Last Friday night I was just a couple of feet away from a real, genuine, living penis. Actually two of them. Don’t ask how. I’m not bearing that much yet. I’m not convinced that this blog needs to go there. Maybe I’m wrong?*
It was fascinating. Truly. One was uncut and the other circumcised. One smaller and one larger. It’s one thing to fantasize about them, it’s another to see them in the flesh. Not gonna lie, I stared as much as I could. I’m still looking intensely at men and women in general. Figuring all this physical attraction stuff out. It’s crazy hard. Uncharted territory and all that. Well, not wholly uncharted if I’m being honest wth myself.
I remember now that there were gay boys in school that I idolized. They were so aware and accepting. I’m sure that came with a price. I remember being in a hot tub in college with my bi friend. He said how much he would love to suck me off. I froze, caught fully between the desire for it and fear of others finding out and ostracizing me. I remember another friend who, I presume, was going through then what I am going through now. He was one that I loved and didn’t have the courage to tell him or myself. I remember when it got out that he had his anal cherry popped and the horrible things people said about him. Thank god people didn’t say that about me, and yet, now I wish things were different.
I don’t regret my relationships with women. I’m thankful for that. And they are so beautiful and alluring. Even the callous ones.
There is other big shit going on in my life that is not as deep in my core as what I share here, but heavy none the less. All of this mixed together makes me feel that the tornado analogy I previously employed was appropriate. I’ve been pleading for perspective. I wanted to see where I was, where I had been, and where I was going, and I feel so lost. Spinning. Reaching out, almost in terror, for any king of solidity. I know I’m in the thick of it.
Today I think I had an epiphany. If I was responsible I would write it down and let it settle in, but the most reckless part of me is here and posting without proper time for reflection (R is either proud of me or shaking her head right now… You know I love you).
The perspective I’ve been craving is an old crutch. I’ve been craving a linear perspective. I’ve been craving my old self. It’s like I’m stuck in a mourning period and don’t want to let go. Today I see that I have more perspective now, spinning in this vortex of debris and shit and confliction than I ever did before. I see more highs and lows and I’m actually looking in directions that I never considered. My general vibration has raised since allowing so much to see light. I guess that I should feel happy about it. I’m not there yet. The freshness of the hurt and loss is too great. The wounds are still open.
It occurs to me that this might be the most authentic place to live. A place of exposure and openness. If I can find acceptance amongst it all, I would bet money that it is.
*You tell me. The point of this blog is to share and explore the deepest parts of myself for the purpose of growth. Delving into sexual orientation with smatterings of imagery is one thing. My gut says to lay it all out there, in spite of the fact that I know that people I interact with regularly may be reading this and may be uncomfortable with what I share. Can I omit the rest of my sexuality and still be true here? At what point does this become gratuitous or self indulgent?