Yeah, well, you knew I had an opinion, and you knew if you read
anything else on this site, it was going to be damned weird. You
could say that my bizarre nature shows up no where else like my sex life.
I am grappling with it myself lately, and I am none to comfortable with
the answers I am coming up with.
As with everything, it all started with an experience I couldn't run from, although I did my dead level best. In 1988, at the strapping age of 16, a chick kissed me. I had no doubts I liked guys, but at that moment, with this black clad, tough as nails woman leaning into me against the wall, I knew I really liked girls too. More than I should. I remember my head swiimming, and one hand going into her hair, pulling her closer initially, and then I realized that there was something irrevocable happening. I repulsed her, hands on shoulders and shoving. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, chest heaving and near tears. She reached for me again, comforting and the weight of her kindness suffocating me. I slapped at her hand, desperate not to be touched. I was confused. She had been my insane acid dropping friend until her lips brushed mine and I'd begun to tremble.
Now I didn't know who she was. And I didn't know who I was.
I clutched at my backpack, head down, brushing at the tears escaping hot and wet from my eyes. I ran. I cannot lie about it. I ran even without running, leaving her standing staring after me. I was not ready to add another thing to my growing list of oddities, and I wasn't ready for her to come onto me. I needed a friend so badly then. I was so lonely.
Okay, so you're thinking, "Big deal. So she's a bi-chick." Yeah, that's the conclusion I came to once it was safe. (I.E. Stephonie went away. *L*) And that should've been it.
But it wasn't. Because I am too damned complicated.
I experienced my first bondage situation very soon after that. It was another slipping/falling freefall. My friend...a man..locked the d rings I wore as part of my daily "freak" uniform to my bondage belt, immobilizing my wrists. I struggled, actually desperate. We were alone at his house, and I remember so clearly me breaking down, and him realizing I was really scared. His arms came around me, sheltering and his heart beating against my ear. His hands, palms encircling my arms slipping down almost setting me free..almost...his hands resting on the rings even as his lips brushed mine and I sank back on the bed. His voice in my ear..."Trust me. I won't hurt you. Trust me." And he didn't.
And so now you're thinking, "Okay...you're right. You're a kinky bi-chick. That's getting weird, but it's not like they're going to do a Springer show on you."
And you know, that's sort of how I felt about it.
Until we started hashing things out with his wife.
Yep. Wife. But we all worked out an understanding, and things were stable.
Now you're putting me in the freak category. Yep. I am right there with you.
So things went on really well for quite a bit.
Until there was an evening of much overindulgence during movie watching when I skipped out on a gaming session with my then boyfriend and his friends. I was on the floor, my head on his lap...sort of inbetween them, pleasantly buzzed...incense going and candles burning. It was a good feeling. Quiet. Safe. Warm. And his hand was in my hair. I love that. For some reason it makes me feel loved. *shrug*
I was sort of dozing and he picked me up. I cuddled in between the two of them, and fell asleep. And then he was kissing me. And someone's hand was on my back, a light, tenative caress. It confused me, but not to the point of disturbance and it felt nice.
Things progressed and it felt nicer. I think that's what started to bother me. I liked what was going on. A lot. And once I analyzed it in my drunken state, I realized I was on the brink of making a BIG decision. One I wasn't ready for.
I bolted. (Notice a trend here? *L*)
I was going to move to Cleveland to clean this mess up, but one of my friends thought Cleveland was a very bad idea. So I moved closer to home, but far enough away to nip this growing couple thing in the bud.
So, to "fix" things, I got married.
So now you think I am a stupid freak, right? Yeah, I sort of have to agree with you there.
Things went on okay in the marriage, with me acheiving my unfulfilling goal of becoming as vanilla as possible.
Until I met some Indian chick. *L*. And it happened again. Alcohol. Candles. Incense. Movie. Best friend. Spouse. Kissing. Me shoving away. Trembling. Leaving. Making dumb excuses not to hang out. Nothing happened but too much wine and comfort.
Then my marriage exploded and the really amazing thing is that it wasn't over that.
So then I find myself full circle and home. And there's this guy whose more brother than friend, and we do ALL the wrong things we can...
And then there's an evening, and alcohol (this time I didn't drink) and best friend, and spouse, and one big bed and four hundred quilts and this time I didn't stop. Because right then, my emotional aspect was shoving at my brain. "Shut up. Let me have this. This one thing." And it was nice and fun. And I lost my virginity with a woman for lack of a better word, and lay staring at the ceiling all warm and pliant and...
tender.
Me. Tender and open and honest with myself for the first time. I waited until I felt the dawn, even though I didn't see it and slipped from the bed, turning off the alarm so it wouldn't wake them and I left. I walked the park that day, and found a place to sit and cry where fools wouldn't see and laugh.
Because I had found a place I could stay. Not with them perhaps. But it struck a soft, sweet chord in me, and I knew I would never have that again.
100 years ago, in another society, yes. But not here. Not now.
I had finally defined myself, only to learn what I needed to be fulfilled was impossible. Either I could walk that path and be a sexual accesory, with no one ever loving me and no one ever knowing me, or I could deny the wanting and settle for less.
Or I could do the right thing...the honest thing...and stay alone.
I left town soon after this, even though I did try not to. Too much bullshit...people playing around with me like I was a puppet, albeit accidentally. I couldn't take anymore. Not for anything.
I must in my life live according to certain standards, to feel good about myself. I couldn't there. I can now. I faced me and realized who and what I am. It's not pretty, but it's definately unique. *L* Maybe one day I can really go back, with all the wierdness dissapaited. I somehow doubt it, but it might be the pessimist in me.
And you know, the only "wrong" there was a failure to communicate effectively. I love them both to this day, on many levels more than they could possibly know. They answered a question they didn't know I'd asked. Who the hell am I to bitch because I didn't like the answer?
There are those of you out there who are apalled at what I've written here. You cringe at the words, and you damn me with all you are.
Do you think that there are not moments when I would sell my soul for someone to be near? I lay sometimes and I ache for it. Not sex...but safety..not touch but shelter. The lust to be seen as beautiful, intelligent, devine...the adjectives bestowed on us only by those who really love us.
I can't have that. I think it bites. But I am kind anyway and I laugh anyway. So there.
I never promised this world to become what was expected of me. I am who I am and I can accept the consequences. I have known some really great people who can't say the same. That's something.