A Eunuch Sex Life
For those who disdain matters of the fundament, please consider yourself fairly warned by the plain title. This post and comments are about the sex life of a human being. If this is disinteresting or repugnant to you, just don't read it.
This disclaimer is probably only regarded as neccesary because of the programming I've inherited from my own parents, who were raised with very reactionary principles aimed at controlling human nature in service to authoritarianism or a diligent breeding program; I've never really been able to identify the supposed beneficiaries of conventional sexual morality of Great Britain/White Australia circa 1950-1980. But a repressed human is easier to subjugate and control. On the other hand, a human free to maximise the power of their libido can seem terrifying to uptight conservatives. Perhaps I am only free from the limits of my sick and perverse conditioning (as I now judge the repressive sexual slavery beaten into children as "morality") because I have removed the prime physical location of these proscriptions, that is, I have removed my genitals.
For those seeking salacious stimulation, well, I hope something erotically postive happens eventually, but the purpose of this blog is to truthfully explore, and frankly, there's not been much sexual satisfaction in the last few years. However, you may find my adventures amusing, instructive as cautionary tales, or of obscure morbid interest.
It's astonishing that someone who has had a broader range of sexual experience than anyone who hasn't been a young queen working in a gay nightclub, a tranny on the gay and lesbian scene, or a sex worker on the street, should discover how far behind they are the basic common sexual techniques of"picking up". I guess I've avoided this gap by having proscribed roles, such as the flirtatious glass collector, or the intriguing transsexual, or the professionally available sex worker, but I have never managed to get the hang of cruising.
Cruising.
Just sitting around, looking for sex, looking like you're looking for sex, realising that everyone else looking can tell you are doing nothing but sitting and looking for sex, but then, that's what most of them are doing too, and we are all vulnerable, all having to expose ourselves to the reality that some of the people we are looking at will look away, and some of the people we wish would look at us never do, and sometimes it's really hard to tell if you are being looked back at or if he's just looking around or looking at someone behind you, or maybe he is looking at you, and he is looking in your direction still, and you are trying to combine looking casually around so not everyone else knows you are staring at him, and looking at him enough so that if he is looking at you he knows that you are looking at him, and he stands up and he is half standing up, you're at a nude beach and while it's about twenty metres away you can just see, without making it too obvious you want to ravenously stare, more than half a stiffie, propping out the undies he's just put on, and your breathing changes, and you realise you don't know what happens next, and if you allow your body to move or stretch or relax everyone knows what you are thinking because your body language is big and girly and mercilessly reveals your most personal and intimate sexuality to anyone watching.
And you maybe get enough sense to think Oh so casually that maybe that's enough beach for the day, and ever so casually not looking at him get dressed, and notice he is sitting at the base of the stairs, and he starts up the stairs as you approach, and what happens now, isn't this what's supposed to happen next, but what do you do now, you don't know, there's no map, no guide book, no friends giving instruction, advice or support, you're on your own, entirely and absolutely, on your own with the most important and meaningful thing in your life at stake, and you are walking behind him up the stairs and hill, slowing down from your normal pace to keep pace with him, and you are raw and exposed and bursting with emotion, and you pass him and begin hyperventilating, your breath almost overwhelmed with the huge electric charge hanging in the air, and you pass the toilets, and is that where you are supposed to go, and you realise you have no idea what happens next, what to do next, you can’t just casually wander into the men’s toilet when you are habituated to the plumbing facilities more in line with your plumbing facilities, you don’t really want to be intimate in the ladies loo either, and you sense this is deviating from what normally happens in cruising on this beach, it feels like that dream where you are on stage and everyone is watching you and you don’t know the next line, and you can't talk to him anyway because you'd sound like a panting puppy, so you walk on, and you sit down on a bench hoping he might come and sit next to you, but after about five minutes an old fat man has perched nearby, so you return to the roadway, and that's the last you see of the tall slim delicious looking man.
And you tell yourself that you didn't blow it all by yourself, he could have said something too as you passed him, or maybe you should have glanced at him as you passed him, yes, that might have helped, but you were embarrassed by your panting and drooling and anxious look of hunger, but next time you can keep your breath under control enough to say hello, and you assure yourself that you'll be okay even if you say something and he wasn't interested in you in the first place, because you've done nothing wrong, and the knockbacks are not what counts, they just don't matter, they are statistically inevitable but of absolutely no harm unless you choose to be negatively focussed, and you realise you can do this, this terrifying thing absolutely on your own without a safety net, this matter of utmost importance without any idea of what's beyond the next step, and not a very clear idea of what the next step is, you can do this, sitting around and exposing your desire, exposing your raw hungry vulnerable humanity, and you can do more of it without fear, and maybe that tent-pole was for you, and you can cruise, and maybe one time not too far away you can pick up, and you feel more confident that can happen than you have felt in a very very long time.
The important step, I think, was recognising the panic, and resolving to choose a more useful response next time. There’s not much I can do if I have let my breath go and can’t speak. But I can notice when it is getting ragged, and reign it in. I know how to do this; I’ve done Pranayama (yogic breathing), I can do this. And not let fear of rejection keep me from living. Throw that dice, lose five out of six times, so what, there's nothing bet if you lose, and the more you play, the more you can win. Throw that dice, safe in the knowledge that you may not win everytime, but there's actually nothing to lose that you don't already lose by not playing.
And hey, I could do with more practice, but I have learned that I can cruise. And my homework is: more cruising practice.
