Sex is easy, it’s everything else that’s hard. The paradigm has shifted and sex isn’t love anymore. I find that all the supposed pre-cursors that we skip for the sake of non-commitment are what have become taboo.
Sleeping next to someone is difficult. You never really do. It begins to feel like a timed game with too many variables. Obligatory, almost. And you can’t sleep with a giant pea wedged in your consciousness. Unless you’re really drunk.
The most intimate moment I can recently recall was when a man kissed me on the forehead, ever so lightly when he thought I was asleep. It was the sweetest thing anyone had done for me in the past 3 years and we were barely lucid.
I feel violated by the simplest of touches. Fingertips on shoulders, hair being played with, hands on smalls of back. But you could hit me, throw me around, bruise me from the inside out and it would all be fair game on familiar ground. Pretty backwards, eh?
And you know what makes me nervous? Holding a man’s hand. It’s fucking unnerving.
I can’t do it. Not without fear.
And you think you’re shy?
This entry was written by , posted on May 20, 2010 at 6:12 am, filed under Love, Self-diagnoses, Sex. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.