A few years ago, I was in a serious relationship with a man who’d just started his residency in medicine. We both worked constantly and maintained the less-than-healthy ethos that all free time should be spent working, so our relationship consisted of work breaks and the occasional excursion for food.

He’s an ex for a reason – we weren’t a great match. He was a good-on-paper match, someone with a similar background and similarly ambitious nature. We both had a solid academic record and a shared hatred for grades as a system of evaluation. We both liked dive bars, music, and New York. But we differed sexually. I was openly sexual while he was fairly inhibited and prone to asexual depressive slumps. Worse, I thought that my sex-centered habits were something I needed to shake, or grow out of, or simply suppress. During that relationship, I tried to be what I thought girlfriends were supposed to be (and learned never to do again).

At night, we had a predictable routine. He’d brush his teeth, I’d brush mine, he’d pack his bag for the next morning, I’d wash my face, he’d shut down his computer, I’d pop an Ambien, and we’d both move to the bedroom. Then we’d hit the lights, fuck according to routine, and sleep.

Consistently, it was a sexless fuck. I’d slip out of my panties and he’d tug down his boxers, and he’d put his dick inside me. He’d thrust a bit, come, and roll over. And I’d think, “Well, sex isn’t the most important thing…”

Then, one night, I woke up to a man on my back. He was rock hard and his cock was digging into the back of my thigh. In seconds, I was ravenous. Dizzy. I raised my hips and reached back to guide his cock inside me, and once he was in, he was forceful, slamming into me, hard. Suddenly, I was his fucktoy and I was in absolute heaven, as if we’d made some kind of breakthrough in our relationship. Finally. Finally, he was showing signs of real animal lusts and absolute abandon. It all hit me like a tsunami: I remembered what I’d been missing about sex and lust and I wanted it all.

And then he stopped. I whispered, “What’s wrong?” but he didn’t answer. He just mumbled, rolled off, and muttered an apology. My cunt was on fire.

I rolled over and reached for his erection, but it was gone. And he was dead asleep. Breathing heavily, then snoring.

I doubled over and fucked myself as best as I could, savoring those fresh memories of what he’d just done. I came, but I couldn’t sleep because my body was in heat. I wanted to fuck again, to be fucked. So I lay back and rubbed my pussy until my wrists gave out.

*

(And now I sleep. More to come.)