It's been over a year since I have written in this blog. I wanted to, but the feelings weren't there. I guess I have come to a point in my life that I have to let her go, that even the smallest of thoughts are no longer worth thinking about. Ms. A has become that part in the Big Book of AA, where it states, “We will not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it. We will comprehend the word serenity and we will know peace.” pages 83 – 84. I Will Love And Have No Fear. Recently, I realized I can give my heart away once again. This is a very big step for me. Like all the other women before and after, Ms. A will remain in my life as a memory. She will be a memory of a time in my life with neither a regret nor resentment.
As a child, I remember my family vacationing to see my maternal grandmother. Of all the people in my life, she is the one I truly loved and felt I was loved by. She was very generous with forgiving qualities that a wonderful grandmother should possess. Many times, her memory as a very giving person enters my mind only to be destroyed by my father who forced me to give back the presents or items she had given me. It was not the item I wanted, but the gesture of giving that I could accept. It pained me so much that I treasured anything anyone gave me – even time that someone makes an effort to share with me is greatly appreciated. I grew up feeling alone with everyone around me and my family being the enemy.
It is not to diminish the pain I suffered and the actions of others took against me, but I remember visiting my uncle during a vacation. My dad drove up to my uncle's house located a few blocks from my grandmother where a slew of police cars had converged on a mobile home across the street. A crowd gathered to watch. I don't remember why I recall such an event, but it made a lifelong impact on me. Around 10:30 in the morning child protective services brought three children out from the mobile home. A couple of the kids huddled together wrapped in a gray blanket walked along side the social worker from the home out to a police car.
As everyone comes to find out, the children were imprisoned in a closet for weeks at a time. The three children pale and weak walked slowly through the crowd of reporters, police and bystanders. The children having not seen the light of day during their captivity remained inside the closet in darkness. Living on a loaf of white bread and a glass pop bottle of Pepsi with a tiny nail hole on the bottle cap to make the soda last, days would pass until their caretakers threw in another loaf and a bottle of soda into the closet. The children's clothes, a pair of underwear dirty and soiled from urine and defecation were the only clothing they owned. I recall someone making a comment that at least the children knew to go to the bathroom in a corner of the closet. The only other thing I remember is the feeling of asking myself what freedom must have felt like for the three kids. I had years of suffering to endure before I could escape my torture.
As every child knows not the illusion of love, life and freedom. It has taken me years of therapy to overcome my past. Even now, the revelation of learning how to feel, how to love and not have fear of hurt at every turn of my life is a new experience. It is by looking at my actions and reactions in my relationships to others that it has given me a new awareness.
After my break up with Ms. A, I spent roughly six years of trying to kill myself. Life took a dive, shit hit the fan and I began to self-destruct. While my life was in a downward transition, I dated other women only to use them to escape what was happening to me. I moved to a different residence where I continued to use women. Shortly thereafter, I moved again delving deeper into self-destruction. I was eating myself to death slowly. The 127 pounds I had lost before I met Ms. A, I quickly regained with a little extra weight added on. I had nothing, no job and no where else to turn to.
A great deal occurred during the six years of eating myself to a slow death. I had continued to show up at meetings fat, ugly and that life was no longer worth living. Then at a retreat in August of 2007, I decided to begin my journey back to life, once again deciding to work the program I had let go of. The same way I shoveled food into my body making it into a mountain of fat, I would work at taking it off. I would not stop until I was back to the original weight and place I had been before meeting Ms. A. The problem was I did not changed my attitude, only what I ate. I failed again – gaining some of the weight I lost.
With a size 56 inch waist and a multitude of health problems, I struggled to get back on the wagon. I came back to a new abstinence half a pound shy of 400. This began the resurrection of a dead fat man to a slim fat man, with that also the new awareness of the Strange Mental Blank Spots.
