One more blog about me, sex, my friends, etc.

So, tonight, for therapy, I write yet another blog about sex and fidelity.

I grew up in an ultra-conservative home, in an environment of paranoia, violence, and manipulation. I don’t know how these things came together to create the person they did, but somehow, in a blender of guns and Bibles, there developed in me this need, this need to be touched.

I don’t mean touched in the physical way though, though I include that. I mean touched in the way they say Mother Theresa touched people: her presence moved them.  I need to be touched, and to be moved. I never had many male friends. I just didn’t want them, really. Females were so full of mystery and drama. I loved the drama and the histrionics because only when the person I cared about it was at the knife edge of sanity did I feel real. I always had my girls. Few actual girlfriends, mind you, I wasn’t capable of the sort of sustained attention and maturity that a real relationship required.

I’ve grow up now. I have a wife and a beautiful daughter. But when times are rough, when I feel stressed, I miss having my “drama girls”. I miss the way their weakness needed me. That’s always been with me as I’ve grown, so the burden is not so very great. Drama girl here is not an insult, by the way. I’m not talking about being totally psycho here, I’m talking about a person who lives there life like it was movie, with pining sighs dramatic falls onto couches.

But there is something else, two somethings really. One, I am not a Christian anymore, not for lack of study but from great study. I just can’t trust the fate of my life to an old book, albeit a fascinating and sometimes lovely one. That change modifies the very lens through which I view the world. Not believing in Christianity changes almost everything, but one of the hardest things to deal with is how it changes my view of my past.

The things I did and felt guilt for, the things I wanted and felt bad for wanting (but never got), and the things I did and was proud of, all look different now. A man is the sum of his memories. Changing the way one looks at his memories…well, that changes the whole man.

So, change number one: I no loner consider many of the ‘virtuous’ things I did nearly so good, just as I no longer consider some of the ‘evil’ things I did not do, nearly so evil.

Change number two: I understand that I am getting old. I am 27, quite young by any standard. I have the body of a man who hits the gym 3 times a week and gets a two 30 minute sessions of aerobics a day, because I do. I love my body. But when I look in the mirror, I see crow’s feet when I smile. There is no hair left on the crown of my head. I am, in short, getting old. That’s life. I should accept it, move on and enjoy whatever life I might have ahead of me.

It’s just… change one + change two, that’s what gets me. I’ve only ever had sex with two women. I’ve only kissed three. There is a certain kind of beauty that comes from youth. In 4 to 5 years, I won’t have it anymore. I won’t be a good looking guy any more, instead, I’ll become.. good-looking-for-a-dad. So too, my female peers will go from being “gorgeous” to being that “that-mom-who-always-brings-brownies, you know, the-sort-of-cute-one.” That youthful beauty fades.

There is some small, primitive, part of my brain that is panicking right about now.

Sleep with them! Seduce them by any means! Lie, cheat, write poetry, and/or sing! Do whatever you must, because the clock is ticking. This is your last chance to sleep with women under the age of 30. If you can’t get sex, then see them naked, if you see them in person, then get pictures, if you can’t do that, try phone sex, if you can’t get that, try cybersex, and if that doesn’t work you must have constant sexual banter! Go! Fly! Go now and never stop! You must outrun getting old!

And even farther back, waaaaay back, is that part I mentioned first, the part that wants to touched. Touch me! Love me! Please, for the love of God, just reach out to me a little bit.

It’s weird. The first part tells me to prey on my single friends, to do whatever I need to do to get those panties off! I was robbed, it says. I should have been fornicating like a wild monkey since I was in 8th grade, and I was robbed! The second part then says “Anything is OK, any line can be crossed, please, please, just love me.”

Between those two feelings, it’s really hard to see my female friends as friends and not like walking sex/affirmation dispensers. Mix in the fact that I do sincerely care about my friends and honestly do think they are beautiful and it gets really difficult to know what the heck is going on. Its like “Oh, look here is this person I love and think is beautiful. I want to tell them how beautiful they are. How much I enjoy talking to them. How I have always wanted to know them better than I do…” Now, none of that untrue, and it is exactly the sort of thing that good friends tell each other. But the motivation isn’t to be a good friend. The motivation is a desire to use them to me feel like: I could sleep with anyone I want to but choose not to. Rather than the truth: I can’t really bed anyone I want, and even if I chose to, I would get turned down sometimes, maybe (probably?) often.

Long story short: I’m going through a lot of stuff and I’m afraid of getting old. I want to sleep around to prove that I am young. I am way too big a wuss to go compete with real players and besides, I don’t want to ruin my marriage, so I prey on my female friends, by walking as close to the line as I can get away with. It makes me feel sexy and loved.

Um….I guess I should talk to a shrink or something. I will seriously.

And to my close female friends….um….keep being my friends, please. Just, you know, remember that I am pretty goofy right now. I am sorry. I don’t like being like this and its not permanent. Remember, I do really care about you all, its just sometimes I turn into a ass.

Egads, now it sounds like its OK that I do that, and of course, its not. Um….Ok. I officially don’t know what the hell is going on.