We waste time looking for the perfect lover, instead of creating the perfect love.tim robbins
I’m a horny sex blogger. I write posts about porn, oral, and dirty sex. I love sex, even though I haven’t had any for years. I’ll talk about it. I’ll promote it. Hours can pass and I’ll still be discussing it… with no filter. Thirteen years of sex blogging does that to a boy.
And yet I’m still thoroughly aware that, love sex as I do, my focus has always been on love.
I mean, it’s in my handle, c’mon.
I’ve always found it easy to fall in love… possibly too easy. It’s never been easy to actually be in love – successive teenage crushes on which I never acted making me increasingly upset as life went on. In a few years, I went from occasional glances to out-and-out pining, and finally to going home every single day to cry for an hour because I was in love. Since the age of about 13, in fact, there hasn’t once been a time where I didn’t have, if not genuine love, an “official” crush.
I didn’t, however, actually entertain the idea that my affections would ever be reciprocated. Despite my Head of Year (to whom I was quite close) telling me that people would be flattered, I was convinced – fairly quickly, as it matters – that I was unlovable. It didn’t do to be fancied by ILB. I was fairly convinced, throughout my miserable ecstasies, that those who I loved must have been constantly wondering what they did wrong.
If they thought about me at all. I’m not sure if any of them did.
Careful! Or I’ll fall in love with you!innocent loverboy
Love, to me, has always been associated with guilt. I’m still sorry to the people I loved. But I can’t take any of it back. I may have fallen in love easily, but it’s not like I could control it.
In the more recent years, even though I’ve been in genuine, actual, real long-term relationships, I’ve still struggled with the concept. My dark moments tell me that, no, I can’t be loved. Girlfriends have cheated, or cast me adrift, or become so critical that every night was a challenge. Every time I get close, life seems to conspire to remind me of this. I am unlovable.
I’m trying, and believe me that I am, to convince myself otherwise.
It isn’t easy.
But I’m working on it.
Ever since I was very young, I’ve always loved stuffed toys. For reasons which remain nebulous to this day, my family has always referred to them as “Fellahs” – presumably a mispronunciation of “fellows”, and more specifically, probably mine since I’m the eldest – but I’ve never really questioned it. They are Fellahs, and that’s the end of it, really.
My favourite Fellahs have stayed with me through multiple house moves (while the rest are in a toybox in my parents’ attic). My squashy, cuddly rabbit who I got for my 19th birthday still lies next to my bed for when I need him. The little handmade (by me) Knightmare creature celebrated his birthday the other day (or, he would have, but we couldn’t quite find him…). We have a collection of little plushies – mostly rabbits, I like rabbits – plus Pinkie Pie, Magikarp and, of course, the huge IKEA BLÅHAJ shark which I bought my girlfriend for Christmas last year.
Blåhaj is heavenly soft. You can fall asleep while holding him. He is, without a doubt, the best gift I’ve bought anyone. Ever.
You’re wondering about what the title of this post means, aren’t you?
In my earlier teens, while I was at least interested in sex, I wasn’t really obsessed. My refusal to discuss the subject – nervous about it as I was – and the fact that I wasn’t really interested in masturbating resulted in my sexuality manifesting in weird ways, often things that made me frightened and victimised, and – more often than not – disgusted with myself after some sort of gleeful indulgence. Nowadays, of course, I’d call that a kink. Back then, it was a shame.
One of the toys I had was an oversized Dizzy Devil whom I won at a school fête. I was a big fan of Tiny Toon Adventures and, while Dizzy wasn’t my favourite character, I was pleased to have her. She was a very big Fellah, in fact, about half my height at least, and wide enough too.
The more astute of you will have noticed that I’m using the female pronouns for a Fellah based on a canonically male character. The reason for this, of course, being that after a couple of years I stopped seeing her as Dizzy. If I closed my eyes very tight, worked through a situation in my head (often something from soft porn or similar) and slipped my erection between her legs, I could hump back and forth and do something which I assumed, at the time, was similar to sex.
At the time, I didn’t care that it was Dizzy Devil. I didn’t really mind who, or what, I was having a sex fest with (yes, I genuinely used the term “sex fest” in my head while doing it; it helped me get hard), as long as it was a firm, unyielding body I could lie on top of. There wasn’t a hole for me to go in, of course – I’m not that sort of plushie, although I find that fascinating – but, as I rationalised, this was something. And something was better than nothing.
It hurt, though. Of course it did – I was effectively rubbing my penis between the hard, rough fabric of a giant Fellah who wasn’t designed to be soft. I didn’t even have an end goal in mind – I wasn’t going to come, as that wasn’t even an option; all I would do was hump for a few seconds and then… well, finish doing so, I guess, in case anyone walked in or something. I even established a kind of routine, insofar as I’d do it after watching Robot Wars, but I wouldn’t call it a kind of key part of my sexual awakening.
And it hurt. Sex isn’t meant to hurt.
Eventually I gave Dizzy away. Despite the fact that we’d been shagging, I wasn’t particularly close to her, and the fact that we had to give away a large Fellah at another school fête presented the opportunity (the little spinny thing at the top of her cap had come off at this point too…). I’ve acquired other Fellahs since then – and even had relationships with girls who adore them, ranging from KoЯn dolls to floppy, soft kitties to rabbits called “Rabbit” – but the concept of using one for sex has long since passed.
I’ve got a healthy relationship with Fellahs. They are my friends, and never will be anything else. But maybe, just maybe, once or twice to an early teen ILB, one of them may just have been my lover.