Relax... it's just sex.



We have talked about sex before, haven't we? And I've told you that that is one of the many 'areas' to which the 'work in progress' sticker can be slapped. Over the last years my view of sex has changed radically. It used to be clear, undiluted, almost radiant. Before I came to live here, I had one of the most fulfilling relationships I've ever had -either that or I'm idealizing it, but I know it was good- and one of the most physically satisfying, too.

You've read about him here. It all started as a prank. I met him while visiting a fuck buddy and I thought he was in for it, too. So I played along. We ended up having a relationship that lasted almost three years. He is one of the few men who has come at the same time I have. He used to synchronize his orgasms to come WITH me, looking into my eyes, devouring my mouth while his cock twitched and I felt alive. He used to lick and tease every part of my body and I loved his taste and smell. Basically, what he knew about sex he learned from me, I think. He was quite naive when we met. He had all the equipment, mind you, to be a good lover but was somehow unexplored. We learned many things together -I thought I was well-seasoned, but it was all technique, no emotions- physical and emotional possibilities for him, more of a conscious emotional involvement for me.

Our sex life was varied and very adventurous -we had sex in public places, he tried with me everything he thought of, no holds barred- and the feelings were always more than skin deep. He once told me he felt he was floating when he made love to me. I kissed him for hours after that. His passion was almost innocent. With all the raunch that we sometimes put into our lovemaking, it still felt pure, undiluted, raw and sweet. I know. I may be idelizing it -don't we all do it with long-gone lovers?- but I'm sure my recollections are right. He was uninhibited and his desire was out there, for me to see. He wanted my body AND my mind and the took all he could. As many times as he could. It was his hunger for me, what made me uninhibited, wild, passionate, adventurous, insatiable.

And that's what I miss now. I miss that hunger, that desire. I feel limited by the 'dont's' and 'nots' of my life now. There are too many boundaries, too many unsaid things, too many insecurities, too much blaming, not enough trust on my part, too many inhibitions, too many taboos. Why do I stay, you've asked -and may ask again-? Well, that's one of the questions I want to answer myself. Security? The thought that this is better than nothing? The knowledge that he loves me as much as he can? The idea that I love him? The pressure to be with someone? Maybe some of these, maybe none. I'm not uninhibited, wild, passionate, adventurous, insatiable. I'm just there and the release comes and I'm still there.

We've talked about it, we've had a professional talk about it, we have talked about it a little bit more. And still, I feel empty. I was seeing that movie character in Shortbus talk and I felt like crying. Am I damaged goods? Am I incomplete? Am I damning myself to a life of comformist quasi-longing? Am I idealizing something that no one has? I wonder.

All this came to be because I went to see Shortbus, a movie by John Cameron Mitchell (love his Hedwig and the Angry Inch) and one of the characters says that he feels something link he feels as if everything would just bounce off his skin: feelings, desires, life. I feel like that sometimes. And like the character in the movie, I don't let myself get fucked. Oh, I do let him penetrate me. But I don't let him fuck me. It's never ALL of me there. And I wonder if I have ever been.

Still, I stubbornly keep trying to keep the relationship going. Because hope springs eternal? Maybe. Maybe because I'm not a quitter and quitting him would feel like defeat. Maybe because the romatization of carnal love is something better suited for movies like Shortbus, a movie whose title has to do with the shorter, yellow school bus where the 'other' kids ride? Because even though I know I'm not riding the same bus the other boys are riding I still pine for the bigger ride, even though deep down I know that it may be very similar than the one I'm taking now, just in a bigger bus?

Funny, how in ones and zeros all this comes so easy. I have never let him see all this. Not all at the same time. I'm afraid it'll hurt him or scare him and doom this relationship to nothingness. And that scares me, too. So of two evils I chose the half-life with him instead of the life without him. Pussy, you'd call me. Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe it's just human nature to try and preserve whatever hint to happiness we can muster to have. And I do have happy moments with him. And what is happiness but a series of short events that register as 'good'? So I'll keep sringing those happy moments together to make myself happy while my libido wanders on. Because after all, nobody can make us happy. That's a job all our own.

Cheers, babyboy.

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