Confronting

I’m often confronted by the realization that what I want frightens me.  I know that’s… vague.  but that is what the experience is—a vague feeling of fear. 

I want, but I’m afraid of, responsibility.

I want, but I’m afraid of, major purchases.

I want, but I’m afraid of, intimacy.

I want, but I’m afraid of, sex.

I’m coming to grips with a lot of the above.  And, reading over that list, the one that feels the most vulnerable to admit to is the last. 

Sex, as a youth, meant furtive masturbatory experiences.  There was no place for it in polite conversation, or in my every day. 

Sex, in college, meant struggling with what I was told was ‘right’ with what I felt was right.  I ‘should’ want a relationship with a woman, I felt I wanted—no craved—the touch of a man, instead.  For years, I continued to struggle with that juxtaposition and, afterward, with the bifurcation of my personal life with my ‘family’ life.  Secrets kept until my mid-to-late 20s.  I understood that part of myself, but did not have the strength of character to admit it to my family, or many of my friends.

Sex, in my 20s and 30s, was scarce—largely owing to my own insecurities and, yes, fear.  I’ve always been shy, and socially awkward—though as I’ve gotten older I’ve ‘covered’ that better.  It still terrifies me to be in social settings though, admittedly, less so when I don’t know anyone at all.  Weird? Maybe—but when I’m in a completely new place, when I know no one, I can convince myself that there’s no harm in making an ass of myself—if that should happen.  It relieves the pressure.  So to speak.

You hit your 40s, with only a handful of sexual experiences under your belt—so to speak—and you wonder if you know anything about sex at all.  I also, finally, admitted to myself that bottoming—scary, full of the fear that it would hurt—was something I had thought about, and envied in others.  In porn, if a bottom can lose themselves in the sensations of bottoming… that is what I covet. 

Slowly, I’m coming out of my shell.  every step is a bit frightening, and more than a bit empowering.  Every step, thankfully, has been a step forward.  When I lose patience with myself, I’m reminded of that. 

The other thing I’ve had to confront lately is that I’ve been waiting.  Waiting for something to happen—for someone or something to bring change into my life.  Fear again.  Of committing to a change, or an action.  Fear of taking a chance, and being rebuffed.  I’m tired of living in fear.  I’m trying to take ownership of my own life, and what that means.  

So, 45th birthday behind me, I choose to stop waiting and start taking chances.  I remind myself that I don’t have to change overnight—that each step is a step forward, to knowing myself better and to becoming a whole, healthy, sexual being. 

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