crying and feeling extremely guilty.  Every date I went on just reassured me of my feelings for Mark, and of how much I missed him and wanted him back.  This week has been the exception.

I was debating whether I should get back at dating because I thought that dating meant I was back to meaningless, casual, and boring sex.  Lets face it, I put myself in that situation.  I let it get to the point where it didn't matter.  But dating isn't necessarily about that.

Sex shouldn't be something you're ashamed about.  Sex is about personal pleasure, satisfaction, and making connections.  It's OK to have sex... as long as you're enjoying it.  My point is, my fear of whether sex is morally wrong or not is not going to stop me from going on dates anymore.  And so I went on two different dates this week...

The Dates

First date: Single, White, Theater Geek.  We talked (he did most of it).  It was alright.  Not great, but it was decent.

Second date: Single, Mexican, Caveman/Hipster/Jesus.  Woah.  As far as dates go, it was good.  Unfortunately most of the time my mind was just going: HUBBA HUBBA.  I struggled focusing on the conversation (which was actually good) because his hair and eyes were so pretty.  You ever seen a luscious mane that you just wanna run your fingers through?  That was me.  Yup, I had a serious case of "googly eyes," but overall I think I behaved and managed to enjoy myself.  He's extremely honest which I also found extremely attractive.

The Verdict

I DIDN'T HAVE SEX! But I still managed to enjoy myself.  It's not about me dating and finding my worth in others, but me dating and enjoying myself.  I'm honestly in no place to start considering serious dating.  I don't want that.  I want to enjoy being by myself.  I want to do MORE but by myself.  And so here's to more tinder, okc, and pof dates... Hell, maybe I'll even go on a date with someone I meet face to face instead of online.  YOLO, right?

-Angie

HAPPY CINCO DE MAYO!