{February 2, 2014}   Not in my Bed


Good God… I’m never getting laid again. Not in my lair anyway. My bed has clearly been taken over by much hair-ier creatures. I too must sleep curled up in a tiny ball to keep from being pushed onto the floor.
This must be what it’s like to have children.

Don’t go getting all offended by the above content. I’m just saying what we’ve all thought at one time or another.

{October 3, 2012}   True Story of My Discovery

After reading other blogs here on, I found the courage to write about my journey to discovering myself. I’m not good with introductions, I’m a little awkward in that way, so we’ll just jump in.

I used to be a little slut. After my innocence was taken from me in a way no one’s should be taken from them, I morphed into a kind of whore. I’d agree to meet a guy, or boy, and then the next thing I knew I had slept with him and hated him and myself for it. I don’t really know why I did this, but I can only suspect that my subconscious was telling me that if I gave myself to them, they couldn’t take it from me. A sort of beating them to the finish line. Anyway, this lasted for about five years and God only knows why I don’t have an STD or something worse didn’t happen. I wasn’t exactly picky about who I sneaked away and laid down with in the back seat of an old beat up Plymouth Duster. Sometimes I never even knew the guys name.
I have to be honest and tell you that I never had a moments enjoyment out of these sex-capades. Not once did I encounter the “Big O” or get any kind of fulfillment out of it. So WHY did I keep doing it? I don’t know. Maybe I was looking for something. Or maybe I thought that was all I was good for? Maybe my teenage self thought that that was the only way for me to get the attention I so craved. I’m not sure I’ll ever know why I did those things.
In my twentieth year I seemed to settle down some and start taking notice of women. Sure, I had a few more go-rounds with men, never enjoyable, but I found myself thinking about a woman as I lay limp beneath the sweaty mass of a man who wouldn’t stop trying to kiss my mouth. That was a strange unspoken rule I had: never kiss lips, don’t allow them to kiss your mouth. I guess lip-smacking was a little too personal and intimate for me. Soon I discovered the joy of not leaving the bar/club and staying so I could watch the women. I’ve never had an attraction to any part of a woman, like her breasts or ass. I enjoyed watching the women as a whole, the way they interacted with others, what they preferred to drink, how much it took them to get drunk, if they were social butterflies or if they just enjoyed sitting and watching the bands, as I did. There was a mix of excitement and shame when a woman would catch me looking at her more than once. It ached to watch a woman whom I found attractive and could visualize conversing with over a beer walk out the door with a man. It was disappointing to me to discover that another woman who piqued my interests was wearing a wedding band. I never made any moves or indicated to anyone that I was particularly interested in them. I just watched as things unfolded around me.
Just before my twenty-first birthday I stopped sleeping with men altogether, though it would have been easier to continue my ‘straight’ charades than change my cell phone number so guys would stop calling me. I even stopped going to my usual hangouts and started frequenting other bars, ones that had never seen me leave with a man before. I graduated from just watching to talking with other women, most of whom were heterosexual. For some reason I have an attraction to heterosexual women, which makes finding someone I want to be with impossible. Soon after that, I started fantasizing about women. My fantasies were innocent and basic: what it would feel like to be held by this woman, or what it would be like to just rest my head on her shoulder. But like most fantasies they quickly erupted into what it would be like to be with one of these women. I slowly started emerging from my closet. I told my close friends and my therapist. I was on morphine for an accident I had at work when I told my mother who was driving me to the doctors. She almost went off of the road. She told my father, who told one of my brothers, who told one of my sisters… you get the point. So now everybody knows, or so it seems.
After my accident at work I was put in physical therapy. My doctor, knowing my past sexual abuse, requested they put me in with a female therapist. I don’t go looking for situations where I can seduce or be seduced by another woman, but the therapist they put me in with made me mind reel. Not only was she gorgeous, but she was also out-going, always in a good mood and always touching my body. This woman drove me crazy as I found myself losing my ability to speak. I’ll refer to her as “Maya”. We grew comfortable with each other and became more like friends than therapist and patient. Of course I’d have all kinds of lusty thoughts going through my mind every time she had me take my shirt off so she could massage my back. We started scheduling my therapy for the last slot of the day, when it was only myself, “Maya” and a receptionist, who usually left soon after I arrived. During these late sessions the touches between us became more friendly and less therapeutic. Nothing sexual ever occurred. Just teasing touches, gentle caresses, words that seemed to melt as soon as they reached my ears.
As my physical therapy was coming to an end, so was her position at the clinic. She was moving back to the big city she came from. I ached knowing that I couldn’t be in therapy forever and knowing she was leaving the state, not just the town. On her last night in town she called my cell phone and suggested we meet for a coffee before she left. So we met at a local café and sat in the park just as the sun was going down. I could tell she was going to miss our sessions as well. We didn’t talk much, we just sat there on a bench, thigh against thigh, in the park that was desolate, except for us. She put her arm around my back and pulled me to her so my head was resting on her chest and her face found the top of my head. It felt like we stayed that way for hours, yet when she had to go, it seemed like it had only been seconds.
After my experience with “Maya”, I realized that I have no interest in sex, with a man or a woman. That may change some day, but I’m most content just touching, snuggling up with a wonderful woman. I’m proud to say that I have not had any relations with men in two and a half years. I have no interest, no need to be used. I think back and smile at the memories of time spent with “Maya”. I recently found out, via facebook, that she has a boyfriend. You would imagine that that would bother me, but it doesn’t. However, it does make me wonder… is she bisexual or heterosexual? I do tend to be attracted to heterosexual women. Allow me to be crass for a moment: did I score a “straight” chick?

et cetera