Here we have it, the last guest post of this month but by no means the least.
This post is written by my best friend, as he wants to remain completely anonymous and couldn’t think of a suitable pseudonym for himself, he shall be known as The Scottish One.
Men. I must admit; I am quite the fan. Nothing gets my nether regions twitching more than a lightly muscled, stubbled, dark haired man with deep brown eyes. Even the slightest bit of skin contact, texture of their hair, firmness and heat of their skin will have me ready to tear their clothes off there and now and fuck like rampant rabbits. This is not something I would ever consider discussing [until recently] with another person or even aloud. Quite liberating.
It’s odd to think that I’ve never thought of myself [or even been considered to my knowledge] a sexual being. In fact, the view from my nice, safe and warm cupboard for most of my adult life had shaped an ambivalence about the whole subject of sex. In my mind it had been watered down to a purely logical ‘function’ of my body. It wasn’t required for day-to-day living. Going even so far as deluding myself that I wasn’t going to partake in the dance of chasing romance and a good fucking. It was all rationalised away into a neat little box and tucked away on a shelf to be forgotten and never opened again.
My first experience with men was, terrible. It was in a hotel room, awkward, felt sleazy, especially after drinking rather heavily. It was a monumentally stupid idea. Stupid, silly, fun, terrifying, bewildering, embarrassing. After an unspecified amount of time, lying there on the bed, skin against skin, I could feel colour creep back into my universe again. Along with the stupid grin on my face. It was one of those points in time that spurred me on to take up the merry dance. I sought out others and did, what I considered was, the outright insane.
At the ripe old age of the latter half of twenty-something it was time to kick the door open to my cupboard to show my closest friends [and some family] what was hidden in the box that I never spoke about. Despite it being an insignificant fraction of who I am, there is still so much worry and fear of rejection by those who you’ve kept close. It was humbling to say the least that I have friends and some relatives who don’t care about that little dingy cupboard I hid myself in. They didn’t care. Massive anti-climax. It wasn’t a huge problem and that was perfect.
The rationale for the ‘reveal’ was that I [thought foolishly that I had] finally found someone. He was my first stab at something meaningful. Like sex, emotional relationships were rationalised away into the box. It wasn’t considered a ‘requirement’ in my functional monotone universe. In a short while, he changed all that. There was care, concern, laughter and enjoying another human being. The best bit was just the simple act of sitting on the couch, in his arms, just being there in the moment. I still miss that [and him]. Most importantly; I am still trying to find that again.
I suppose my meandering point in this self indulgent diatribe could be summed up thusly [TL;DR]
Considering the time you get in this universe is short and precious; without warning it can, and will be taken from you. Despite who, what you are or identify as, shape, colour, creed. Don’t waste it in a cupboard clutching a box in fear, wishing for something better.
No matter how scared you are or how bad you think it is, it could be worse.
You could be on fire…
I would like to thank everyone who has read and commented on all of the guest posts this month and more importantly I would really like to thank everyone of the people who has contributed a guest post this month. It has truly been an honour to hosts such an interesting range of posts.
A new post from me will be up soon.