Sex

So, some time ago, during a trip out of state, I was sitting at a wonderful bar with a good friend of mine. She and I haven’t known each other all that long, and for a variety of reasons out of my control, I do tend to hold back a lot of who I really am with I am interacting with her. It’s unfortunately, really, because I know that she’s a very understanding and kind person, but it is what it is.

Anyway, after some drinks, somehow, the topic began to delve into mental health, and at some point, I told her about how frustrating it is to be a person who is so driven by sex. That’s right! Pity me! No, no. I know what I am and who I am. To many people, it may seem ridiculous that I can acknowledge my own “frustrations” with my personality and still refuse to “just fix it,” as those people like to say.

Anyway, the talk went on for a while and it got me thinking; so much so that I told her I was going to write this article months ago, and am only just now getting around to it.

Why am I driven by sex? Is it just how I’m wired, or is it something I developed? In fact, why am I ashamed of it? Because of some social stigma that sexual topics should be avoided in the world? But “Sex Sells,” no? So if that same social climate is willing to use that phrase left and right, why can’t I talk about sex?

Of course, if sex is free, it wouldn’t sell.

Aha! So Corporate America needs sex to be inappropriate or it has no value. Okay, that’s it, everyone, I’ve cracked the code. If we all just start fucking each other without stopping, we can take down The Man. ;D

Oh, hi Herpes.

Okay, okay, enough dark humor. Let’s get back to the topic at hand: Why did Villanite finally write this post?

I had a sex dream about my mother.

That’s right, kids, strap in. This post just gets worse from here.

Alright, so maybe I’ve had similar dreams before, but it’s never been her in them. It’s always a fantasy where some much hotter woman is actually my mother; most of the time it’s actually my neighbor and best friend’s mother from when I was growing up in California. She used to let eleven-year-old Villanite massage her all alone in her bedroom, all because he one time mentioned that his mom taught him how to give massages.

This time, though, the dream definitely had her in it. It was so obviously her, that when I woke up, I was deeply confused and not at all happy with what my brain had just decided to do.

Y brain? Y u do?

Maybe it’s because lately, I’ve been trying to find a way to blame my mother for my own sexual inclinations. I blame her for a lot of things that are wrong with me, actually. Not in a bad way, but… I mean… who else’s fault could it have been when a child grows up to be fucked up when he’s originally the only child of a single mother and then at 9-10 years old, more or less left to his own devices?

Let me be clear about something before I continue, however: I love my mother. Very, very, very much. More than I show her, unfortunately, and more than even she might know. No, not in a sexual way, contrary to the evidence. I think my brain was kind of shocking me with a bit of guilt for the continuous mental gymnastics I’ve been doing trying to pin this on her.

My mother was knocked up by some cheating piece of shit. She was only in her twenties when she got pregnant with me and she actually made the decision to keep me alive. She threw away her entire life for my sake. How could I not love that woman? Since the day I was born, everything was for me. Maybe she’s the reason I have an ego problem, though. :p

So, no, when I say that I “blame” her for things, all I’m saying is that, that’s the role a parent plays. For better or for worse, a parent is always going to be responsible for the way their offspring turns out. That does not mean I harbor ill will, it simply means I’m a realist. She did the best she could with what she had, and personally, I think she did a pretty amazing fucking job. So, there.

Unfortunately, me trying to analyze my own mental health by using my upbringing to explain and make sense of things never quite clicked for my sexual inclinations. There was no parental figure who exposed me to anything sexual. In fact, my mother tried pretty hard to keep me away from that stuff, but it just always interested me.

As a very young kid, I originally found an interest in the opposite sex when my cousins suggested that we practice kissing on each other. And then, a little later on in life, a male cousin of mine taught me about dry humping. He had long blonde hair, so he kind of looked like a girl, I guess? I remember not liking that he was a boy, but I was still very curious.

Then my mother met my stepdad, and I found his 100% unlocked cable channels, leading me to the Spice Channel. At around 9 years old, we moved in with my stepdad, and suddenly, I lost all interest in going to the grocery store with them.

Then, soon enough, I got my first computer, and then by ten years old, we moved into a bigger house and I got to keep my computer in my room!

This is the part where I disagree with my mother’s parenting approaches, but hey, being a 90’s parent had to be hard. No one really understood the power of the internet back then.

That was when I met a woman in a chat room who wanted to talk about sex with me. She asked all about the things I wanted to try and told me all about the things I had questions about. Long before my first health class, I knew just about every detail of both the female and male bodies thanks to her.

Yeah, it’s obvious now as a 30-year-old, that I was being cyber-molested. But back then, I was just curious, and finally, someone was answering it all. She meant well, right? She was looking out for me, so what harm would it do if I sent her pictures of my body?

That was the first time I wondered if maybe sex wasn’t okay anymore.

But without anyone to tell me that I was doing something I would later struggle with, things continued to escalate.

“She” disappeared eventually. But I learned so much from her, and I put it to use. I began to make many female friends on the internet. So many. I knew about their bodies, and I knew how to get what I wanted because “She” taught me all about how to role-play as a seductive person.

First, it was just erotica between kids. Eventually, it was exchanging pictures (they would always send pictures first, of course). Over time, between the ages of 12 and 15, I taught around five girls my own age how to masturbate over the phone.

Between 16 and 18, I had at least four women between the ages of 19 to 25 sending me lewd photos regularly.

At 19 years old, I got my own house. Things just got worse and worse.

Eventually, I met probably the third or fifth girl I thought I was going to marry. This one actually got pretty serious! We lived together for quite some time and were together for a full three years. It was around that three-year mark that I finally realized how sex could hurt.

I remember one night I was tired. Work had completely kicked my ass mentally, and all I wanted to do was curl up in bed and sleep the day away. It was a Friday, maybe, so I thought it’d be wonderful to sleep in with an early start.

She was horny, though. I told her I’d rather not. I even apologized and held her close to me, telling her that I loved her very much, but that I was just too tired. I’m sure to her, it wasn’t a big deal, and maybe for a long time, I felt strange thinking what I thought after it was all said and done.

She got me onto my back, and despite my desire to sleep, she used my body to get herself off. I remember thinking that I was looking forward to her finishing so that I could go to bed.

That was the second time I wondered if maybe sex wasn’t okay anymore.

I was attracted to her, don’t get me wrong. She was and still is, extremely beautiful, and I’ll always be attracted to her, but I still felt like I was being raped. But, as a man, I’m not allowed to feel that way.

Anyway, this has become a long explanation leading to a single point:

I don’t know why I’ve always been interested in sex, but because society makes it bad to talk about, I didn’t find a good path into it. As a child, I wasn’t allowed to learn about what interested me, so I was taught by people who had no business teaching me.

So, as it turns out, I do think it’s okay to be interested in sex. It’s okay to feel that physical attraction is an important factor in a relationship. It’s okay to put value in sexual chemistry and compatibility when pursuing a long-term partner. It’s okay to be me.

I’m not some deviant. I’m not some pervert. I’m not some creep. I just think sex, the act of fully exposing, physically exploring, and shamelessly loving one another, is fascinating and beautiful.

The ongoing theme of villainization of father figures in my writing, my inherent desire to protect and spoil the children of single mothers, even my hard disapproval of youths using the internet. All of those things are probably things that I picked up due to the way I grew up. I think my love for sex is just part of who I am, though; I just wish I had learned that in a healthier way, earlier on.

Fuck Corporate America.

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