Huh....No. .... Yes! ... No.
No, it's embarrassing.
Yes, the truth heals. As a healer, it might well be my job to contribute to healing sexual confusion.
It's time to break a few taboos. Taboos about sex are not taboos anymore. The taboos I am thinking of are about emotions and feelings. Bathrooms have to be cleaned, and it belongs to those who inherit the stench to do the job. In the process, the most wonderful flowers might bloom.
Allow me to ramble a bit, I need preliminaries if you don't mind. My romantic and sexual lives really didn't work out as I would have liked them to, and as a result, instead of focusing my energy on studying, learning a trade or a craft, earning money and bringing up children after meeting the possible one, I looked for all kinds of remedies to my feelings...
Emotional needs do exist, and when they are treated like there are not supposed to exist... they rebel. They disturb. They trample on the delicate stuff that was aspiring to unspoken perfection.
I am speaking about fear of private speaking here. I am talking about emotional avoidance. Maybe this is a form of impotence... I am scared of sharing intimacy. Scared of not being able to behave "like a man". Scared of expressing feelings or emotions and being treated like an object of disgust because of them. Scared... to see what happened to me as a child repeat itself, as it does, again and again, until you die, until you heal... Whatever comes first...
My last partner, that's now about 12 years ago, was abusive. She didn't hit me, no! I was much bigger and stronger than her, no doubt. I didn't hit her either. Physical violence was not part of the game between us. You know what? When it's clear that your physical strength weighs nothing in the balance of power, it's just like you don't have it. At psychological level, you're equals. You not bigger and stronger anymore. And when I say "you are equals" I don't know really. Let's say we are.
Pascale was abusive. She had no respect for boundaries. She had no idea that boundaries are things that do exist and should be respected. And she wanted a lot.
One night I jumped out of bed, put my clothes on and went out for a walk to calm down. I needed to be left alone, I needed to be left alone, I needed it. She ran after me. I can still see the picture in my mind. If our story was made into a movie, this picture would be on the poster. It was winter and freezing cold. The sky was dark. A few lampposts lightened the deserted street. She had only a white bathrobe on. The bathrobe and her dark hair were floating around her as she was running. She was bare feet.
I ran away from her. I needed to be left alone. My body. My limits. My right not to be touched when I don't want to. My right not to make love if I don't want to. My right to feel safe and respected by someone who can wait. We had sex every evening, and many afternoons as well. It's a bit too much, especially when you are not given time to desire.
"But desire comes as you go along!" she used to say to dismiss my protestations. This was physically true. I could get aroused by physical stimulation, and the thing worked. Love, when done like that, is no better than when you masturbate just because you can't sleep and you hope it will help, and not because of irrepressible fantasies. It's like pouring yourself what could look like a good glass or (of) red wine, but once you drink, it tastes like swimming pool water.
She was using me to protect herself against a terrible void that I could feel behind my back...
There are many reasons why I stayed with her for six years. All kinds of reasons. I'll talk about them later. One day I would leave her (finally rather than eventually) eventually. I know that the way I leave women when I leave them is especially painful: I don't leave them to be with someone else. I leave them to be alone.
I am scared to share my intimacy. I love life, and there are days when I am in bad mood.