Still 2018

In reference to this previous post, https://hansondaren.blogspot.com/2021/05/2018.html it's been four years since I last had sex. 

In all honesty, I miss it, I do.

But at this stage, I'm at a place where if it happens, it happens.

Wow, this is a New for Just Me, more Kinks discovered

I am slowly realising and revealing my sexual kinks.

Today I realised another while scrolling through the app catered to gen z.

And because I watch a lot of 2SLGBTQIA++ content, white leftist creators are inevitable.

This sweet, bless him, God awful looking white man turned up on my "for you page" and almost immediately a banter unfurled and concluded in my head in under a minute.

Wow, he's ugly.

But I wouldn't mind doing him.

Wait why? He's white and skinny.

Why am I intrigued, what's doing it for me...

Ok, he's got facial hair.

But he's still white! And so pale to add!

So why?

Oh wait.

Look.

Ah... I see.

Oh... (quickly scrolls through in my head the men I've been with and realised that was indeed something I am turned on by. ALL of them had this)

OMG, ok, time for a Just Me entry.

So here's it is. Hairy forearms. 

And everyone I've been intimate with, I have vivid, albeit completely overlooked memories of playing with their hairy forearms. And as I did I remember feeling a warm fuzzy tingly feeling in my chest spreading right down to my stomach.

Oh God I miss that so much...

As much as I am sex averse, if someone manages to get over my stubborn demi-sexual wall, I actually enjoy physical proximity. I love smelling men's hair freshly shampooed.

I Love the Twist of Fate

During my adolescence, I grew up with my brother alongside two sibling cousins; a boy and a girl. We grew up together not just because we lived nearby and were close in proximity but also because all four of us were born within a four year period. Two boys, one girl, and a misfit non-binary child who naturally developed a proclivity to hang out with the girl. Not to be presumptuous but I say two boys and a girl because not only did they embraced their excruciatingly traditional gender roles, but because they developed no signs of gender dysphoria.

The four of us, being related on our mother's side of the family, were bestowed with ignorant, bigoted Christian relatives. A byproduct of that was Christmas gifts. The boys would receive the exact same gifts typically along the line of toy guns and cars, the non-binary child would receive what the boys got because, you know, they have a penis between their legs, and the girl would get a distinctively different one. Usually pink, often something that fit antiquated gender roles and many times makeup related. 

See here's twist of fate I find so exhilaratingly ironic! I have several fold more makeup than the people that gave her that gifts, plus what my cousin owns. Having also done her makeup for her engagement ceremony, her frivolous wedding dinner and for her aforementioned brother's wedding, in a cathartic reversal of traditional gender roles, I, GAVE her, makeup tips! 

I find myself secretly bemoaning several missed opportunities during the times I did my cousin's makeup to take a jab at my Christian relatives by proclaiming,

"Funny, she was given the toy makeup sets as a child while I got the toy guns!"

Growth

From dissecting my perceived fetish to realising a preference.

You're negatively fetishised only if you're from an opressed minority being objectified by a member of the oppressing majority.

So a white man fetishising Asian or black men. 

Being initially prompted to scrutinise my affinity towards darker skinned individuals here https://hansondaren.blogspot.com/2019/06/i-found-out-something.html I thought my attraction meant I was afflicted with racial fetishism. 

Turns out, there's no such thing as fetishising a group you actually are part of especially when the group is also marginalised and oppressed. 

Candid Speak

I remember the feeling of being in close physical proximity to someone I was initially infatuated or in love with.

I'm also very aware of what happens to a certain appendage with a life of its own when in close physical proximity to some I was initially infatuated or in love with.

Sometimes just sitting next to or being close enough to get a whiff of his natural body odour or perfume would cause a stir to the appendage.

I remember getting the full throbbing "awakening" several times to the point of needing "adjusting". 

See here's where I want to be candid. At what point in a relationship does that stop?

Because I've never had a "relationship" progress that far with anyone.

Having experienced it I can't help but imagining grooms posing in wedding photoshoots, holding their brides in intimate positions, hiding a grower. And what about new couples online that often hug, kiss and display affection? Oh, and what about those like me, with a heavy flow of a certain natural lubricant. 

Does this happen to women?

What If...

Over three decades of discovering layer after layer of what we call life, I've realised that most people aren't equipped to raise children. My parents included.

I've gotten, for as long as I've lived, a roof over my head, food on the table, sound clothes on my back, parents that were there for me (as circumscribed as that is) and privileges so much of the world doesn't have access to. To that, I am sincerely and deeply grateful; basic humanity dictates I be. Qualified or not, yes, this is my fervent attempt to offer consolation to myself that I am not the ingrate I often berate myself to be.

One single difference my parents could have made that would have changed the entire course of my life for the better was to enroll me into dance classes, bharatanatyam classes to be precise.

And even up to a few months ago I always assumed that the ONLY reason being a dancer wasn't a facet of my life (not until my 20s at least) was because my parents never really imagined how much of an impact dance would have on me. Not contempt for the arts as a lesser form of expression for "boys". I assumed so because they had no problems with me travelling to a foreign land to perform. 

I have no shame in admitting that an app catered to Gen Z was what helped me unlearn misogyny, homophobia, both explicit and internalised, and so much more. What I also happened to learn was  parenting, especially how it relates to marginalised, specifically the LGBTQIA++ community. 

There is also the context of where we live in to consider. And to further fuel this proverbial fire, my ill-informed impenetrable parents are no better than any other ignorant cis-het individual (regardless of the policies in their respective countries, societies or localities)! 

There is more to this. As a child I was extremely effeminate. Something that was abhorrent in a family that values patriarchy above all. My parents have called me slurs. I have been verbally abused, MANY times for doing something that came naturally to me; being myself. I walked with a prominent hip sway, I tilted my head and was animated, more than a "boy" should be, when I conversed, I loved dancing (yes, even as a toddler it was apparent since Salangai Oli was my absolute favourite movie) and so much more.

