1 year. One full year of denial. It sounds so crazy and so surreal, but what’s actually crazy is that it is, in fact entirely and completely real. Today marks one full year without a single orgasm.
In hindsight it looks so easy, it feels so smooth. But then i remember all of the times i’ve cried over the idea of an orgasm, and all of the times i squirmed and screamed wishing i could just let myself go over the edge. I think of all of the times i was so close, so close i could almost feel it, but instead i close my legs and feel my whole body ache for a single second of pleasure.
It’s been this intensely paradoxical journey of extreme ups and downs, of extreme pleasure and extreme desperation. I can’t count all of the times i’ve been on the edge. I can’t count all of the times i’ve been afraid to even touch myself in fear of not being able to control myself.
I can’t forget the days where i had to edge with a paintbrush, the days where i was so sensitive i could cry from just the seam of my jeans pressing against me.
I can’t forget the days where i felt like i would explode if i didn’t get to the edge right there and then. I can’t forget how insane i would go for just one edge. Just one.
I can’t forget the days i spent on no touch and i can’t forget the days i spent edging my tiny defenseless body over and over again, not willing to let go of the finite amount of pleasure my body could possibly feel.
But here i am, one full year later, denied and dripping. Fulfilled in so many ways, and so empty in others. I can’t think of all of the days i’ve spent edging my brains out and wondering when i’ll finally cum.
To the naive girl who started this journey one year ago, i’d like to say, happy anniversary. You had no idea what you had coming.
Happy Anniversary indeed.
Sounds to me like it’s just the beginning…