Attic Tales

While I was growing up my parents never talked to me about dating boys. In fact, they never gave me any juicy or gory details at all. All I was told was that I needed to be smart, strong, independent, and to never count on a man to support me. I was also taught to be the perfect housewife. With these conflicting messages, it’s funny that my parents are shocked I’m gay.
 
Here’s a mostly harmless tale for you: Because my parents never wanted to have the birds and the bees talk with me, I had to go out and learn everything on my own. And learn I did…and it wasn’t pretty. I had lovers who told me that they knew better about what I would like sexually because they had more experience; lovers who rolled over and fell asleep right after sex, promising it would be my turn in the morning; lovers who only liked angry sex because they felt it was more passionate and honest; lovers who didn’t like to kiss; lovers who thought cunnilingus was gross, but had no objections when I did it to them; lovers who broke up with me but still wanted to have sex; lovers who cheated on me and lied about it; lovers who felt I was too aggressive in bed; lovers who felt I wasn’t aggressive enough; lovers who lost their libido due to depression and drugs; lovers who got upset with me for masturbating; and lovers who weren’t honest about what they wanted sexually.

And that’s ok.

No. Really it is.

I certainly wasn’t the perfect lover either. I faked orgasms; I sometimes initiated the angry sex, thinking it was better than no sex at all; I didn’t focus enough on foreplay; I was indeed aggressive with some lovers; and not aggressive enough with others; I’ve even fallen asleep during sex, though only twice, but that’s still not right; I was closed-minded about specific sexual practices; I didn’t take care of myself and therefore had little energy for anything, especially sex; and I most certainly wasn’t honest about what I wanted sexually in and out of bed either.

I could go on but some of my ex-girlfriends read these columns and I don’t want to encourage them to write in and add their own comments. I’m self-deprecating enough as it is, I don’t need their help.

I’ve also had some great sex too…I can’t brag about my own sexual prowess, but I can certainly applaud a few of my ex-lovers for theirs. Some have left me breathless; some have left me panting; some have left me completely satisfied; some have left me wanting more, but in a good way; some have left me unable to move; some have left me walking funny and bruised, but again in a good way; and at one point or another, some have left me feeling these wonderful moments of inner peace where I’ve felt connected with everything and everyone…especially myself.

So what have I learned about the birds and the bees you ask? I’ve learned that it’s time I unlearn everything I know. I’m starting from scratch. I’m not becoming a virgin again and getting hymenoplasty (where a woman can have her hymen surgically restored and her vagina is then magically rejuvenated) but I do want to become a clean slate. A slate that allows me to be curious again about everyone’s sexual habits and sexual fluidity…it doesn’t matter if they are straight, gay, queer, bisexual, poly, swingers, old, young, male, female, trans, somewhere in-between, androgynous, into BDSM, have foot fetishes, are kinky, are tops, are bottoms, or just plain vanilla. As long as it’s healthy, I will keep an open mind and open heart.

I’m not saying I’m going to go out and try everything…and everyone…but I want to be able to express myself sexually without any trepidation, anger, judgement, or shame. I want to be enthusiastic, passionate, and have fun…while still falling in love.

Is this a tall order? Maybe it is…but I know there is a whole sexual world out there beyond the birds and the bees…unless of course the birds and the bees are doing something different this time…then I’ll stick around and watch, or maybe even join in.