When your Mojo is drowning… Photo by Nsey Benajah on Unsplash
Did anyone ever tell you that you should always follow your instincts? Well, I’m telling you!
Frankly, the past few weeks have proven that to me.
You remember Sydney, and the crazy guy from Tinder. If I had decided to continue not to listen to my instincts, who knows, I might be chopped up in a garbage bag at the bottom of Sydney Harbour.
So we turn off our brain, our reason, our purely physical needs, or our libido and when our instinct doesn’t feel it, we turn around!
Want more
At first, I wanted more than sex. Yes, I have the right to dream about a cherry too, don’t I?
After my little disappointment, back to the dating apps! But be careful, this time, no more nice little suitors who proposed me “light relationships”, “no headaches” or “carnal”. Oh no, sorry, but I want to be able to have feelings and express them. Disabled people in love are okay for a while.
Except that it was at the beginning, after a month, nobody answers me anymore. In theory, love has become HasBeen.
Missed Opportunities
Given my success on the apps, I said to myself, go ahead, girl, let’s take up the classic hunt. The nightclub, the dance bar, what else!
And then, failure after failure. Divan du monde : too young. Nopi: mojo down, impossible to get past to catch my prey with an eye contact. Afterwork : no zob in job. Evening in Montmartre : a priori my charming man doesn’t hang out in the square or on the 8th floor balconies…
And here I am, almost a month and a half later, wondering… Uh, but how did I do before ? Reassure me, if I give up the idea of love, I’ll still manage to put something under my teeth. No ?
Mojo Down
I was wavering between wanting to end my forced abstinence and being discouraged from doing so.
Come on, so much for love, I’m going back to my messed up life before. Uh… But I don’t know what’s going on in this post-covid, post-Australian, or even post-thirty world. But even for a nice sex party, men are gone!
Besides, the mojo is down ! And without mojo, you might as well go raid the sex toy section of the Passage of Desire!
What is mojo again? Mojo is my way of calling this self-confidence that radiates, that makes people want to talk to us and more if they like. Even before beauty or humor, it is the sinews of war.
Except that I, at that moment, lost it. He is lost, lost in the limbo of disappointment in love, rejection, and a mini depression.
Trying to hunt without him is like fishing with your bare hands… Mission impossible… and if you’re lucky, check the freshness of the fish… It might be dead already.
Time to hunt
Here I was, not far from being at the end of the line, at the bottom of the bucket. (Although I had underestimated the depth of this bucket!).
So when that Friday, after a few too many drinks, I decided to follow my friends to a club, I was determined to fight, no matter what, yes, tonight I would bring a man back to my den.
Hunting when you’re too hungry, when you’re desperate, is the worst thing. Judgement: zero. Seduction at the level of the daisies. One hunts with a toothpick, and as many teeth as an old lady in a retirement home.
Moreover, this day it is 37 degrees, for the first time my ankles doubled in volume. I feel heavy and ugly, not good to make others want to approach me.
I go around the box. Either discouraged before even trying, or noticing several failures in a row, my level of seduction is worthy of my 20 years.
My eyes scan the room with impatience. Oh look at the little muscular guy over there! He looks as hungry as me. He looks at me, envy crossing his pupils. Let’s go.
A Loser or nothing ?
On the other hand, he looks a bit broken. I feel that his two passions in life must be the gym and video games. His conversation seems very limited.
Come on Mymy, don’t be picky, it’s just to get back in the saddle. Okay, it’s not a stallion, but a pony will do for tonight. Given the state of my mojo, I won’t be able to aspire to anything better.
The connection is made quickly. He kisses me. He puts too much tongue, and especially bites my lip so hard that I am forced to push him away. It hurts, say! Be a little careful, I am not a piece of steak!
Listen to your instinct…
My instinct does not feel it, it cries out to me to drop it, to find another one! So I leave him, telling him I’ll be back. I go around the room again, I don’t see anyone who will be able to satisfy my desire without me leaving some claws.
