Freedom
It's weird how pressure can affect your life. It can push you to do things you really don't want to do; it can turn you into a person you don't even like. And all the while, it's justified. I mean, you have your reasons, right?
Before that fateful Valentine's Day, I didn't even really like sex. I wanted to, I really did, and after a fashion, it was okay. Once we got started, I could usually lose myself to it. But the lead-up, the approach to sex was absolute torture for me. So many troubling things ran through my head. My insecurities and fears made it all feel like an obligation, you know? I'm not the best at describing these things. But it felt like a chore. A pleasurable chore, but a chore nonetheless. Given a choice, i just wouldn't have done it. I guess I can recognize it in hindsight a lot better than I could when it was happening.
But being on the receiving end, so to speak...that took all of the pressure off of me. It didn't matter that I was so small. My...thing...was an afterthought. And I was completely okay with that. More than okay, really. It didn't take long for me to start associating sex with Amy's strap-on. Heck, after that Valentine's day, we hardly ever even had sex the "normal" way.
But every action has its consequences.
One can't be the "girl" in bed without affecting his life. Or at least I couldn't. Over the next year, it subtly changed everything from my posture to my mannerisms. I even walked differently. It wasn't conscious; I didn't even notice most of the time, and I'm not going to even try to figure out the reasons for it. Just suffice it to say that my body language changed subtly to fit my new sexual role.
The biggest difference, though, was my confidence level. I mean, I've talked about it a little bit, but...I don't know. It was like a weight had been lifted. Before, I was so shy about my body. I hated being naked. But after a few months of, you know, I was practically an exhibitionist. And Amy loved it. After sex, I didn't think anything of staying naked -- before, I'd cover up or put some clothes on as soon as possible.
Was it better? Or just different? I don't know, but I couldn't help but feel a hint of pride that I'd cleared one of life's hurdles.
One of the other effects of my newfound confidence was more noticeable to the outside world. I came out of my shell, so to speak. I actually talked to people. I engaged them socially. I felt like, for the first time, I was part of the world rather than just an outsider looking in.
I guess I should be thankful to Amy for coaxing me out of my shell. And I am. I really am, but when I think of her, when I see her now, all I can feel is a sense of loss. Writing this stuff down has brought it all to the surface again. I mean, we're still friends, but...what could we have been? I know why it ended; I know it couldn't have continued. But I can't help but wonder -- what if?
Before that fateful Valentine's Day, I didn't even really like sex. I wanted to, I really did, and after a fashion, it was okay. Once we got started, I could usually lose myself to it. But the lead-up, the approach to sex was absolute torture for me. So many troubling things ran through my head. My insecurities and fears made it all feel like an obligation, you know? I'm not the best at describing these things. But it felt like a chore. A pleasurable chore, but a chore nonetheless. Given a choice, i just wouldn't have done it. I guess I can recognize it in hindsight a lot better than I could when it was happening.
But being on the receiving end, so to speak...that took all of the pressure off of me. It didn't matter that I was so small. My...thing...was an afterthought. And I was completely okay with that. More than okay, really. It didn't take long for me to start associating sex with Amy's strap-on. Heck, after that Valentine's day, we hardly ever even had sex the "normal" way.
But every action has its consequences.
One can't be the "girl" in bed without affecting his life. Or at least I couldn't. Over the next year, it subtly changed everything from my posture to my mannerisms. I even walked differently. It wasn't conscious; I didn't even notice most of the time, and I'm not going to even try to figure out the reasons for it. Just suffice it to say that my body language changed subtly to fit my new sexual role.
The biggest difference, though, was my confidence level. I mean, I've talked about it a little bit, but...I don't know. It was like a weight had been lifted. Before, I was so shy about my body. I hated being naked. But after a few months of, you know, I was practically an exhibitionist. And Amy loved it. After sex, I didn't think anything of staying naked -- before, I'd cover up or put some clothes on as soon as possible.
Was it better? Or just different? I don't know, but I couldn't help but feel a hint of pride that I'd cleared one of life's hurdles.
One of the other effects of my newfound confidence was more noticeable to the outside world. I came out of my shell, so to speak. I actually talked to people. I engaged them socially. I felt like, for the first time, I was part of the world rather than just an outsider looking in.
I guess I should be thankful to Amy for coaxing me out of my shell. And I am. I really am, but when I think of her, when I see her now, all I can feel is a sense of loss. Writing this stuff down has brought it all to the surface again. I mean, we're still friends, but...what could we have been? I know why it ended; I know it couldn't have continued. But I can't help but wonder -- what if?
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