Am I oversexed? How much sex is too much sex? It’s not just me though, is it? We’re all “doing it” just a little bit too much. Right?
I love sex. I think sex is wonderful, whether I reach climax or not. It’s fun, raunchy, great exercise and I feel wonderful afterward. What’s not to love about sex? I want to do it all the time—yes, even if I just finished. I’m like one of those kids you see at amusement parks getting off the rollercoaster screeching, “Again, again!
Sure, I have my days where I’m tired or too drunk—I’m not the Energizer bunny, I’m human, just like you. But overall, it would suit me just fine to lie in bed all day on a Sunday feeding the beast with two backs. That’s not to say I like to sleep around or have multiple partners; I’m quite content with just the one, as long as he’s not saving it for marriage.
Sex is something that I’ve noticed to be quite prevalent in New York City, more so than in other cities I’ve lived (Melbourne and London). Everyone is doing it. Think of everyone you know, even that really quiet, geeky guy you think isn’t doing it. And guess what? He’s totally doing it. Like, all the time. Fat people, skinny people, weird people, boring people, loud people, angry people, happy people, shy people, dumb people, smart people, all the different kinds of people—they’re all doing it.
All day I dream about sex; yeah that’s right, like a weird rap/rock song. Sometimes I’ll take a break to think about getting a glass of water or to write about having sex, but even the most mundane things end up becoming innuendos. Like this: Wouldn’t it be awesome to pour this glass of water all over my naked breasts while I’m having sex? Or maybe I’d just really like to be having sex in the shower. Or in the ocean.
Here are some big questions about the whole sex crazed persona (if you relate to any of the above then you should probably ask these questions of yourself, too):
—Am I actually a teenage boy trapped in a young adult woman’s body?
—Is this like that movie with Zac Efron where Chandler is 17 again?
—Is my mother right and my biological clock is not just ticking, it’s slapping me in the vagina in a way that’s completely inconvenient but also deeply arousing?
—How do I control myself?
—Is a baby alien about to explode out of my womb and does that alien also have raging libido?
—How much sex do I need to have to quell the desire?
—Can I pass myself off as a sex addict?
—Do I have an illness?
—AM I SICK?
But eventually it all gets to be a little bit too much; especially when it feels like it’s an obsession. The amount of times I’ve heard my friends say things like, “I have to get laid tonight,” or “I haven’t done it in a month, you might as well shoot me in the genitals,” is somewhat worrying. Sometimes it feels as though sex is the most important, most profound activity in our everyday lives. And I don’t know about you, but I don’t want the headline to read “Really Smart Pretty Young Greek Girl Tragically Overdoses… ON SEX!” when I die. What would my mother think?
Follow Kat on Twitter @kat_george
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