For the first time since I was about that age–thirteen or fourteen–I’m thinking about sex damn-near 24/7, imagining boys naked, fantasizing more than is probably healthy, and masturbating more frequently than I’d like to admit. I’m wet and in-the-mood constantly, to such a degree that it’s annoying and distracting, and apparently, it’s detrimental to my appearance.
Along with my brain and sex organs, apparently, my face thinks it’s thirteen, too. I’m breaking out like I’m an angsty, boy-crazy teenager whose indulged in a bit too much chocolate after school. I’ve got spots… WTF is up with that?
I remember back when I was twenty-two or twenty-three, this same thing happened. I went through a period of time when I was particularly sexually active (over active?) and I got spots. I went to the dermatologist and they told me it was overactive hormones and gave me some topical junk to put on my face. Basically, the doctor’s professional opinion was that I was breaking out because I was oversexed. Fantastic. But then when my sex life got worse, my face got better.
Unfortunately, it seems that I’m thirteen (or twenty-three) all over again–the more I think about sex and the more I have sex, the less I look like anything anyone would want to have sex with. Is that biology’s way of ensuring I keep my legs closed and my head on straight?
Well, fuck you, biology.
I have concealer and I know how to use it.