My grade 8 English teacher occasionally had us spend 15 minutes or so just simply writing anything and everything that popped into our heads. She called it “bloodletting,” and like the medicinal treatment of old, the purpose is to purge that which would otherwise stagnate. That’s what this is.
I’ve got sex on the brain at the moment, so… yeah. I guess that’s where I’m gonna start.
Sex is a bit of a double-edged sword for me. On one hand, I don’t get along too well with my bits, to the point where stimulation only works if I can disassociate them from me. On the other hand, well, I’m a 22 years old and haven’t gotten laid since I was 19- my libido’s pretty much reached the point of screaming “PAY SOME FUCKING ATTENTION TO ME, ASSHOLE!”
Some trans guys have a pretty good sex life. I’m not one of them. At least some of that’s because I’m painfully shy- even online, I end up letting myself fade into the background all too often. Usually, there’s at least some “why would they care what I have to say?” involved in this, especially if I respect the person in question.
Admittedly, my body image is shot- along with the whole mind/body gender dissonance thing, I’ve also got some major scarring from a childhood car accident. There’s a scar running down the center of my abdomen, starting about the same level as my third lowest rib, bisecting my navel, and running to just above my pubes. There’s also another scar on my stomach, about where you’d find an appendectomy scar, though on my left rather than my right. It’s also larger than an appendectomy scar, and more star-shaped; the remnant of a temporary colostomy while my ruptured intestines healed (and just to note- hell is the stomach flu with a colostomy >.<).
I’ve never been very good at relating to people one-on-one. I get nervous when I care what they think, and bored when I don’t. I have a hard time believing that they actually want to have a conversation with me. I spent a lot of time isolated in elementary school, socially, and once I got to highschool- well, teens can be fuckwads. Some little asswipes thought it was funny to call me fat (ok, I admit, I haven’t been skinny since I was counting my age in single digits, but nor am I massively obese.) Unfortunately, this was about the same time those lumps of fat on my chest really started being a focus of attention, and it was easy to believe them, so I stopped eating for a while.
Some years later, someone told me that one of those guys (the most vocal of the lot) had a 2 inch dick- and that was hard. Schadenfreude, what schadenfreude?
Anyways, so I haven’t been laid in years, probably because I’m too afraid to talk to anyone, much less proposition them. I don’t trust other people easily, I’ve had my trust abused before. I’m a little pathetic, I know- or maybe more than a little.
Ah, well, what’s a guy to do?
