I have never been able to go farther than kissing guys, and whenever I do, no matter how good it may be at the time, i will always feel sick afterwards. Then I resent the guy, because I feel he somehow caused this pain. Whenever guys want to be "more than friends," no matter how much I too want to be more than friends, I begin to become suspicious. I wonder, what would change if we became more? and then I answer my question with the physical aspects of a relationship. This always makes me angry at them, because of what I happened to me, its like I think that sex is the most selfish act possible, although I know thats not the way it is, but I cant kill this thought. So I then get mad at them, because I feel like they want to bump our relationship to the next level, purely out of sick, selfish desires. I know this isn't true, that they care about me and all, but you cant just tell yourself something and make it so. There are too many other competing emotions and memories that drown out this logic. So, I am trying to be more trusting, but it is very, very hard.
3/9/99...i went out a couple nights ago, with a friend, to meet a few of her friends, watch some movies, whatever. there was this guy there...interesting, witty, intriguing. we had conversation, which somehow led to cuddling, which (quite surprisingly) led to the two of us wrapped in each other's arms on someone else's couch, kissing. after a few moments of mindlessness, i began to think it over. i never did things like this, so sudden and spontaneous. i didn't know his favorite color, his middle name, if he liked pineapple. so we went for a walk, in the country, beneath the stars i miss from my farmland sanctuary. and as we were walking, we talked of so much; parents, friends, emotions, sex, opinions. neither of us wanted a relationship, but we had fun flirting, holding hands, chasing each other playfully along the deserted road. halfway through the midnight trek, i told him about what had happened to me, wording it carefully so i didn't have to say any of the emotional keywords: molest, victim, scary, unwilling. those four always seem to get me pretty worked up, and somehow i always try to avoid them. there was a long silence after i spoke of it, and just our breath misting in the cold air, until he said, "you know it wasn't your fault." a statement. not a question. a statement. i closed my eyes for a brief moment, feeling warmth creep into me from an unknown source. "yes," i said. "i know." and he kissed me again, and held me, and touched me, and there was not a trace of fear. another piece of my cocoon has flaked off, left behind on that cold road, left behind. the night has taken my old mask, and i have seen myself shine through.
I want to keep this short because in about ten minutes, my best friend and my girlfriend are going to come find me. He's dying her hair blue again. Freaks. Both of them. There are so
many wonderful things that I could tell you about this guy, but I'm going to limit it to simply
this: he is the first man that I ever felt comfortable with sexually. I don't really know how
to explain it well. I mean, we never really loved each other in a romantic way - but we were
just sort of friends who trusted each other enough to do things. By the time I was thirteen or
so I was pretty much giving men anything they wanted and making a total boywhore of myself. He
was the first guy to ever respect me though. And I can't even define how I can be sure of
this. Its just something that I felt. When he touched me I didn't feel dirty. He was the
first person that I ever cared for and made love to. He was the first guy who was ever
concerned about what *I* felt - not just his own dick. And in everything he has said and
everything he has done for me while we've known each other - he has shown me that I'm a good
person. That I Deserve to be heard and cared for. He makes me feel like I'm real and even
after he found out what happened he still makes me feel... real. Like I'm still a person and
not just a victim. I'm not sure if he'll ever know how much he's changed this boy's life.
-anonymous
-butterfly
-jim
