Broken

The other day I stumbled upon this blog and it made me very sad for myself. Occasionally that happens, when I come across somebody whose beauty of the soul is so much deeper and purer than mine could ever be.

Sexeteria had a post a good while back that was tangentially about bloggers and their sex lives. I read that and it, too, made me sad for myself because I don't have a sex life. Well, technically I have one, as I seem to manage to get laid once a year (sometimes even twice!). But if my sex life had a visual representation, it would be the despondent, blue-filtered, gothic of a Whistler painting. It certainly would not be the glorious uber-Technicolor of real life.

Where are the orgasms and the man who actually lusts over me? The man who doesn't stop precisely because I'm actually enjoying his ministrations. The man who treats me like a woman, instead of a body.

I think and I think and I think about all these things. I think about the great sex I've never had, and the all-too-mediocre sex I have had. I think of other people having healthy relationships, and the poison relationships that I know are out there, of the ups and the downs and all the things that make up life. Round and round in my head, I think about these things. And I think about myself and the complete absence of all those things, and all I can come up with is that I must be broken. Broken and nonfunctional, not to have experienced so much of what it's like to be human.

To make it through the day with all of its petty insults, I tell myself that I am better off with things how they are now. I will probably never know the bliss of having my affections reciprocated, but I will also never have the torture rack of not knowing where I stand. Sometimes, when I feel I actually could put forth the effort to change things, I don't even know where to begin. How do I explain my past so that it's not actively repulsive to a normally functioning person?

I have of late considered putting a request out on Craigslist, but that path could easily go so very, very, wrong. I do not need the off-hand rejection based on a photo. I do not need another sexual encounter that is little more than a man masturbating using my body instead of his hand. I do not need the rejection and humiliation of fucking a man and then being told it did nothing for him. I do not need to be as close to someone as two people can physically get and still feel completely alone.

And yet, what else can I do?