Starting Over

In the past, in a blog I've since deleted, I wrote about many things I truly believe in, but I wrote without absolute conviction.  I know that's probably a little confusing. How could I possibly write about things I believe in, yet lack conviction?  Trust me, I get it.  But, it wasn't so much the subjects I wrote about that I lacked conviction for as much as myself.  Well... okay, I guess that isn't entirely true, either.  I had conviction about most of the subjects, except when those subjects went against what I am, but didn't have the courage to admit to the world.  So, what could possibly be so bad that I felt I had to hide it from the world?

As it turns out... NOTHING!  But all my life, I was made to feel bad from earliest childhood about who I am; about what I am.  About how I am.  Is that all too cryptic?  Good!  That's how my whole fucking life has been!  It's had to be, because in the world I come from, NOBODY likes bisexual femguy faggots.  And, yes, I am bisexual; I am a feminine guy (femguy), and I am a faggot (male who thrives sexually servicing other males).  To be clear (do I sound like a politician?), I haven't been with another man since the summer of 2012, but that doesn't make me any less bisexual, or faggot.  What it does make me is faithful to my wife, which is something I never was before 2012.

I don't know...  Maybe you're wondering what caused all of this.  I mean, in most people's eyes, there had to be events that caused someone to "choose" to be the way I am.  Right?  Well... who doesn't like a good backstory!

Let's start with April 3, 1965.  The day that fucked up my entire damned life!

Oh... you don't like the language!  Tough shit... deal with it.  Back to the story.

On April 3, 1965, yours truly was hit by a car.  I won't go into the details here, but suffice it to say the aftermath left a lifetime of hell in its wake.  For one thing, My brain had been pretty well scrambled which reset the early learning phase of my childhood, meaning that my mind was at that highly impressionable state of an infant.  I had several caregivers at that time.  The only males in my life, to my knowledge, were the doctor and my dad.  The doctor would stop in to check on me once or twice each day, and my dad would show after he closed his service station every evening and spend a few hours with me.  Other than that, it was non-stop females.  What affect do you think that had on my highly impressionable mind?  It imprinted femininity onto my young brain, which, after I learned to walk again, was apparent in my gait, in spite of my limp.  My parents probably thought it was something that would go away in time.  However, by the time I reached 7 or 8, it must have become apparent that it wasn't going away.  I remember, vividly, my dad rebuking me to "stop walking like a faggot".  I must have become a source of embarrassment for the former Golden Gloves boxer turned auto mechanic.  Mind you, I'm not angry with Dad.  He was my childhood hero.  He's the one that taught me to walk and talk again.  But I am a little hurt about being told not to be myself.  So, here I am, six decades later, being told that I deserve to be myself.  But, after all this time of self-suppression, how the actual fuck do I turn around and say, "okay, I'm gonna start doing this now"?  Do you have any idea how many years of psycho-fucking-therapy that would take?  Given that I'm sixty-two, I might not live long enough to see the end of that long road.

Then, when I was around five years old, an adult male pervert in my extended family decided he needed to get his rocks off and used me for that purpose.  Now, some of you will probably say, "well, that's what made you bisexual".  I tend to believe that my sexuality is au naturale, in spite of what the Word of Man says.  (That's a topic for a whole other entry.)  But I will agree that the incident is what made me a faggot and sex addict.  But my sexuality?  Let's just say, I was crushing on boys and girls, both, at a very young age.

I'm glad I have the support of my loving wife and some really good friends.  Otherwise, I'd be dealing with this on my own.  People with this much on their shoulders and no one supporting them end up being statistics... and I don't care to be somebody's fucking statistic.

One last thing I'd like to say about this:  This whole mother-fucking mess leaves me terrified to be sexually intimate.  I'm scared to death that sexual intimacy could lead me to return to my old ways of whoring around.  I lucked out and survived over two decades of that behavior, but luck always has a way of running out.  I'd just as soon not chance it, and that's hard on a relationship.