This topic continues in my more personally intimate blog http://www.eunuchlove.blogspot.com
This disclaimer is probably only regarded as neccesary because of the programming I've inherited from my own parents, who were raised with very reactionary principles aimed at controlling human nature in service to authoritarianism or a diligent breeding program; I've never really been able to identify the supposed beneficiaries of conventional sexual morality of Great Britain/White Australia circa 1950-1980. But a repressed human is easier to subjugate and control. On the other hand, a human free to maximise the power of their libido can seem terrifying to uptight conservatives. Perhaps I am only free from the limits of my sick and perverse conditioning (as I now judge the repressive sexual slavery beaten into children as "morality") because I have removed the prime physical location of these proscriptions, that is, I have removed my genitals.
For those seeking salacious stimulation, well, I hope something erotically postive happens eventually, but the purpose of this blog is to truthfully explore, and frankly, there's not been much sexual satisfaction in the last few years. However, you may find my adventures amusing, instructive as cautionary tales, or of obscure morbid interest.
A Tale of Lady Jane Beach
It's astonishing that someone who has had a broader range of sexual experience than anyone who hasn't been a young queen working in a gay nightclub, a tranny on the gay and lesbian scene, or a sex worker on the street, should discover how far behind they are the basic common sexual techniques of"picking up". I guess I've avoided this gap by having proscribed roles, such as the flirtatious glass collector, or the intriguing transsexual, or the professionally available sex worker, but I have never managed to get the hang of cruising.
Cruising.
Just sitting around, looking for sex, looking like you're looking for sex, realising that everyone else looking can tell you are doing nothing but sitting and looking for sex, but then, that's what most of them are doing too, and we are all vulnerable, all having to expose ourselves to the reality that some of the people we are looking at will look away, and some of the people we wish would look at us never do, and sometimes it's really hard to tell if you are being looked back at or if he's just looking around or looking at someone behind you, or maybe he is looking at you, and he is looking in your direction still, and you are trying to combine looking casually around so not everyone else knows you are staring at him, and looking at him enough so that if he is looking at you he knows that you are looking at him, and he stands up and he is half standing up, you're at a nude beach and while it's about twenty metres away you can just see, without making it too obvious you want to ravenously stare, more than half a stiffie, propping out the undies he's just put on, and your breathing changes, and you realise you don't know what happens next, and if you allow your body to move or stretch or relax everyone knows what you are thinking because your body language is big and girly and mercilessly reveals your most personal and intimate sexuality to anyone watching.
And you maybe get enough sense to think Oh so casually that maybe that's enough beach for the day, and ever so casually not looking at him get dressed, and notice he is sitting at the base of the stairs, and he starts up the stairs as you approach, and what happens now, isn't this what's supposed to happen next, but what do you do now, you don't know, there's no map, no guide book, no friends giving instruction, advice or support, you're on your own, entirely and absolutely, on your own with the most important and meaningful thing in your life at stake, and you are walking behind him up the stairs and hill, slowing down from your normal pace to keep pace with him, and you are raw and exposed and bursting with emotion, and you pass him and begin hyperventilating, your breath almost overwhelmed with the huge electric charge hanging in the air, and you pass the toilets, and is that where you are supposed to go, and you realise you have no idea what happens next, what to do next, you can’t just casually wander into the men’s toilet when you are habituated to the plumbing facilities more in line with your plumbing facilities, you don’t really want to be intimate in the ladies loo either, and you sense this is deviating from what normally happens in cruising on this beach, it feels like that dream where you are on stage and everyone is watching you and you don’t know the next line, and you can't talk to him anyway because you'd sound like a panting puppy, so you walk on, and you sit down on a bench hoping he might come and sit next to you, but after about five minutes an old fat man has perched nearby, so you return to the roadway, and that's the last you see of the tall slim delicious looking man.
And you tell yourself that you didn't blow it all by yourself, he could have said something too as you passed him, or maybe you should have glanced at him as you passed him, yes, that might have helped, but you were embarrassed by your panting and drooling and anxious look of hunger, but next time you can keep your breath under control enough to say hello, and you assure yourself that you'll be okay even if you say something and he wasn't interested in you in the first place, because you've done nothing wrong, and the knockbacks are not what counts, they just don't matter, they are statistically inevitable but of absolutely no harm unless you choose to be negatively focussed, and you realise you can do this, this terrifying thing absolutely on your own without a safety net, this matter of utmost importance without any idea of what's beyond the next step, and not a very clear idea of what the next step is, you can do this, sitting around and exposing your desire, exposing your raw hungry vulnerable humanity, and you can do more of it without fear, and maybe that tent-pole was for you, and you can cruise, and maybe one time not too far away you can pick up, and you feel more confident that can happen than you have felt in a very very long time.
The important step, I think, was recognising the panic, and resolving to choose a more useful response next time. There’s not much I can do if I have let my breath go and can’t speak. But I can notice when it is getting ragged, and reign it in. I know how to do this; I’ve done Pranayama (yogic breathing), I can do this. And not let fear of rejection keep me from living. Throw that dice, lose five out of six times, so what, there's nothing bet if you lose, and the more you play, the more you can win. Throw that dice, safe in the knowledge that you may not win everytime, but there's actually nothing to lose that you don't already lose by not playing.
And hey, I could do with more practice, but I have learned that I can cruise. And my homework is: more cruising practice.
This topic continues in my more personally intimate blog http://www.eunuchlove.blogspot.com
posted by Norrie @ Tuesday, November 01, 2005
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