A Lover's Education

       Sexual frustration became the norm for me from the age of about....six....until my mid-twenties.
       Like a lot of boys, I started pleasuring myself early. It felt good. So I did it. As a kid, that’s all the reason I needed to do something. True hedonism. Luckily, I’ve retained a healthy dose of that attitude through adulthood.     
       I developed a foot fetish around a tender age as well. And I remember getting “turned on”, if such a term is applicable to a person still writing with crayons, by seeing girls tied up. So my foray into the world of BDSM began before I could even tie a knot. On the TV show “Batman”, Batgirl was always getting bound and gagged. Man did I dig that.
       Before anybody starts shouting “kiddie porn”, I’m sharing this partly because the natural early sexualization of boys is something that our society would rather not admit. I’m loudly speaking out against the tragic shame boys are subject to for making themselves feel good. Naturally, that is biologically, through no choice of their own, boys develop a sense of pleasure from their private parts at a young age. And we get nuked for it. So before we know what’s happening, we learn that feeling good “down there” is a bad, shameful thing. It fucks us up.  
       We get that we shouldn’t touch ourselves in public. Well, most of us get that. But then it’s a complete mind fuck when we do it in the privacy of our own bedroom or bathroom, get bagged, and then get punished, ridiculed, shamed, emasculated, and a host of other fun degradations. Women travel a different road, but they don’t have it any easier.    
       As I got older, I had to unlearn what I learned. I say to myself, “Okay. Let me get this straight. It felt good. It felt natural. Damn it, I didn’t put the urge there. One day, it was just there. I learned to do it in private. And I’m still told it’s bad and I get punished for it. What the fuck?”
       I was fortunate that I had good genes. By the time I hit seventeen, I was a good looking dude with a nice body. Girls began digging me, so things got a little easier. And, from an early age, I was on a path. Insatiably curious, sensitive, introspective, intense, artistic, passionate, and creative, I was “looking at myself” and at my life before I knew what I was doing. All of this lead me to start examining my sexuality relatively young.
       I started unwinding the story of bullshit I got from my parents and from society and I started writing my own story. I didn’t know I was doing that, wasn’t totally conscious of it, until well into my twenties. I just knew that what I thought and what I felt and what I experienced went against, on an intellectual level, on an emotional level, on a gut level, and on a common sense level, what I had been told and sold.
       That didn’t mean, however, that I was getting laid. Far from it in the beginning. I wanted sex, but didn’t really know how to get it. I was with a lot of women, but I wasn’t getting my rocks off.  
       My perpetual sexual frustration, however, gave me an invaluable gift. A gift that still gives to me today and will continue to give to me until I lust no more. The gift is that I cherish and value and make the most of every romantic moment I have with a woman. Because I wanted it so bad for so long and never got it, I developed a profound appreciation for whatever I got. So if all we did was hug, then I got really into it. I hugged you really well, and I became a great hugger. If all we did was kiss, well I was totally stoked. I became a great kisser, and would kiss, and just kiss, a woman for hours. If all we did was share the bed and touch a little, I was cool with that. I learned how to really touch a woman. Because, apparently, that’s all I was gonna get. So I better love it and I better get good at it.
       Finally, when I started having sex, I applied the same attitude. Because it’s all I knew.
       I’ve talked to lots of guys about this, and it surprises them. Because for most men, standard operating procedure is that if you’re not going to have sex with me, then we’re not going to sleep in the same bed together. If we’re messing around on my couch and I try to feel you up and you reject me, then you’re out the door before my head hits the pillow. I didn’t do it that way. I loved sleeping next to a woman, no matter how far it did or didn’t go. I loved feeling her warm, soft, feminine body next to mine; spooning her, inhaling her scent, rubbing her skin, smelling her hair, squeezing her tight. I relished the feeling that tonight, we care about each other. We didn’t have to fuck for me to enjoy our time in bed together.
       That made me a better lover. Because, and here’s a love tip gentlemen: it’s all important. The hugging. The holding hands. The kissing. The cuddling. The touching. The love making. The after love making. I learned to relish it all. Kind of like a guy who grows up poor, makes a lot of dough when he’s an adult, and develops a healthy sense of value about money. I developed a sense of value about being with a woman. And I developed a sense of appreciation for women in general. They are beautiful, divine, luscious  creatures. And I treat them accordingly.
       I didn’t properly make out with a girl until I was seventeen. Second and third base eluded me until that age as well. Lost my virginity at nineteen. Didn’t start having regular sex until I was twenty-three. All the while, I’m burning up inside. So however much fire I was allowed to release, I made the most of it. I was passionate. And intense. And attentive. And really into it. And she was the only thing in the world to me for the time we were going at it, no matter what we were going at. I never took sex for granted. I was always fully invested in the passionate moment. Like a quarterback at a Super Bowl, I realized this was special. My attitude of appreciation, wonder, and excitement was omnipresent. All those years of frustration and pain and disappointment conditioned me to love every intimate moment with her. And in the back of my being, there was always the realization that I may never be back here again. So I better make it count.....
       My sexual liberation started young and continues, every day. As I learn to love and accept myself more, I more readily appreciate and embrace the vastness of myself. And part of that vastness is sexual. The more we love and accept ourselves, the more we embrace our vast and beautiful and intense sexuality, the more wide open, fun, exciting, adventurous, passionate, and satisfying our sex lives.     
       And you can take that to the fuckin’ bank.


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