Blue Bean Diaries: Confessions from a Celibate Sex Addict (Sorta)

I’ve been celibate for a year now—no, sex, no kissing, no dating. Not because I took some sacred vow or found Jesus, but because the dating pool feels like it’s been drained and replaced with swamp water. This is actually my second time going celibate.. that should tell you something.

Once I started having consensual sex as a teen, I didn’t go without. Whenever I made it to 24 hours, I would start to get cranky. You know, like I was “hangry.” I never made it to a week. There was a period where I was married, because of that one traumatizing thing, but that’s a whole different story.

..if I can walk to the kitchen, you don’t deserve a sandwich.

Anyway, for me to make a decision to be celibate was kind of a big deal. I decided I’d rather go without than settle for another awkward, underwhelming man who thinks “pulling my hair” at a weird angle qualifies as sexy dominance. And the risk of STDs, gross. Oh yeah, and there’s always that risk of being murdered, but.

Blue Bean Syndrome: It’s Not Just for Boys

Abstinence doesn’t turn off libido. My body is on fire. The little lady downstairs is aching, longing. Ahem, I repeat — ACHING! Like, my stomach and vag feel like I got punched, and the only relief is an orgasm. I call it blue bean—the female equivalent of blue balls. It’s a real thing, okay?

My bean is mad. She’s throbbing. She’s vengeful. She soaks through my panties with passive-aggressive rage every time I try to “just relax” with a book. It never really gets easier. If you don’t use it, you don’t lose it. Sometimes a 4-hour masturbation session will suffice as a semi-reset. Unsatisfying, but good toys make it bareable. I won’t deny that my orgasms usually come to an end as a frustrated “I need to get laid” moan comes out of my mouth.. and occasionally, I shed a tear or two.

I feel how I imagine teenage boys feel. Female wet dreams have totally become a normal thing. I dream about shoving multiple toys inside of myself at once, and having dirty sex to completion with faceless strangers, which wakes me up to strong, pulsating spasms in between my legs. Sex plays on repeat all day and lives rent free in my mind. Dammit. Who would’ve thought having sex could make you more productive?

Ugh, and pretty sure I should be banned from the gym with the other perverts. I mean, some of these guys start to look good when you haven’t seen a man naked or felt a firm bicep in months. It becomes hard not to notice the guys that take care of their bodies. Their bodies… blood is pumping hard through their throbbing forearm veins, their morning testerone levels are peaking (and so are mine), sweat is running down their glistening muscles.. So many times have I imagined sitting on someone using the bench press.. See, this is why I should be banned. It’s just way too uncomfortable to workout with wet panties.

Netflix and (Solo) Chill

And what do I do? I channel my energy into watching Netflix’s steamiest scenes countdown like it’s the Oscars. A little glass of wine, a little popcorn, with my favorite toy nearby and fully charged. Most of the list was disappointing, but I may have found one of my new favorite movies.

I end up masturbating to a K-drama about BDSM (Love and Leashes—seen it 6 times, don’t judge me). Apparently, one finger outside the panties for 45 seconds is all it takes sometimes.

This is getting ridiculous. I need to get laid.

Hopeless Romantic, Horny Gremlin

I’m a hopeless romantic with a perverted twist. I fantasize about bookstore meet-cutes and instant soulmates who turn into ravenous lovers. I want to fall in love—and then get absolutely wrecked. Is that too much to ask?

And even if I am in love — can we not be boring? ‘Cause looking back, I’ve had enough of passionless, boring sex in my lifetime. With the right person.. or a boyfriend at all.. I don’t see my libido dying down anytime soon. Whoever you are – let’s vow to always chase each other around the house naked, even when we’re old and wrinkly.

