Some weeks I feel positively crippled by longing, by lust. I wish I could turn off this desire. It hampers my life. I want to shut it down.
I'm not fool enough to believe anything would change after our last big step. Not that I am counting, but how long has it been? Supposedly, a woman peaks sexually in her 30's. Dear god, I am not prepared for that.
This morning is painful after last night's particularly delicious dream. Tell me how to turn off the live wire electricity beneath my skin. Tell me how to cool the warmth between my thighs and halt the images in my head. I can't stop.
So, like a dutiful housewife, I clean. I bake, I read, I get myself out of the house as much as possible. When my mind sees nothing but fantasy, I write.
I suppress these urges. It won't work. The body rebels. The body gets what it needs. Suppression leads to explosion, to mutiny. I work so hard to channel this energy into other things, and I fail miserably.
Please make it stop is my plaintive plea to a higher power that doesn't exist. Let me be asexual. Turn it off. I am tired of suffering.