By Timmy Martin
“I did not like to be touched, but it was a strange dislike. I did not like to be touched because I craved it too much. I wanted to be held very tight so I would not break. Even now, when people lean down to touch me, or hug me, or put a hand on my shoulder, I hold my breath. I turn my face. I want to cry.”
If you’re sexually neurotic and you know it, clap your hands. *CLAPS x2*
Someone on Grindr recently attempted to initiate a hook-up and I declined, citing the CDCs recommendation to limit any and all social interactions. But that was only a lukewarm explanation, a version of the truth that made the refusal more palatable to this potential suitor.
It’s not that I don’t enjoy sex, and that I don’t crave the primal heaving of breaths and collision of bodies as they undulate and synergize to a point of hubris. At the risk of inducing cringe, I am not like other gay guys, I am afraid of being myself around other men. I have a theory that perhaps this isn’t all that unique at all, but I do believe that my sexual anorexia is somehow an atypical solution, so to speak, to my fears. There is an absolute incongruence with the way I feel and the way that I express myself socially, as anyone can look at my Instagram and would be probably right to think someone who shows as much skin wouldn’t be uncomfortable in their own. Of that much I am cognizant and have been challenged by several who call me things like a tease and an ice princess, and I don’t really blame them for resorting to those labels. I am those things and it is all a defense mechanism I have fabricated over the years because I feel broken and unattractive.
My childhood home was a battleground; most days it felt like nothing I said, did or thought was right or good. This mindset followed me into my adolescence and adulthood where I made questionable choices regarding substance abuse and relationships with dangerous men who treated me the way my parents did. Oddly, I had always thought that abuse was kind of a normal way of life as almost everyone I cared for put their hands on me or talked down to me. It wasn’t until I began getting sober in my late 20s and witnessed the faces of people who heard my truth that I started to noticed that the things I’ve endured were not normal experiences.
It’s safe to say that when it comes to sexual partners, my picker is broken. My heart and my head are often not on the same page and I have been known to make extremely questionable choices when it comes to pleasing others, especially men. This is especially apparent when I am asked “into?’ The truth is, I don’t know.. I know what my hard limits are, but I also know that over the years, many of the things that were once hard limits were negotiated by a pretty face and an ounce of attention. Knowing this, it almost seems easier to avoid sex at all but it also becomes problematic when I am bored and horny. When defenses are lowered and it is easier to convince myself that this time will be okay.
The last guy I slept with asked permission to kiss me, I thought that was endearing. Later on, in his bed and in the midst of the throes of passion this guy placed his hands on my neck and really started going to town. Now, there was this man on top of me, inside of me, and I was too afraid to say “hey I am not digging this”. In fact, I’m pretty sure I began to encourage him because I knew he liked it and I wanted him to like me. Plot twist, I didn’t even really like him. I just wanted him to finish. I hooked up with him two more times after that.
Does anyone just hold hands anymore? I have repeatedly wanted to make that my Grindr bio but it seems gauche to inquire for something like that on an app of that nature. It’s like going to the store for a bathing suit but insisting on searching for it in Winter Outerwear.
I am tired of showing up to pool parties wearing a parka.
