It's been nearly a year, maybe even longer, since I have had sex.
The pandemic has played a big part in that, of course. It reminds me a lot of my church youth group in a lot of ways. I am abstaining and following the rules and being a good boy, believing that's my only option, that everyone else is doing the same.
But much like those teen years, people are giving and getting the adult equivalent of hand jobs in the back of the church bus all around me. I'm sure of it.
It's complicated living in Tulsa, where we never really locked down and very few people wear masks or take this thing seriously at all. And it's not so much that I am worried about catching the thing (though I would feel boundless guilt if I spread it, I'm sure).
It's maybe more of a moral judgement. Like the 2020 version of John Waters' timeless advice to not fuck somebody who doesn't have books in their home.
But honestly, it's just an excuse.
Same as before the pandemic when I said everyone in Tulsa gets married at 19 and there's no one out there for me.
The thing of it is that I am really not very good at the whole thing and have compounded that lack of skill by continuously finding reasons to avoid trying.
I am very shy in real life. Anxious, awkward. And I still (still!) have such a hard time imagining that anyone would ever want me.
This leaves me oblivious to anyone who might be flirting. It leaves me too timid to make the big bold moves that I am only sometimes capable of.
It's just all the initial bullshit that I have trouble with.
The introduction, the banter, the expression of desire.
Once the car gets started, I know well enough how to drive.
And I do think (though I find it a bit embarrassing to type this) that I am a good lover.
I recall the compliments I have received over the years. They all seem believable enough.
I am tall and bearded and not too out of shape and have deep kind understanding eyes and soft lips and have been told I am a good kisser.
Kissing is one of my favorite things. Maybe because I didn't receive my first one until I was 23, I seem to have retained an appreciation for the fervent make-out and heavy petting while my contemporaries seem to have moved past it as teenage stuff.
I want to talk more about my body. But it feels strange and a little shameful to do so. I hate that I was so raised to see my body as such a dirty and sinful thing.
But I have good forearms, I have been told. Soft, slightly calloused hands. A crooked smile which I hate, but others have adored.
I will move on from my body, mostly because this is the most I have ever complimented myself and it feels strange, but also because sex is so much more than a body.
I am patient and attentive. I listen close to sighs and gasps and moans, the way the body clenches, holds and releases tension.
I love getting lost in the sensation of everything. All five senses interacting with such intensity to dim everything else around me.
I love seeing my partner in the same daze, transported to a world where there is only this, only us and the pleasure that we can give to each other.
The best compliment I have ever received from a lover is that I make them feel safe. That means a lot and is something I strive to always be better at.
I don't know what I am doing here. Am I bragging? It feels like it a little. But I am really here and now trying to affirm myself.
I am a person that has been desired. I am a person that will be desired again. Someone might even desire me now.
That's all hard to say though. It's hard to believe even though I know for a fact it is true.
And despite some deeply internalized conditioning that seems to grow in power during months and years like this one where I go undurable amounts of time never feeling another's skin against my own, I know that it is okay for me to desire and for me to direct that desire at some worthy and receptive person. That they, in fact, desire my desire.
And maybe love and intimacy and romance and companionship are things that I shouldn't write off so easily. Maybe it would indeed good for me to not always be alone.
Not that this particularly matters much right now.
I only leave my house for hikes or for work.
In nature I am alone.
At the bookstore, there are many beautiful and smart and interesting seeming women who come in every day. I help them find whatever book they are looking for. I sometimes feel or imagine I feel eyes on me. A lingering conversation at the register. A possible smile behind the mask.
But I do nothing. I say nothing. I am certain I am invisible. Certain I am the victim of a fragile ego and an overactive imagination and am reading too much into civil politeness and southern hospitality.
I know that things will be easier maybe post-pandemic, but I will still be me stuck inside these doubts and shame and insecurity.
And the second hand keeps clicking steadily away, dissolving all my youth.
I hope for change. I do not know how to overcome myself for my own good.
7:29 a.m. - 2020-12-08
Recent entries:
Days 3-6 (skipping Day 2 for now) - 2021-02-02
Day 1 - 2021-01-22
40 - 2021-01-19
Milestone - 2021-01-02
The Pastor's Daughter - 2020-12-21
My profile
Archives
Notes
Diaryland
Random
RSS
others:
warpednormal
similar
jim515
swordfern
poetinthesky
darkly-blue
loveherwell
holdensolo
lust-
bantenhut
i-am-jack
musicman575
comebacktome
aryssa90
i-lost-sarah
newschick
hexes
gonzoprophet
stardumb
cybers1ut
meffinmisfit
movingsands
the-grey-one
dangerspouse
unowhatilike
silverluna
elusive-you
tobehis
kenny-loo
brothasistas
my-rant
is-life
godsintimate
creme-egg
ruby--sky
reevo
dooki
dagkyo
buddyboy5
obijuan
u2october
nudeplatypus
baby--girl
mojo1915
krunkjazz
alwaysinhim
cindylou03
gr8legs
greenstar7
spittingame
dudemanflab