while i'm gone.

for the next four days i will be in westchester, PA.  i paid over $350 to pretend to be in high school and get my ass kicked all week.  it's gonna rock.

in the mean time, i wanted to show you all a rough draft i did today.  this has been in me for quite some time... but i'm still wishy washy on how i want to write it all out.   i haven't gotten to writing out my backstory on this yet either, so anything you all think should be clarified, please let me know.  advice on shaping and anything, really, would be mad appreciated. 

sex·u·al frus·tra·tion
            n.

1.      The condition that results when an impulse or an action involving erotic desires is thwarted by an external or an internal force.
2.      Elizabeth Niemiec

 
On August 22, 2004, I will become a twenty-three year old virgin.  Depending on what your definition of sex is, of course.  True, I have not experienced vaginal penetration from a penis.  But I have been penetrated.  My body and my sexuality has been tasted, explored and indulged in… numerous times and with varying participants.

I consider myself to be more in touch with my sexuality that many “non-virgins” I know.  And sure, you can think me to be naïve or unaware… but this isn’t about what you think.  It’s about me.  And I have come to a point in my life where I am so sexually aggravated that I am seriously considering humping my flagpole.  This year’s band camp stories might take the cake… I’ll let you know.

Interesting masturbation techniques aside, I have had the most sexually unfulfilling year of my life… starting with the end of my first long-distance relationship.  So really, if you don’t count the handful of ridiculously good hook-up sessions with our codifying master, I have been having bad luck in the physical stimulation realm for almost 4 years.

Yep.  You read that correctly.  FOUR MOTHER FUCKING YEARS!!!!!!!!!!

I don’t understand why I had better luck with relationships in my youth (relatively speaking).  Maybe I was just stupider and more willing to overlook things.  Yes.  Get the eye rolling over with, but I have not been in a monogamous, romantic relationship with a man since my freshman year in college.  Since then all I have been doing is touching men in the dark hoping that when the light turns on there will be more there than just two bodies close to one another.

It hurts.  It hurts to be physically intimate with people whose minds are in other galaxies.  That’s why I have vowed to stop random hook ups.  But that isn’t the point.

I want to know how I got here.  At first, it was delicious that I was “pure” and “chaste”.  I had guys lined up to be the man who would welcome me into the world of flesh and fuck.  I was a prize.  A treasure.  Uncharted territory full of secrets beyond the wildest of imaginations.  I was told I would be such a great lover.  That I was so full of empathy, awareness, passion and rhythm.  Combined with my hips and lips, this was apparently a very deadly combination.

But over time, the line has lessened.  Serious inquiries are few; most are just there hanging onto a fantasy or memory.  Towards the back you find a few new faces, but they are just thankful to find someone else their age that they think to be as clueless, sexually, as they are.  The closer they get to the front of the line though, they soon figure out this is not the case, and usually end up fleeing out of fear.

I have recently come across multiple men who would not get into relationships with me because of my virginity.  “I’m not going to be responsible for popping anymore cherries” is usually the sentiment.  Now, I can understand this.  Being someone’s first is definitely something that is special.  If for no other reason except that you will always be remembered.  You will always be the first impression.  The opening act. 

But seriously… that’s fucked up if you don’t want to “deal” with being that special to me.  And-oh… wait a minute- who the fuck said you were going to pop mine?  Clearly if I have managed to avoid poppage prior to you, a little credit is due.  I don’t care how many girls you may have deflowered before… it’s just mean and limiting to assume that I will be a certain way.  That it will be a burden to you.  If I let you take on that burden.  How much more insulting can you get?  Fine… go ahead.  Miss out on what could be the best relationship of your life because you think you are above me.  I’m not bitter at all.

Firmly, I can say that whoever pops my cherry officially, will be a very important man in my life.  But he will be important way before the cherry thing ever comes into play.  To me, sex is a risk.  It is, plain and simply, the act of procreation.  Making babies.  Continuing the species.  All recreational purposes and perks aside, I don’t want to do that with anyone I wouldn’t have confidence in raising a child with.  So not only will the first man I have sex with be important… so will each and every man who EVER has sex with me.

I understand that there are things called birth control pills, shots and condoms and the like… but it’s not about the possibility of getting pregnant… it is the act of making a baby.  Using two to make one.  Whether the baby comes or not is not my concern. 

There are so few men that I want to share spit with, I can’t imagine sharing a child with anyone.  So my hormones need to chill the fuck out.  The heart is going to win over on this one.  I mean I’ve made it this far.  And it has been hard.  Literally.  I’ve just got to keep faith that there are people out there who feel similar to me… and who will want to share sex with me… even if it will be my first time. 

But believe me… when I do start having sex… I will be having lots of it.  Slow, sweet and beautiful to nasty, dirty and painful- I’m going to do it all. 
I’m just so sick of waiting.