Gee, Draco, why is it that every time you sleep with someone you have to tell all of 43T about it?
If you feel at all it’s T.M.I., read no further.
If not, here is why I post my sexual endeavors. For one thing, they’re rare. I have sex maybe once every two or three months on average. So I know I’m definitely not a slut.
Secondly, everyone who reads my entries knows how much I struggle with my sexuality and sexual identity.
Forgive me. If I don’t talk about it here, I don’t talk about it at all. And if I keep all these feelings to myself, I start feeling guilty, dirty, shameful, as my mother made me feel when I was under her roof.
My sex life is as follows:
Over the past two years, I’ve engaged in sexual activity with just two partners. I have only two people I hook up with from time-to-time, on separate occasions. Each I consider an acquaintance, and both I’ve known since college. I never sleep with random people, and I only get jiggy with it like I said, maybe once every two or three months.
Each of them comes on to me, usually not the other way around.
I have never gone further than just oral sex.
I wish I had someone I could talk to about sex. Why does “gay sex” sound so much dirtier and taboo than just “sex”??? As infrequently as I engage in sexual activity, afterward I always feel caught in between elation and shame.
Simply put: last night was incredible. I loved every second of it. And now, I feel so ashamed, like I’ve done something very bad and inappropriate.
He is so beautiful and attractive, like an angel. I love just when he looks at me, comes near me, puts his hands on me. And inside I feel ashamed at what I am, what we’re doing.
Aren’t I entitled to a sex life like any other adult? I should be able to have sex without feeling this shame that grows within me, like cancer.
Carrying the shame around makes me want to cry. Thoughts urge me to regress back to cutting myself like I used to.
I am very insecure about my sexuality. I just wish I was straight.
If I had three wishes . . . that would be the first.
Somehow I need to figure out a way to stop feeling sorry for myself and be proud of everything I am, accept myself as-is, and celebrate my uniqueness. But how?
I just keep hearing the insidious things my mother, who is always the victim, used to say. Among them, “all gay people die. They all die. And their families have to watch them die a slow, painful death.”