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2002:March:15
So I lost this entry I was working on for you, gentle reader. I trust you are well. I stopped looking for the entry because I realized, thinking back on the entry and trying, here, with you, to recreate a detailed account of a cartoon that terrorized me as a child, that I do not need that anymore. It was only a precursor to a story of more tales of weakness and shame.
You see, after our last talk, I ventured downtown. I was still feeling a bit weepy and guilty for what we had discussed. Not an apology, I know, gentle reader, I promised, more so that I never realize what all that stuff does to me till I see it in front of me in print. Otherwise, it just swims around in my head. So with a bit of mother's little helper and a quick shower, I stumbled out into the sunlight. I tried three restaurants, all closed, screwy hours, and there were men everywhere. I mostly kept my eyes on buildings or the pavement beneath me, but, for the occasional crosswalk or turn, I would have to look up and a guy would be looking right at me. This seldom, if ever, happens because I am usually already looking at people as I approach them. I think trying not to do that gives off a much different vibe. I am not saying a sexual vibe, no, not at all, just the opposite. I was trying my best to not let my eyes wander. On foot, downtown is just as temptingly cruisy as anywhere else in town I am afraid. So, my trying not to look made me crazy with lust when I had to look.
And I kept seeing all these things.
That was where the cartoon was going to come in because I was scared to say this. When I am around strangers, well, men, I crotch watch, I watch their ass as it is going away, etc. etc. just like any other lust crazed man. Men are aroused by sight, more so than by emotion, than women tend to be. I have used that excuse for a while. I do it because I enjoy looking. I look at women this way too, sometimes. But it is not across the board as much with women, desire wise, for me because some women just radiate despair. I think maybe I pick up on it because I have had lots of best friends that were girls, grew up around women, gaggle of lesbians latter in life, it goes on. It is always so easy for me to talk to a girl and I think that is where my interest fades because it is not as much of a challenge. I feel very connected with women, do not get me wrong. But because I am so feminine myself, I crave masculinity for validation.
I want to be one of the boys.
That, I think, is where the shame and the cruising connect. The attraction, the lust, comes from this deep voiced, confident creature, that wants to touch, wants to suck, nelly, old me. It was such a kick for me for such a long time because it was this hunt for me, this race, I wanted, in my own freaky way, to have that high school, easy sex, that I missed out on because of repression, depression, and insecurity. Oh, and obesity did not help either I am sure. The thrill passed quickly, of course. I would drive around cruising on my days off or I would fight it all day and go cruising that night. Sometimes lucky, usually, and sometimes not, but I would backtrack, over and over again, the same spots in the same parks. I even turned off the music. I chain smoked and tried to stay stiff so that I could get off at the next stop. Lucky or not, I felt more and more empty each time and sort of relieved too. I liked learning to be easy about sex itself, too. I may not have ever learned otherwise. That was the relief part, the quick farewell to innocence that I felt I could not ever shake. And sure, it gets easy, but empty because I would always feel the same after. Dirty, and then, dirtier, because if it was even remotely satisfying, I was back the next day looking for more of the same.
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