It has been a little over eight months since I began the journey to change my fate as a dead fat man and the destiny of slim fat man. Along with a tremendous weight loss is the reinstatement of self-esteem, the loss of certain fears, the courage to look at myself and my relationships to other people. This past New Year's Eve, I conquered a huge milestone from almost six years ago. I allowed myself to become vulnerable to be hurt again with An Over-Abundance Of Love. This is where I am at now.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Monday, December 17, 2007
Apparently, Miracles Are Subjective
Few brain cells still function when it comes to sex. In my relationship with Ms. A, that first night we had sex was not as earth shaking as one might expect. I used a condom. I am not one to wear a glove, but the threat of sexually transmitted diseases scares me. What scares me more is the possibility that my penis might fall off therefore, I wouldn’t be able to use it any longer. I’d keep my former attachment in a specimen jar in formaldehyde, contemplating the pleasures of all the women it might have pleased. The whole evening seems like a mirage.
About twenty-five percent of my still functioning brain cells wonder about things other than sex. It's not saying much since apparently there is a fictional scientific study that men do most of their thinking with the head between their legs and not the one on their shoulders. I do not think that is a true assessment. I’m not disputing it, but I don’t think it’s true. Out of the twenty-five percent of still functioning brain cells, five percent is used as a variable degree factor, in which that percentage is used as an attempt to figure women out and how to please them sexually. In essence, it is a zero percentage in that it's a futile undertaking for men!
Perplexing, as it might seem to women, men are visual. Most men love to see women in the nude. I was dumbfounded when the two most important sexual relationships in my life, the females asked (actually, they never asked, they demanded) the lights to be turned off before they remove their robe or take off their clothes. After quick consideration of what might not happen, I immediately obliged. I recall seeing a mirage of flesh in the darkness of her bedroom as she slid underneath the covers. Suffice to say, I didn’t mind shutting off the light, after all it provided a sense of mystery, and eventually my hands traipse across her body under the covers. I felt and kissed every inch of her smooth warm skin, caressing every surface of her soft and beautiful body. I enjoyed every second that night provided since the clay artist in me loves to touch and feel everything.
If I could have it my way, I'd delete all unnecessary files from my mind. I would keep all my good and necessary files in one major Superfolder with all the important subfolders inside it. The title of one of the subfolder would be 20/20 Hindsight / Comedic Relief. This is how I actually arrange my desktop of my Mac laptop. My life and relationships might be all in disarray; at least my desktop is clean with all my files in one neat and organized folder. And, if you opened that subfolder with the title of 20/20 Hindsight / Comedic Relief, you will find a white single piece of paper with a few sentences describing the profile and preferences of Ms. A.
Ms. A as not had sex in almost five years. She does not like to disrobe, remove her clothes in front of or in the presence of a male suitor. She is not willing to take a shower with a man because of the reason previously stated. Ms. A is also not willing to perform the following sexual activities: No anal intercourse. No rear-entry penetration (doggie style) due to being hurt previously by men from previous relationships. (For the following reason, I wish I could have seen this file before commencing the relationship, but there wasn't such a thing.) She has not had or is not able to have an orgasm, vaginally or clitoral from or with a man’s penis penetrating her. But, Ms. A loves cunnilingus, to have me go down on her pussy and eat her out.
Everyone has different emotional and sexual needs, for many women the two are tied together. Ms. A’s life fell apart when at an early age her father passed away. I speculate that if a woman is unfulfilled emotionally she may have trouble achieving an orgasm. This bothered me great deal because the problem of wanting to please her. I wanted to satisfy her and could not accomplish the task with my male-gloved organ. There is another problem tied to this one that ensued later in our relationship.
I felt pressured; especially when she told me it was not a problem. I believe my male ego became involved in that I want do everything possible to make her happy. I ate her pussy as much as possible, loving every minute of it. She had orgasms as I ate her out. I also used my ‘magic fingers’ for Ms. A to achieve orgasm from a different method.
The comedic relief came in our first night together, when the condom slipped off my penis. We looked for it on the bed, under the covers, on the carpeted floor. It was no where. I slipped my finger inside her vagina, as deep as I could, feeling her insides, without hurting her – nothing. She asked me did I notice when it slipped off, I told her I didn’t know. She went to the bathroom and eventually found the condom plastered behind her left thigh above her knee. Apparently, it slipped off in the early part of our lovemaking, therefore I had unprotected sex all along. It didn’t bother me since she was way past into menopause and she hadn’t had sex in almost five years. I’d figure she should know if she had any kind of diseases. I trusted her to tell me the truth, but it bothered her that she did not have proof I was disease free. I swore to her that I was free and clear of anything she might be afraid of.
