Guarantee

I'm not just seeking connection. I'm seeking the guarantee of a connection.

It's unfair.

It's unfair that my genuineness, my thirst of truth, was crunched into a fear of being deceived, of being lied to, so sharp, that now I do not even accept a connection unless it comes with some guarantee of it being true. And that I don't even know that I do it.

It's unfair because I did nothing towards it. It was punched and lied and screwed into my offered love and laughter over and over and over again by the people I felt closest to me, the only "friends" and family that were close to me. The genuine, eager boy, seen only as ingenuous and naive, was the default target for everyone's pranks, lies, and experiments. "Let's see just how much we can make him believe it". And the moment the lie was opened up brought with it derisive laughter, people running away from me, or the belittling or punishing from some parent or teacher for falling into a prank I never understood. That I didn't want to understand.

The words from my peers were dangerous. Always. No one could be trusted - only authority itself because it held the power that punished and rewarded, and not even trusted to hold truth. Whatever was said I never again believed at first glance. Only reinforcing evidence, some supporting proof, would render a fact believable. A single statement lost its worth. And I became mistrusting at the core.

And now at conversations, I do not truly listen to people, because I do not fully believe what they say. I do not believe that someone's attention on what I say is true. I do not believe that a woman's furtive look in my direction truly seeks my interest. I do not believe a group of people around me, all of us hugging and sharing the most intimate words we can gather, truly include me. I do not believe my closest friends to appreciate me for anything other than what I can materially offer. I am a novelty item, like I've always known. Nothing else. What else could I be? I know nothing else.

And looking back, I realize how my social shortcomings all scramble around this core mistrust. I am unwilling to take anything unless it is offered with "proof", and I am unwilling to give anything unless it is requested with "proof". In my mind. This proof can be a lingering look, an assurance of the eyes that says "yes, I really mean it". But the world of edges and true growth does not live on these proofs. It skirts the boundaries between the known and the unknown, where facts are scant and only inner impulses guide us, unburdened by mistrust and proofs. And as I now see it, in that world live the dance of attraction, sexuality, true human bonding, and love.

And in this world I feel graceless. Not a part of.
And I wish to partake in this world.

It hurts knowing that my earnest outreaches into the world, seeking out the mythical "connection", are felt as attacks, as an intensity "too much to handle".

"It feels like you are raping me with your eyes."

I see that feeling in others. And now that I know what it's like, it saddens my hindsight.
I hope the tears wash away the illusions that still veil my heart.

Voyeur

Voyeur

so today I looked on while people made love and played and caressed and massaged and kissed and tickled and lay on and cherished each other. Among them were two women I find smooth and attractive, with soft skin, long legs, and enticing stringy clothes. Among them also was Ashleigh, the girl I felt infatuated with since Monday. This infatuation arose from me not expressing to her the appeal I felt from her, from keeping a secret, a gap between us. That's another context, though.

I observed her and her play partner, as they caressed. As she smiled at him tenderly, and he met her face with a blissful grin and rubbed his legs around her torso. As she lay on top of him and swung her face around his in a playful dance filled with smiles and desire. And what I realized... I feel no jealousy. None? At all? Feeling into me... nope. Desire, perhaps. Would I like to take his place? Yes, that seems fun and playful. Though it doesn't match the connection I have actually longed for. The longer-lasting, regularly playful... hmmm, fuller connection I've felt something inside me yearn. It was not it.

And the desire for her felt somewhat generic. It was the same desire I felt for any of the two girls who slowly removed each others' strings: a desire for honey sweetness and tingling on my skin. It was not for their particular attention. For generic attention, maybe. Not for theirs specifically. As I noticed this, I wondered whether I wanted a life of sporadic playful, blissful loving encounters with a variety of different people. Nomadic, always new, always introductions, new dances to garner trust each time. New bodies, new mysteries, new skins and breasts. New textures. Do I want this?

Nope. Nope nope nope. I see the men and the women here who have taken upon this path, and I feel I do not want their paths. And the question struck me: which path do I want? Which kind, regarding women? Does it have a single woman? Two women? All the women? None of the women? And............. at the core of it, I don't care.

At the layer that assumes I require womanly affection, I desire at least one stable woman/lover/partner/companion/project-pal/movie-pal/cooking-pal/witness/reflection upon which to pour my full expressions of desire, of observation, of truth.

Under that layer, I don't care whether I find a woman who wants to have sex with me. I seek truth. With it, an awareness of fears within me, the willpower and wisdom to dissolve them. Within that truth, I know lies a trust so encompassing that all of Life's desires, pains, and pleasures are like raindrops on my skin. They may hurt, they may please, and they will all wash away. Water and water.

And at the layer where I am, which includes a need to be seen by women, I want a woman to come to me, to be interested in me, to show me that she wants to play with me. That she wants to see my gifts. That she wants to read or listen to what I write. That she wants us to play and experiment together with our bodies while clothed and while naked. And that's craving. Self-replicating, unfulfillable craving. While I have a need for a woman to treat me in a certain way, I am not free. I am a slave to their choices and whims. A ship with its sails of womanly desire loose and uncontrolled.