My friends all leave the club. I have two options, to leave with them, and to continue to deplore the emotional and sexual nothingness in which I am, or to fight against my instinct and to find the small pony.
I opt for the pony. We kiss and I quickly offer him to come to my place. That’s not all, but we’re not going to waste any more time.
He orders an Uber. He is all guilleret, he does not return. The more I look at him moving, speaking in an approximate French, the less I want to. My instinct takes over. No, bad idea!
While we are at only 5 minutes by car of my house, I tell him that I do not feel it, I do not want any more. Stop the car, leave me here.
The driver of the Uber sketches a light smile. But he continues his way. My little cassos tries to convince me otherwise.
I don’t know anymore. And then, I am tired, why not to benefit from the few meters which bring me closer to my door.
We go out, I take a step towards my potential lover, and I tell him to have a good night. Sorry, but tonight I don’t feel it. He nods, disappointed, but comes closer anyway to kiss me and take me in his arms.
The libido takes over.
At the contact of his body, my brain spins. Tenderness… Beyond the pure sexual desire, I feel that it is above all an irrepressible need to snuggle in the arms of someone I want. I don’t know anymore, my instinct tells me to leave him on the sidewalk and my solitude to make him go up.
He goes upstairs. I leave him there in my studio, and I run to the shower. After a good ten minutes under icy water, I decide to fight. I get out of the bathroom, drop the towel at my feet. His eyes round up. This message there, he understood it well.
I was hoping to see in his eyes a form of admiration, or at least desire, but I’ve got my finger in the eye. I feel like a steak on a plate, a carcass of worthless meat. This is the first time I feel what many men must have felt with me. Karma is a bitch!
We more or less throw ourselves on each other, I take out a condom, and my Womanizer. I already know I’m going to need this.
The foreplay is as long as a goldfish’s memory. He’s a little rough and so am I.
Dead end road
Then we change our position. And suddenly, without warning, he tries to enter a place that was not prepared for it.
Whoooo! I jump forward, the pain is more than sharp. But shit, we ask before passing by there! One prepares, one does not try a small stealthy immersion like that! Asshole!
And there, the tears of pain rain on my face. They are joined by tears of sadness. There, the dam broke and it is torrents of salt water which flood my face during the ten minutes which follow.
He looks at me and stands there. If I were him, I would have left. I would have apologized and left. But he doesn’t, he apologizes with his lips. He blames himself, he pats my back awkwardly.
I can tell you from my reaction that he’s not likely to try this again for a while.
How many more minutes does he have left in my apartment? I don’t know. His explanations are not clear, he left the car near the night club. In short, a story about a cousin he has to find, blah blah blah. The only thing that interests me is that he leaves. Ciao Ciao.
Inconsistency of need
Finally, he mooves towards the exit. And now I don’t know what’s wrong with me. My brain is spinning again. I can’t let him go now, I have to end my sexual loose end.
So I tell him to come back, I take the necessary things out of my drawer again, and with a look, I encourage him to join me. Who knows, maybe he will have learned his lesson and will finally be able to give me pleasure?
You’ve got your finger in the eye, girl! A few awkward positions, a too hot breath, too intense bites, and the pleasure is still absent. We change again and we are back in a position where I turn my back to him.
I should have let him go. His phone starts to ring. When the ringing stops, I think he just hung up. But that was without counting on the competition’s breaker…
He picks up!!! True, while he is in the middle of the act, he picks up, and even allows himself to make his hand resonate on my buttocks to create envy at the end of the phone.
Enough is enough
It is too much (yes, my threshold was already well raised in this Friday evening)! I detach myself, I push him, and tell him to get dressed and to leave the place. He seems not to understand anymore.
And in a dubious French, he proposes me to make go up his cousin (well emoustilé with the telephone), for a plan with three.
My hands push him towards the exit, I have regained my senses. Before he leaves the place, I check if my wallet and my computer are still there…
I think I’m right in saying that this is by far the worst experience I’ve had. So let this be a lesson to me!
When your gut doesn’t feel it, don’t go there!!!
Hopefully, the Mojo will come back and its share of fun with it!