Now Entering: The Hall of Shame (“Recent” Hookup Edition)

I would love to say that my memories of stellar hookups from the past keep me going, but that’s just not true at all. As crazy and wild of a life I’ve lived, I feel like I’ve missed out in the fucking department. Especially the last few guys! What am I trying to do, torture myself? Let’s see who we have…

Lionel: Big Dick, No Moves

Lionel. Sweet Virgo boy. Zero rhythm. Zero physical attraction or chemistry. Total 40-year-old virgin vibes.

You ever get with a guy so sensitive (in condoms) that he had to stop everything to rub himself with his boxers? From off the floor. Total buzzkill. And when he wanted me on my knees, or to put my mouth anywhere, I got a “please” and “thank you.” No. Throw me around a little bit and call me degrading names while demanding what you want from me like the little cum slut I am, sir. The first time was boring, so I gave him a bit of help.

I don’t know what the hell he took from our conversation, but I made the mistake of telling him I liked a man who could take charge, blah blah blah. So, his vanilla idea of “dominance” was bending me over and pulling my hair like a confused stagehand during tech rehearsal. It was like being politely ushered into a threesome with a tax accountant and a HR manual—lots of ‘please,’ ‘thank yous,’ and zero risk of breaking a sweat.

What made it worse? He HATED bodily fluids. Thought sex was “too sticky.” Had never bought a ticket to the down-south buffet in his life.

I left disappointed again with a thirst that condom sex couldn’t quench. But this time, with a sore back. We were just friends after that night.

Justin: Lies There, The End.

Justin. Club owner. Self-entitled.

The year before meeting Lionel, I had gotten into a relationship with someone I thought was a nice guy. Not that he was bad, he was just a spoiled boy-man that I guarantee was cheating – with his assistant – or would’ve at some point. Why, so he can bore her, too? Also, he admited he was sugar daddy “dating” an Instagram model right before meeting me! No wonder he thought sex was just lying there like a dead fish while muttering “oh yeah” on repeat like a broken toy. When they pay for it, they can afford to be lazy. They get to a point where they think of women as objects made to please them. (Not all, I’m sure.) But he was as boring as it gets. Seriously, I couldn’t imagine it getting any less exciting. No passion. No creativity. I craved for him to bend me over something and fuck me like he owned me, but instead, he just let me do all the work and acted like I should be honored to be there. Yawn.

He had no room for deep talks or emotions. Told me if I wanted to “talk” or had a crisis, I would have to wait till his made-up 8am-4pm business hours were over (even though his workday was making calls from 10-10:30 and meeting with his assistant down the street at his bar alone from 10:35-11). When I asked what he wanted out of our relationship, he basically told me he wanted me to be his live-in prostitute. When I brought it to his attention, he said “well, when you word it like that, it sounds bad.” Nope, I just worded it.

He bought an engagement ring, I left. Still receiving texts two years later.

How doest one becometh a red flag whilst also being a huge snoozefest?

Joey: The Opposite of Boring AKA the Sagittarius

Joey. He was NOT boring. In fact, it was too much for me. I know, I’m starting to sound like Goldilocks at this point.

Wearing butt plugs to the casino, to dinner, to golf, was fun. He liked to travel, go to new places, hated boring and was nice. But when I realized I was considering wearing a special anklet for him, I realized it wasn’t the sexual experience I wanted. You see, he wanted to “hotwife” me. The plan was to let guys know, with my anklet, that me and my guy are down for a fuck-me-while-my-guy-watches-then-eats-your-cum thing. More or less.

He was admittedly on the “adult” friend finder site when he met me. We met on Tinder. He also said he wasn’t in to monogamy. After awhile, I couldn’t help but think: how many people was I letting in to my body by just sleeping with this one guy?

The winkie was tiny and shaped like a miniature banana. If it weren’t for that upwards curve, it would’ve been a hard no from the beginning. If you were curious.

Guy from Tinder: The Much Needed Orgasms

This one. The tall army guy that let me play with his butt on the second meeting. I don’t remember his name, and I don’t even care. I met him on Tinder when I was weaning off of sex, so to say. Took a huge chance meeting with a stranger for sex. Absolutely not disappointed. Big c@#*, came in like 6 seconds. Naughty post coming soon.

