Let’s Talk About S-E-X

As a very un-pretty 53-year-old lesbian virgin, I feel highly unqualified to write about sexual fantasies, but on the other hand, I also have always had a longing inside me that has gone on three decades plus, unspoken, because I just don’t know who to speak to about it. None of my friends would understand.

They either don’t talk about sex, just like I don’t, they’re completely straight and don’t understand what it’s like to long for someone of their own gender or they’re too busy being married to even think about sex if they’re lucky enough to get it.

I don’t really think that what I feel is a fantasy, I’ve never really let my mind go there because of how I was raised and how even now I’m still conflicted about being gay.

I might be underwhelmingly low in my sex drive, but I am overwhelmingly drowning in my romantic side…my fantasy involves finding somebody who would understand and not judge what I am, understand what it’s like to just find beauty in the idea of holding hands of someone special.

That’s because I’ve never had sex. I don’t know what to fantasize about. I just know that my emotions feel like a fantasy. 

Though I can’t stand stereotypes about the LGBTQ community one stereotype I’ve always heard, that I can't quite argue with, is that people sometimes can’t decide if they want to be with someone or of they want to be like that someone. All I know is that the women I’ve been strongly drawn to in my life, starting when I was 16, are people I would love to be like, but also be with...it's so complex and yes, I'm sorry to say, confusing.

My fantasy, given all the wreckage that lies behind it, is still rather simple: I long to be another person in another body, comfortable with both and comfortable with the idea of love and sex and not the fear of going to Hell that goes with it.

…wisps of fantasy, strong despite such flimsiness, but never fully formed because of my fears and lack of experience. Maybe X was write when said write you know, but maybe she also could have said write you feel and long for 

Blasts

Mental time travel refers to the ability of the human mind to project itself into the past or future, vividly imagining and experiencing events that are not in the present moment. 

This phenomenon is often associated with episodic memory and prospection, allowing individuals to relive past experiences or simulate future scenarios.

What's remarkable about mental time travel is its ability to feel incredibly real. When people engage in this cognitive process, they often experience a level of immersion and detail that can rival actual perceptions. 

The vividness of these mental journeys can be so compelling that they evoke a strong emotional response, whether it's nostalgia when reminiscing about the past or anticipation when envisioning the future.

This realism is made possible by the brain's complex neural networks, which link memory, imagination, and emotions. When you mentally time travel, the brain activates regions associated with memory recall and future thinking, allowing you to construct detailed mental landscapes that feel authentic and personal.

I experienced this yesterday when I visited Facebook and saw someone had posted a special senior issue of our high school newspaper on our class alumnae page. 

Suddenly I was back in 1988 and it was not an altogether good thing to be there.

I used to write all the time because I found it healing and because I love writing. For more than 25 years I wrote in my private journal almost every day.

Now, when I try to write, either nothing comes out of my head or I feel like I have no more passion, no more things to say.

Writing used to help my anxiety, but now I think my anxiety is keeping me from writing. I feel anxious about so many things, more than ever. My cat helps me with with my nervousness, but I worry that maybe he feels what I feel too and I don't want him to feel anything but peace and as much happiness as a cat is capable of in this world, or any.

So many people experience anxiety, so many. I see them every day where I work, flinching just like I do when there is a sudden, unexpected loud noise, looking up to see the cause.

I recognize fellow shy people at group events, at the grocery store, at the doctor's office. Some of us push past that shyness and fake it so much you would think we are really extroverts. Others can't push past their shyness and come across as disinterested, a snob, uncaring.

It doesn't matter what is true or not, when perception is reality. There are people who are exactly the opposite of how they come across: curt people who are actually kind, nice people who are actually ready to stab you in the back the second you've relaxed your guard.

The hardest thing about being socially anxious is that it keeps you from truly getting to know someone, if you're lucky enough to have people who want to get to know you.

If only I could feel as comfortable around humans as I do my cat, I think I'd be a more chill, more socially adept person.

Rambling in my thoughts and words and sending this out to anyone else who is feeling anxious and is different than they come across to people.

 

On the way to work this morning, I heard "We Don't Have to Take Our Clothes Off" on the radio. 

Mental time travel aside (I don't really need nor want to go back to 1986, even if I did for just a second), the shock of hearing something both welcome and somehow seemingly out-of-touch with today's reality unexpectedly brought tears to my eyes. 

We don't live in a world like that, where choosing not to have sex (or even be sexual at all) is the norm. I Googled to see if this song has been updated or adapted by those identifying as asexual and I don't see that it has been...

But just for an instant it was nice to remember that this was once a top 10 single and that it must have resonated (and still resonates?) with other people as well, whether they are asexual or not.

There is so much more to life than rushing into things (or something as silly and abstract as the third date rule).

The horror of it! 😱

 

Embracing the Shadows: Queerness and Horror Fiction

In a world that often seeks to confine us within prescribed norms, I've found solace and empowerment in the realm of horror fiction. As a gay individual, I've discovered a profound connection between my identity and the eerie, macabre landscapes of horror. 

In horror fiction, I've encountered stories that reflect the very essence of my queer experience. (It has taken me a long, long, long time to use "queer" with any comfort level whatsover, mostly because when I was a kid, teen and adult in my 20s and early 30s, people just did not use that word to describe the lgbtq+ community. In earlier days, it was often used as a slur.)

Just as monsters and ghosts lurk in the shadows, societal expectations and prejudices can haunt queer individuals. The unease, fear, and triumph depicted in horror narratives resonate deeply with the struggles, resilience, and ultimate liberation of the queer community.

Horror fiction has a remarkable ability to challenge societal norms and subvert expectations, much like the queer experience itself. 

Both realms disrupt the status quo, unearthing truths that lie hidden beneath the surface. Through monstrous metaphors and supernatural tales, horror becomes a conduit for exploring the boundaries of identity and sexuality, questioning conventional notions and embracing the diverse spectrums of human.

As queer individuals, we often find ourselves on the margins, feeling like outsiders in a world that perceives us as different. Horror fiction provides a space where "otherness" is not only accepted but celebrated. We relate to the monsters, the outcasts, and the misunderstood protagonists who traverse the darkness. 

In these stories, we find a reflection of our own struggles and a sense of belonging within a community that celebrates the beautifully strange.

Horror, at its core, explores transformation. Whether it's a physical metamorphosis or a psychological evolution, these narratives parallel the journey of self-discovery that many queer individuals undertake. Through the symbolism of vampires, werewolves, or shape-shifters, we witness the inherent power and strength that lies within embracing our true selves, even when faced with societal condemnation.

As I navigate the world as a queer individual, horror fiction has become a beacon of acceptance, empowerment, and self-realization. It grants me the courage to face the darkest corners of my own fears and embrace the shadows within. 

Queerness and horror intertwine, offering a powerful narrative that speaks to the resilience, diversity, and profound beauty of the human experience. 

Let us continue to explore the haunting realms of horror, knowing that within them, we find not only entertainment but also a reflection of our own extraordinary journeys.