I didn’t orgasm or have sex for 10 days and I lived to tell about it.

I know that’s a ridiculous title.  There are people who are physically incapable of orgasm, some are mentally incapable.  I don’t mean to make light of their struggles, but for me, someone who orgasms whenever she chooses and rarely denies herself anything ever 10 days of abstinence was a real struggle.  But it was enlightening.  And I couldn’t have done it without all of you and your support.

A few readers and some bloggers joined me (AM for a while, Kyle, D i i r r t y, True, and Rincewind that I can think of off the top of my head – let me know if I forgot you and I’ll add you).  We championed each other and laughed at our travails.  What I didn’t expect was the epiphanies I had.  I mean, I guessed I might have some, but it was more a joke than anything else.

First and foremost, I got my control back.  I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way about my libido before.  I turned down giant cock and lived to tell about it.

Secondly, I actually followed through on something.  I am a great starter of things, a terrible finisher.  Baby steps, people.  Baby steps.

And lastly, the 10 orgasms I had for each of the 10 days I went without were body-rocking.  I even squirted, which is incredibly rare for me during masturbation.

I think I’ll do this little exercise again some time.  It was a raving success.

Not having orgasms or sex has cleared my head.

My head, it’s clear.

My phone chimed Sunday morning to tell me The Neighbor and 4 am girl  broke up.

Saturday night he was on my couch seeking support and counsel. He was depressed and confused. I sat there with cheap white wine on my breath wondering what I was supposed to do.

All I could say was that no matter what, it’s always rude to ignore someone’s texts. He saw I was hobbled.

I wanted to help him, truly, but where could I go with this? My enmity for her is open and, well, there. He’s fucked if he wants me to decode her bullshit.

We talked some more about his childhood and his current patterns. Eventually he declared he was feeling much better and he thanked me. I told him I was probably the best thing ever. He agreed, but asked that I not make him repeat all that he loved about me. I think it pains him.

I promised with a shit-eating grin I wouldn’t, took a swig of my wine and leaned back into my pillows. “I need to tell you something.”  He looked at me expectantly.  “I’m not going fuck you again unless you don’t look for anyone else. It’s not fair to me, to you, and certainly not 4 am girl.” He said ok.

He stayed a while longer then eventually stood and thanked me, hugged me warmly.

I was relieved to have sex off the table and went to bed smiling.

Sunday, after sharing his news, he came by for a hug, left to run errands, then offered to buy me and Peyton ice cream. I privately shook my head in wonder, but told him, “Strawberry,” anyway.

A few hours later in the pool with friends and my baby someone cannon-balled in front of me. I shook the water off my beer can and waited for the jerk to surface. It was him. Quel surprise.

“Where have you been??  I’ve been trying to bring that ice cream over for two hours!”

“What??  I told you I was going swimming.”

We played in the pool for hours, laughing and playing catch as we always do, then climbed the stairs to our apartments and he brought over his frozen treat. Peyton gobbled it up on the balcony and shouted down to Downstairs Neighbor, “TN bought me strawberry ice cream!” I pantomimed that TN and 4 am had broken up by pointing upstairs and breaking an imaginary twig in my hands.

DN guffawed and quoted Jabba the Hut, “This bounty hunter is my kind of scum…fearless and inventive.”

At 10, TN texted. I was busy kissing a precious face and sticky fingers. When I was done he came over, nonchalant and relaxed. He lay with me on the couch, Frank Sinatra crooned overhead.   This time I had cheap red wine in hand.

I watched and waited while we talked and slowly, shyly let our limbs touch.

He asked how my promise was going. I said ok. Then he slipped his hand between my legs and watched me shiver. My hands trembled and I licked my lips.

I told him I was steadfast in my pledge, though my friend had already folded. It felt good to be in control of myself for a change, I told him. He smiled and nodded. “You don’t have any kind of rule right now, do you?” I asked as I snaked my hand up his gym shorts. I’d been trying to avoid looking at his chubby pink meat which would occasionally slip into my view all evening.

“Nope. You’re the only one.”

