Thank you Love Actually and Kelly
Clarkson for giving me the inspiration for the titular title of this post. I
know that I have been away for a rather long period of time, but I have been
busy continuing to complicate my life for the pleasure of nobody in
particular. As it turns out being a whore is a lot less complicated than any
other romantic endeavor I have yet experienced (and by whore I mean slut, I
have not been traversing the New York Metro-area selling my sexual abilities
for monetary gain, yet!). That all being said I recently ended a
semi-long-term, semi-serious relationship with someone, let's just call him
Frederick. I'm fairly certain he would be upset that I've given him the name of
Frederick, but it's my blog and I can give him any name I damn well please. It
has been about four weeks since I ended my relationship with Frederick and I
know that he has read my blog, so I will be kind with my disparaging comments
regarding his personality and the basic flaws of our connection. Primarily the
shortcomings were that I was not sexually aroused by Frederick for the past
several months and we only copulated once in, I believe, August. And now I am
going to more explicitly discuss this in the event that he does read this
because, well, I think knowledge of one's sexual short-comings is
important.
When we started dating there were two reasons that
Frederick wanted to delay sexual intercourse. Those reasons consisted of my HIV
positive status and Frederick's relative sexual inexperience. Frederick and I discussed his fear of intercourse with someone who was HIV positive and I did
my best to abate his fears, but one needs to process things at his/her own
pace. Frederick had also verbalized his anxieties that I would find his sexual
abilities disappointing, and unfortunately this fear came to
fruition.
We had been dating for such a long time without
having sex that I had kind of gotten comfortable without having to worry about
it. I got used to being able to eat whatever I wanted and not have to douche
every time we saw each other in an attempt to be perpetually prepared
for anal sex. It was nice not to have this constant anxiety about when we were
going to have sex or when he would be ready to have sex, so that when he was
finally ready to have sex I was complacent to continue with the status quo. I
think it was this waiting period that began his descent into the "friend
zone" and future circumstances would only do more to further him to this
destination.
I mean I don't think I'm all that sexy, so I'm not
sure how much room I have to complain, but he was probably the equivalent of
Tommy Pickles from Rugrats on the sexometer. He had this way of perpetually
self-doubting everything he did, like he always needed assurance from another
party before making even trivial decisions. Self-doubt, as far as I'm
concerned, is one of the least sexy traits on the planet and he oozed it. I
understand that confidence isn't something that we are born with and
insecurities are common, trust me I have tons, but finding self-worth and
insight are part of being an adult. It is an intrinsic part of our journey into
productive human beings, and I found it difficult to believe that someone who
was so seemingly well-adjusted could have so little of it. A week after we
broke up we met up, a drunken mistake on my part, and he gleefully proclaimed
that he was cured of his doubtful trappings and was some majestically
evolved creature. As a trained mental health professional I assured him that
these misguided revelations were not only impossible, as the human condition is
not capable of transforming so quickly, but also a dangerous miscalculation
that once realized could be harmful. Of course I was drunk and intermittently
balling about Hillary Clinton's demise, so it was nowhere near this eloquent,
but you get the idea.
The other side of the sexual coin is me. I, for
whatever reason, have what has actually been called by former lovers an
"insatiable" sex drive. But as the sexless months wore on my sex
drive changed from a flood to a stream to a leaky faucet. And for a while I was
content in the tranquility of it (Sometimes it gets so bad that I literally
cannot sit at a restaurant without eye-fucking every attractive guy, sometimes
even woman, that enters the room. It can make even eating a meal exhausting.).
Eventually, my lack of a sex drive made me unhappy. Without my sex drive I was
really no longer me and I missed sex and I missed wanting sex and I missed
having good sex, and I don't mean to say that some of the things we did were
not good because Frederick was very dexterous, but there was never any passion.
Even when we kissed it all just felt contrived. He lips almost seemed like two
slugs squirming along my lips. There was never any determination or
assertiveness in it. When we broke up I had some very honest things to tell him
and I thought with all sincerity that he should go out and have some sex. I
wholeheartedly believe that one should experience as much of the sexual realm
as possible, obviously within certain personal limits. He often said that he
did not know who he was as a sexual being and it really showed. It didn't even
seem that he was all that interested in trying to be present with his
sexuality. When I ended things he kept saying that I never allowed him to show
me his sexual side, and perhaps I didn't but by the time he had gotten around
to feeling comfortable showing me I was long gone. It takes a lot to keep me
interested and compelled, and the waiting period wasn't suspenseful enough to
keep me engaged. At the age of 30 I was not willing to date someone who needed sexually training wheels and unfortunately, at the age of 32 I don't think he
should have needed them either.
And now for the main event, the night that we
actually attempted the deed. Maybe part of the problem was that I had been
planning it. I had set a date in my mind that we were going to "do
it." I think that I had built up so many expectations that the only way to
successfully deal with my anxiety was to set a plan. So the day came and I made
sure to do all my anal prep. I had determined that I would start out riding him
to lessen his fears of inexperience. This way I would do most of the work and
he could literally just enjoy the ride. However, I did not get an enjoyer, I
got a bull. After insertion it became this tug of war where he was constantly
bucking me with little to no cognizance of my rhythm. I attempted to anchor his
legs with my arms, but he only fought harder. It was as though he had no
knowledge of how cowgirl worked. Rhythms have to be in sync or he should have
just laid there. It was so uncomfortable that I just had to get off, and not in
the good way.
Maybe we should have had more of a discussion about
it. The majority of my friends thought that I should have given him another go
in another position, but I think after this experience it just wasn't fixable.
I have had enough sex to trust my gut and my gut would not allow me to desire
him anymore. I think I may have held on for too long after this hoping that
something would change that I would see him in a different light, but I was
most likely diluting myself because I did not want to face the inevitable. At this point our lives had begun to entwine and I liked "our" life.
I really loved some of his friends and I enjoyed having someone to spend my
weekends with, eat Chinese food with, and watch my/our favorite shows with. But
in the end common interests were not enough to keep us together. Desire
and passion were missing, and they are central tenants of a romantic relationship.
Without them we were basically just two very intimate friends.
We now text fairly regularly, and I fear that this
premature, or what I view as premature, continuing of bonds will lead to
further harm. I'm that person that believes in a good amount of space after a
break so we can stand back and know what we want and how we feel about the
other person with romantic feelings aside, and I don't know that he is able to
do that at this point. Who knows maybe I am not able to either. Alas, only
times will tell.