We continued to have unprotected sex that night a couple of times more before we drifted off to sleep.
About twenty-five percent of my still functioning brain cells wonder about things other than sex. It's not saying much since apparently there is a fictional scientific study that men do most of their thinking with the head between their legs and not the one on their shoulders. I do not think that is a true assessment. I’m not disputing it, but I don’t think it’s true. Out of the twenty-five percent of still functioning brain cells, five percent is used as a variable degree factor, in which that percentage is used as an attempt to figure women out and how to please them sexually. In essence, it is a zero percentage in that it's a futile undertaking for men!
Perplexing, as it might seem to women, men are visual. Most men love to see women in the nude. I was dumbfounded when the two most important sexual relationships in my life, the females asked (actually, they never asked, they demanded) the lights to be turned off before they remove their robe or take off their clothes. After quick consideration of what might not happen, I immediately obliged. I recall seeing a mirage of flesh in the darkness of her bedroom as she slid underneath the covers. Suffice to say, I didn’t mind shutting off the light, after all it provided a sense of mystery, and eventually my hands traipse across her body under the covers. I felt and kissed every inch of her smooth warm skin, caressing every surface of her soft and beautiful body. I enjoyed every second that night provided since the clay artist in me loves to touch and feel everything.
If I could have it my way, I'd delete all unnecessary files from my mind. I would keep all my good and necessary files in one major Superfolder with all the important subfolders inside it. The title of one of the subfolder would be 20/20 Hindsight / Comedic Relief. This is how I actually arrange my desktop of my Mac laptop. My life and relationships might be all in disarray; at least my desktop is clean with all my files in one neat and organized folder. And, if you opened that subfolder with the title of 20/20 Hindsight / Comedic Relief, you will find a white single piece of paper with a few sentences describing the profile and preferences of Ms. A.
Ms. A as not had sex in almost five years. She does not like to disrobe, remove her clothes in front of or in the presence of a male suitor. She is not willing to take a shower with a man because of the reason previously stated. Ms. A is also not willing to perform the following sexual activities: No anal intercourse. No rear-entry penetration (doggie style) due to being hurt previously by men from previous relationships. (For the following reason, I wish I could have seen this file before commencing the relationship, but there wasn't such a thing.) She has not had or is not able to have an orgasm, vaginally or clitoral from or with a man’s penis penetrating her. But, Ms. A loves cunnilingus, to have me go down on her pussy and eat her out.
Everyone has different emotional and sexual needs, for many women the two are tied together. Ms. A’s life fell apart when at an early age her father passed away. I speculate that if a woman is unfulfilled emotionally she may have trouble achieving an orgasm. This bothered me great deal because the problem of wanting to please her. I wanted to satisfy her and could not accomplish the task with my male-gloved organ. There is another problem tied to this one that ensued later in our relationship.
I felt pressured; especially when she told me it was not a problem. I believe my male ego became involved in that I want do everything possible to make her happy. I ate her pussy as much as possible, loving every minute of it. She had orgasms as I ate her out. I also used my ‘magic fingers’ for Ms. A to achieve orgasm from a different method.
The comedic relief came in our first night together, when the condom slipped off my penis. We looked for it on the bed, under the covers, on the carpeted floor. It was no where. I slipped my finger inside her vagina, as deep as I could, feeling her insides, without hurting her – nothing. She asked me did I notice when it slipped off, I told her I didn’t know. She went to the bathroom and eventually found the condom plastered behind her left thigh above her knee. Apparently, it slipped off in the early part of our lovemaking, therefore I had unprotected sex all along. It didn’t bother me since she was way past into menopause and she hadn’t had sex in almost five years. I’d figure she should know if she had any kind of diseases. I trusted her to tell me the truth, but it bothered her that she did not have proof I was disease free. I swore to her that I was free and clear of anything she might be afraid of.
We continued to have unprotected sex that night a couple of times more before we drifted off to sleep.
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