“Good.” I stroked my hound beneath the slippery basketball shorts and purred that I was a hound master. TN raised an eyebrow.

“It’s true. It’s always done what I wanted when I wanted. You, of course, were another story, but my hound, it always listened.” And as if to answer precum drooled out its hole and strung a line down to his belly.

In the end, my mouth and pussy steered clear and instead I watched him work his magic cock, his hand a peach-colored blur, until he spurted out thick, white globs of jizz. I bent over and licked his belly clean and tickled him when I dipped into his navel to get its little pot of cum.   It was delicious.

He moaned and chuckled. “You have cum on your cheek.” And so I did.

Don’t be disappointed in me. Nothing has changed except I was right. He admitted she was horrible in bed. He can’t get over me. We are like magnets. Throbbing, wet, ridiculous magnets.

I still have two days to go on my promise and a second date tonight. I will not re-enter this dating purgatory with TN unless two things happen: overnights and exclusivity. Period.

Which, essentially, is me saying NO. He will never agree to these conditions, but for me, I can’t lose; it will feel like standing on a hilltop with a breeze and the warm sun on face for me to set my declaration. “No, you can’t have my sweetness unless you take care of the rest.”

It’s been a liberating few pleasure-free days.

Sometimes I wonder if these are see-through when wet.

I finally said NO.

I struggle with a very little word:  NO.

Its power, its simplicity, its implied worth of the owner all conspire to tangle me up, but last night I managed a very polite, No Thank You to The Neighbor.

This week has been an odd one for the two of us.  After the weekend he disappeared Monday, but kept popping up throughout the week.  He stopped by Tuesday night, popped out on the balcony twice Wednesday, and stopped by again Thursday.  Each time I had my hand on the doorknob I chanted to myself, “Sorry, now isn’t a good time,” and each time I found my hand twisting the metal and swinging the door open wide.

On the balcony, I just felt violated.  He knows I’m out there a lot; just leave me alone already.

I was tested — and failed — at every turn this week.  He was home alone all week.

And as I struggled to keep my hands off my body yesterday I found connections to my other struggles and a way to regain some power.  TN had been bursting into my space, so I was going to burst into his.

I buried myself in our nearly year-long text thread and dug up glorious cock pic after cock pic, found my favorite one of his giant erection glistening with pre-cum and sent it to him.  We bantered and laughed.  I told him why I was abstaining.

It’ll be good for me.  I’m gonna do a week at a time.  Never done this before. Want to test myself  Also, I made a pact with a fiend of mine in the UK.  He needs support to not wank 10x a day so he can finally cum in his wife :).  I offered support.

His response was, “Awww I feel for him.”

I said, “I know you do.  Made me think of you.”

Later, I asked him if he wanted to come over to play Scrabble some time after 9:30.  He said he’d likely pass because he was tired, crabby, and needed to recharge.  I told him if he changed his mind to just let me know.

I felt guilty for instigating contact on the one hand, blithely apathetic on the other.  Fuck it.  Fuck me.  Fuck him.

The rest of the afternoon was spent with a girlfriend in my pool drinking cheap white wine.  At 5, we got our kids from school and made plans to meet up for dinner at a local family joint.  Peyton and I got there early and I stood close to the jungle gym while I waited for our table.  Misters over the diners made the air thick and wet and children’s laughter and screaming mixed with the folk-singers on the makeshift stage.  The cacophony of vibrant sounds and colors poured through me.

I breathed deeply and felt anchored.  Happy.  Nothing else mattered in that moment except me and Peyton.

My friend and her kid soon arrived under twinkling stars and beaming smiles.  We laughed and talked and ate heartily for two hours before I began to sag with fatigue.  I begged off around 9 and Peyton and I made bedtime negotiations in the car on the way home.  As I wearily climbed the three flights of stairs with a little hand clenched in mine I noticed my bag of trash was gone.  I asked Peyton if it’d been there when we’d left. “Yes,” was the reply.

And then this happened:

My answer was, “Nope.”

