January 15, 2020
I feel it important to add that it’s not that sex itself feels bad.
Why?
Why does it not feel bad?
No. Why do you feel it important to add that?
Because to not do so would do a disservice to my years trying to be sexually active. They weren’t bad years, and I did have some success at it.
JD and I eventually got together. We had a good amount of sex. We went to the Underground parties — orgies, really — and had lots of fun there. Bel and I had a good amount of sex, and it was pretty good. I looked forward to seeing them, simply because the sex was pretty good, as well as because they were good friends.
So if the sex was pretty good, if you still had a lot of fun playing around with your husband, why did you stop? Why did you eventually remove your choice in the matter and chemically castrate yourself?
Perhaps because I resented needing sex. I was insatiable, yet it seemed to me to be no more than a puerile affliction, like baby teeth.
I resented how I shared so many wonderful and complete sexual interactions with people when my own body was not involved. I resented how how good sex could be and yet never was. I resented how easy it was for some people to have good sex when, for me, even at my freest, I was so rarely able to manage much more than a confused, anxious jumble of physical interaction that was driven so often by the mere need to ejaculate.
You resented that you had to take part so wholeheartedly, too. You resented that you had to stop, to do nothing but sex for so long.
Yes. I could typefuck and read. I could typefuck and do homework. I could typefuck and browse porn. I could typefuck twice at the same time, or three times, spending time with one person on SPR and another on FurryMUCK, or hell, two people on one MUCK, one in the same room while paging another elsewhere.
Hell, I resent having to focus on a single thing even now. Even as I write this, I’m on a train with no cell signal, and I resent the fact that I have to focus just on this without the ability to tab over and, say, chat with someone.
Do you resent this forced interaction with me?
No, or perhaps no more than usual. I would resent being only able to work on typesetting or software, too, just as I resent going out to the movies for making me do nothing but consume a single piece of media.