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Topics - BlueSun

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Ages 40 and up / Stuck stuck stuck (Gay Male, 44 -- Part 2)
« on: July 25, 2016, 10:02:23 AM »
This is a reboot of my reboot. I have a previous thread named This I Vow.  This is a fresh start. 

The cliff notes
I'm 44.  Epitome of Generation X I suppose.  Although I'm not antisocial, I'm a bit of a loner, and a tried and true introvert.  My decision to delete my account previously was presupposing it was going to delete my entire thread.  That didn't work.  Since all of it is out there for the world to read, I figured hell, I may as well continue writing it out.  Maybe someone out there will benefit from my stumbling recovery.  And I have stumbled, as have we all.

I was pushed into sexuality at a very young age, too young. I had a sexually and emotionally abusive stepfather who appeared jolly and happy to the rest of the world.  I was aware that I was attracted to males at a very young age and created a sort of split in my being to handle the tectonic stress of colliding worlds.  Outwardly I was a mama's boy, a late bloomer, introverted and kind, sexually naive, a little grown up for my age, a little smarter than the other kids, but a lot less physically dexterous than they were.

Inside, I was my alpha-father's sexual plaything.  He called me 'the boy' which to the outer world probably sounded like normal father-speak.  But to me it bleached me of identity.  As well, I had a sex-buddy whom I would spend a great deal of time with over all of my teen years.  As I was trying to not be gay, I would try to resist.  In the name of 'exploration' and at the whim of teenage hormones, I yielded a lot -- practically every time.   I was, in a way, his bitch too.  He always got off.  Sometimes I did.  I was his bottom fairly often ("a hole's a hole, dude").  Throughout the morning afters, and there were so many, I would regret what we had done, wonder if it was sin (sometimes I thought it was and sometimes it didn't matter), and hope that I would eventually turn straight (I used the 'late bloomer' excuse for a long time).  Sex never meant intimacy to me: First it meant being there for someone else to get off; then if I could, to get myself off. Cuddling, kissing, fondling, hugging, making out.... none of that happened here.  It was all business.  And then the next day, my mind filled with doubt, wonder, anxiety, there was no space to talk it out. 

I imagine what it would be like for each of them, my step father and/or my buddy from my youth to hear my take on what happened between us.  I imagine hearing them explain it away -- wash it out like it was nothing, as if I wanted to do it, as if I were the willing participant in the whole thing.  Most of the time, I just wanted my sexual desires to go away.  That or, become like those of a normal teenage straight boy -- which I wasn't.

Porn entered the scene early early on.  I am certain it was by the age of twelve, but it honestly could have been as young as nine.  There was a magazine in the attic all female, which didn't do a whole lot for me.  But another that had some guys in it, which piqued my interest a little more.  Somewhere along the way I had stolen a magazine, a male magazine aimed for women, and it was my companion for solo sessions for a long time.  And of course the clothing catalogs with underwear ads, who can forget those. 

But really, the satellite dish in the back yard was the mother lode of P.  There were channels dedicated to P.  And my step-father just happened to have purchased the chip that unlocked those channels.  So late nights were often spent in front of the TV.  Or early mornings.  Or whenever I could get some alone time. 

I continued the facade of dating girls... really honestly hoping that the straight-boy switch would flip on, and my sexuality would become normal and I could get married and have kids and put all of this gay stuff behind me.  But as I continued through school, the number of boys that I had crushes on increased, and the number of girls that I had crushes on... well, there weren't any. I stole glances of the boys whenever I could.  They were beautiful to me.  But I had to hide it.  Had to stay as normal as I could, which to me was basically remaining a sort of freakish outcast, not a member of any specific clique at school, just floating around at the edge, kinda strange, smart but weird, nobody really talked to me much.  I got called faggot from time to time.  I knew they were right.  I pretended they weren't.  It was hard to pretend I wasn't gay when I sometimes took the long way through the locker room to see muscly athletes.  When I got home, however, looking in the mirror at night, I saw a puny little gay boy pretending to be straight, not doing a very good job at it, with a dwindling will to try anything new. I was trapped, caged within my own life. 

Outwardly, I was a nobody.  Inwardly I was a secret sex-toy to two alpha bastards who got off by picking on someone less strong than they were.

My relationship to P began here, got strong here.  With P there was no judgement.  I could be attracted to whomever I chose, and without threat of being violated without wanting to be, I could experience sexual satisfaction to some degree, at a pace and intensity that I was comfortable with.  I didn't have to hide from it.  In fact, Porn was perfectly content hiding with me. 




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