One of the things I’d noticed by revisiting our old text thread was that in the beginning of our tryst I was very unavailable.  I was either too tired or busy, and somewhere along the line that changed.  I’d given all my power of NO away.   I didn’t want to pass up a single chance to see him and so exhausted, cranky, whatever, I would let him spend time with me whenever he wanted to.  In the end, he was calling all the shots.

Last night, I finally did something I could be proud of.  I said, NO.  I listened to my body and my heart for a change, my body and heart, not Hy’s.  Hyacinth would have bent over backwards to accommodate this man.  She ignores the fact I’m run down and heart-weary, but I don’t.  I’m going to look out for the both of us.  And my reward was a long night’s rest, a minor power shift, and a little peace of mind.

The only drawback to this whole thing was falling asleep at 10 pm meant I woke up at 6 am horny as hell.   Not a bad trade off, really.

I still haven’t touched myself.

Though I want to. Badly.

I had a Guinness or two last night and The Neighbor stopped by, drunk from drinking after softball. He wanted me to try some of his jello shots.

As he walked in, I could smell the baseball diamond on him, dusty and sweaty. I imagined licking him clean and splitting my face on his pretty cock.

But then I remembered my promise.

I dutifully ate my jello shots while he explained his new recipe. I laughed as I swirled my tongue around the plastic soufflé cup at his direction. “That’s right. Now suck. Like this,” and I watched him fill his mouth with the grass colored gelatin.

Our eyes twinkled as I followed suit, my mouth stuffed to capacity. I struggled to move my tongue without parting my lips; it was a mouthful, to be sure.

I sat cross-legged on my couch, my white men’s Hanes tank top stretched across my breasts. He stayed a safe distance away. He never took off his cleats.

When he left to shower and pass out at 10:30 I told him he was welcome to return and watch Cheers with me. He thanked me, but declined. My hope to be strong and turn him down foiled.

I returned to the couch and laughed as Sam and Rebecca were caught fucking in the office. Naturally it’d be an episode of sordid details.

I fell asleep in the living room eventually. At 2, an aching back woke me up. I dragged my sorry, horny ass to my bed, spied my Hitachi resting unmolested in my bedside basket and groaned.

I didn’t realize until that moment how much I rely on a good orgasm to straighten me out.

This week is going to be interesting, indeed. Fuuuuuuck.

Wouldn’t these be pretty with some pearl-colored jizz on them?

[Update: I still haven’t gotten any cockshots. If you’re shy, check out my tutorial for tips!]

I promise not to orgasm or fuck for a week.

You read that shit right.

My wet lips, my moist panties, the tightening in my cunt as I walk, sit, feel my short cotton skirt stretch across my thighs all must be ignored and beaten out of my mind.

A small exercise in control; a muscle flexed to prove a point; running in knee-deep water at sunset with a cocktail in my hand.

It’s possible, though unenjoyable. I’ve joined the other team, it seems. I’m part of the Peanut Gallery to pulse-thumping fucking and a compatriot to self-restraint.

I’m no longer the main event in these parts.

And I’m ok with that.

This is a new Hy, I suppose. For a week. It will steel my resolve for every time The Neighbor stops by for no reason for 3 minutes or pops his head over his balcony bars on a muggy morning while my baby and I are eating breakfast high above the palm trees.

I have made a promise to a friend — sweet, pervy AM — to not release myself. I can keep a promise to him. Not myself.

Sad, yes, but true.

So today, Wednesday, marks the first day of one whole week of abstaining from both orgasm and sex. A week from today I will post pics of me writhing and cumming with glee. Hopefully. Cross your fingers my partner in this gets laid because then I can at least touch myself.

The deal is, I won’t fuck anyone and AM won’t wank. And since we both find it unlikely he’ll have sex in the next week, I’ve decided to be a sister in arms and give up jerking off, too.  It’s only fair.

I will be a pulsing, whinnying mare in heat in seven days, guaranteed. I might also shit epiphanies and giggle rainbows. Regardless, whatever you do, don’t send me cock pics, ok?? (hyacinth.jones@hotmail.com).

Kiss me I’m drunk or Irish or whatever.

And PS:  Holy fuck! The ubiquitous Rincewind featured me today! I’m so honored and humbled!  Wowza!