Toxic Sex Was Still Better Than No Sex (Help)

Somehow, I think of Michael—my ex-husband. Huge piece of shit. My future readers will get to know him well. But dammit, we had good sex. It was probably his assholeness tickling some of my kinks. And his nice, tall, well-built body. And his manly strength. And his big dick. My record for the most multiples at one time was 9 – and it was with him. My friend was asleep in our bed in the next room, so I straddled him in a chair while he covered my mouth to muffle the moans and whatever else came out of it. You know, the fucks and oh my gods. Mm-mm, now that’s something I’d pay for. I mean, ew.

Our sex could be angry and desperate and intense at times. The kind you write poems about and then burn them because it was so wrong. He knew how to grab me. He didn’t treat me like glass. He wasn’t afraid to hurt me a little. In fact, he liked it. Aaaaaaaand, let’s stop there.

I’ve closed that door to that Hell. I’ve grown. I’ve healed so much. If all the good ones are gay, married, or psychopaths, I’ll be okay remaining single. Still… damn.

I’m Lowkey a Wreck in Bed

I was a paid model and porn “actress” (for a very short time), I participated in public orgies, stripped in front of massive crowds, you name it.. but despite all my experience and desire, I’m still shy and awkward in the bedroom. Wild, right? I giggle. I overthink. I like connection and being silly in the middle of serious things. I like keeping it light, even when it gets dirty. It takes time for me to feel sexy, unless I’m drunk. And even then, it’s 50/50. I gotta admit – I’m nervous at the thought of having sex again. But I want to.

Lately, I’ve been wondering if I should just go to a bar, scan the room like I’m picking produce, and bring home a fresh Mr.Cucumber for the night. Is that terrible?

I crave touch, connection, experience. ORGASMS! But I’m not trying to get murdered off Hinge.

Former Ho, Current Saint (Sorta)

It’s pretty crazy to go from one extreme to the other. No doubt I had a sex addiction at a certain period. So, I’m glad it kinda just happened, even though it’s been one long, lonely, [tortuous-at-times] foreplay session by myself. After this long, it really does feel like I’m a born-again virgin; pure, untainted, waiting for someone special. I know that I’ve made it this far, so I should have no problem resisting a good opportunity until I’m really ready to let someone in my body. Because when I finally do… I want to be in love.. and I’m not letting that guy leave the room till I can’t walk. Like, if I can walk to the kitchen, you don’t deserve a sandwich.

I was never a wait-till-the-third-date kinda girl. But dammit, do I wanna do it differently this time around. I slipped up last year with Lionel and I would’ve rather just not have. So… I’m making a rule. Not quite sure what it is… Maybe, wait the 3 dates. Whenever I do make that step. Truthfully, I’m working up the courage to give it a try next week. Chances are slim that I’ll bump into someone, so I’m thinking Hinge. Do some connecting online first, then meeting up. And no sex. Yep, I think I’ve just come to this decision. Dang, am I ready to have sex again?

Not Just Horny—Emotionally Ready Too (Shockingly)

Maybe it’s because I’ve finally learned to respect and trust myself. Maybe it’s the trauma that shut me off, but I healed it. Maybe it’s just that I now know what I do and don’t want.

Whatever it is, I feel different now. I feel ready. Not just to get laid—though yes, I am very ready for that—but to date. To love. To actually try for once. I’ve healed a lot of shit. I’ve learned what I deserve. And I’ve accepted that my past doesn’t define me, but it does inform what I need now.

So come on, Universe. Bring me someone who’s hot, funny, emotionally available, and knows how to use his dick. I don’t want bad boys anymore. I want someone with a little spice, who will also make breakfast. Someone I can lock in my bedroom all weekend and not let out until he’s covered in my smell.

How about you? Also craving affection but only trusting golden retrievers at this point?