Ovulation Week

It’s ovulation week. I am ovulating. I know that because an app on my phone very nicely informs me that I might get pregnant, and also because my body wants to fuck everything in sight.

And I mean EVERYTHING in sight.

I would fuck each and every one of you right now. Fuck it, I’ll even do all of you at the same time. Let’s creampie the crap outta this place. We ain’t even gotta worry about lube; I’m so raring and ready to go that I’ve been damp between the thighs for at least forty-eight hours straight at this point.

Ovulation week makes me want a boyfriend. I want to ride dick all day. Morning until night. Night until morning. All over the house. On every available surface. I don’t even like men. You’re all ‘orrible. But damn, I’d love to straddle you, slide myself down you, and do my thing up there until we’re both wet, sweaty, and incapable of coming anymore. Or moving. Or thinking.

A few months ago, I genuinely considered asking a cute, blonde scaffolder if he fancied a quickie up on the roof. [Up on the rooooooof.] I don’t even like heights, or blondes, and he was a stranger! He had nice shoulders, though. And y’know, I was fuckin’ ovulating. I’d have ridden that pretty lil’ blonde head until the cows come home. Moo.

Ovulation me is worse than drunk me, and I thought drunk me was bad. Ovulation me, though? She’s a sex-craved lunatic. I don’t know her. I’m ashamed of her. Well, a little bit ashamed; she does have good phone/text sex.

Ovulation week makes me hump pillows solely to feel something, anything between my thighs. It makes me want to booty call every man in my little black book, so I can feel one of those between my thighs instead. It makes me go back on dating sites. Fuck, it even makes me want to run back to terrible men just for one good night between the sheets. Who cares if they’re married? I only need them for one night only. Fuck everything, I said in Garlic Bread. I don’t mean a word of it – but for one week only. (And I’m only half-kidding.)

Ovulation week makes me the devil.

It’s during this week that my abstinence bothers me the most, and I end up masturbating myself into a frenzy for at least one of those ovulation days. And I am convinced that it’s getting worse over the years. Either that or the lack of sex and intimacy makes me notice it more. Or maybe it’s because I’m getting over the last bout of crippling depression and my libido has come back and slapped me around the face? I haven’t worked out the reason yet, but it’s bad. It’s getting bad. I’ve bought more sex toys in the last few months than I have in the last few years, and it’s somehow still not enough.

Ovulation week makes me the kind of horny where I want to do everything and nothing, all at once. Like, yes, I want to fuck in fifteen different positions, but I also just want missionary sex, with my legs over your shoulders, so I can look at your pretty little eyes while I come… you know?

But wait, I’m not even sure that I want sex yet. I think I want oral first. Or do I want to give you a blowjob? Who knows? How about toys? What about bondage? What do I even want? Edging or impatience? I don’t even know. I want to do all of it. Let’s tick off both of our fantasies while we’re here. Why the fuck not?

Ovulation week makes me text boys and make plans only to cancel them a few days later because, actually, I’m not in the mood now. The window of opportunity is now over.

It makes me play with butt plugs and dildos at the same time, because I want to feel anything – and I mean anything – inside me. If I can’t have a dick, I’ll have everything and anything but a dick. Well, a real dick, anyway. Me and my silicone penises are very, very well acquainted now.

It makes me leave the window open a crack when I get the toys out, because, actually, I don’t fucking care who hears… even though I most definitely do.

And it makes me think back over those sneaky nudes I once worshipped so much, mentally flicking through them in my mind, remembering every teeny-tiny detail as I make myself come again and again and again.

Ovulation week makes me think of your dick. It makes me wonder what you’re up to. It makes me take nudes that, actually, all I want to do is send to you. How about you? Fucking anyone these days?

But then, a couple of days later, ovulation week is done. The mood has passed. Whoosh. See that? It’s gone. Men annoy me once again. The dating apps are muted and profiles are hidden. I don’t want a dick anywhere near me. I don’t want anyone near me. Leave me the fuck alone.

In case you hadn’t heard, folks, ovulation week is a fuckin’ ride.