I was closer to my cousin sister, I always wanted her toys.

Because a filter wasn't created as a child, I didn't, at first, hide my love of jewellery and clothing (clothing largely meant for women in these parts of the world).

I was often inclined to mouth the female parts of duets than the male's, in a female voice, noticeably at first and discreetly later as opinions and being reproached killed my spirit for singing. 

I was and am apathetic towards sports and played none (my dad landed his job, in part, due to being a talented football player).

Like every queer assigned male at birth I played with my mom's makeup and tried on her tragically chunky, barely 2 inch tall heels.

Putting two and two together, there is only a single plausible explanation as to why I wasn't sent for Indian classical dance classes. My parents saw a faggot and told themselves, this faggot will only grow up to be an even bigger faggot if we enroll him into dance classes. We need to toughen him up. Sure, here's an idea, martial arts! 

This is not just what I believe happened. This is the absolute truth! Whether or not I was granted access to it. THIS-IS-WHAT-HAPPENED!

And at the tender age when I should have been sent to dance classes, my parents, like every ignorant cis-het parents would do, sent me to martial arts classes. Which I HATED!

In the cusp of adulthood, I convinced myself they did the right thing because I'd grow out of being too effeminate. I could to a certain extend, blend in.

Now, I hate it.

Because sending me to dance classes would have changed my life. 

My body would have been strong.

My soul would have been strong.

I would've continued this pursuit well into adulthood and fell into odissi very naturally.

I would've actually learned discipline and self-control. Martial arts didn't teach me that because I hated it so much.

Had my body and soul be strong, I would have gone on to do things I actually wanted with my life.

And my life would not be the mess it is now.

My parents essentially ruined my life.

Which is why the preface that I appreciate the shelter, food, protection and education they provided was necessary.

You can do all that and still raise a broken human being. 

I don't always address the reader, but...

If you're a parent reading this, listen to your child. 

You should do what they want sometimes.

Deny them the late night, deny them the extra TV time, deny them the over-indulgence in sweets and toys, deny them the gadget until they earn the merit to own one. 

But when they come to you with a passion, nurture it.

My parents saw the signs.

I even performed incongruously, butchering bharatanatyam in my babysitter's home as a child (with photo evidence). It was nevertheless a triumph. I performed as a kindergarten student doing "the twist", and did it so well that I was placed front and middle. 

My parents robbed me of dance.

If I was in a war-torn country, begging for food, or in a poor family trying to make ends meet I'd gladly accept my fate.

My parents paid for my martial arts class which lead me to believe dance classes were deliberately culled.

They apparently took me to the dance class and was discouraged by the teacher because I was too young to be enrolled. Why wasn't I then enrolled a year or two later?

Why martial arts which has been abandoned?

Why am not now an accomplished dancer?

Let's Put This Out & See What Happens; I have a Weird Intimacy Issue.

It's not that I don't enjoy it.

I do.

Having another body pressed up against mine in passion is unparalleled to any other sense of euphoria. In terms of romantic passion even the orgasm doesn't come close... to me.

But something happens sometimes and I've had it happen a couple of times to me and I don't know why or what. I'd probably need to see a therapist. Not just for this but for a multitude of issues. However, most of the issues I have, I'd probably agree with the therapist. Not this however. Not this.

I get nervous when being intimate with people I have genuine feelings for...

And not just a sweaty palm, cold feet, awkward kiss kinda nervous.

I am talking body shivering, hands and feet ICE cold, and overall teeth-chattering, body-gyrating that I can't participate in anything kinda panic breakdown. It is like I was in the depths of Alaskan snow that no amount of a thick blanket can remedy. 

The previous man I was with, God bless his patience, sat with me holding my hands for a full 15 minutes for my hands to return to a normal temperature before coming in closer for a hug, a position in which we stayed in for another 10 minutes until I stopped gyrating before a going in for a kiss. 

This also happened with he-who-wouldn't-ever-be-mentioned-on-just-me-anymore. When it did, he just held me long enough for the gyrating to stop. And you know its bad when you want any kind of gyrating during coitus to stop.

So what's wrong.

Does this happen to other people?

No Apologies

I can't help but stare at every man's butt.

When I was younger perhaps I didn't pay as much attention.

But now... I think of a man as attractive only if he can make the back pockets bulge out.

Shorts filling bum in tight pants! FORGET IT!

It doesn't have to stretch out to the point of ruining clothes. I'd appreciate even a visible one that I could cup and run my hands all over.

Is that a gay thing or a me thing?

Perhaps I should say this Just Me, anal sex turns me off. 

At this point, even if I did want to experiment, I don't think I could trust someone enough to do this with. 

And even if I did, I'd be the one taking it in.

But ISTG, men wearing tight boxer shorts, in whatever size. If you got a booty, ooooofff...

I'm so butt-enamoured that I'm turned off by the ones packing up front but carry nothing in the rear. 

I'm at best indifferent towards large cis male appendages despite being a bona fide androsexual.

Not to say that I am altogether apathetic towards the cis male appendage. I love them but I care more about form, curvature, foreskin, cleanliness and its capacity to get excited more than I do its size. The bigger the better is certainly mutually exclusive to my taste.

So why the butt??? Why am I so obsessed?

Sigh, it's crossed over from kink to fetish hasn't it? Good God...

From coronavirus to now butts... What's happening here?!

WHAT?????!!!!!!!!!!!

 I caught the currently most talked about virus in the world.

That's all...

2018

It has been three years since I last had sex.

And before that there was a two and a half year gap.

And before that there was a 3 year gap.