Expanding Whorizons

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 ...

Sex involves a certain amount of vulnerability.  In my life, I’ve been vulnerable—and clearly made poor choices with whom.  The result is that it’s not easy for me to be open to sex, or to be open with people.  One of the things I’ve chosen to do with my life is approach sex, and vulnerability, and try and gain back some of what I think I’ve lost. I rarely feel visible, in uncontrolled settings.  Take that for what you will.  In light of that, over the years, a couple of ways to deal: 1)  self-medicate so that I feel less inhibited 2)  pay for sex The former rarely has worked out well.  Though it has afforded me a handful of interesting stories to share.  I’ve shared them, though admittedly left out the ‘buyer’s remorse’ that typically hits the next day.  Sure, there was the time in NYC during gay pride when I knelt before two men and took care of their dicks.  Sure, there was the pair that I sucked off in a back alley in Ch...