Thanks to the lowered dose of Paxil, my sexual response is waking up a bit more and I feel more capable of orgasm than before.
Yes, it’s going to be one of THOSE blog entries. The ones where I get uncomfortably intimate with my so-called sex life like I have no boundaries.
Which is not far from the truth, come to think of it. Generally speaking, if I don’t speak of certain topics openly, it’s because I don’t want to offend people or gross them out, not out of personal shyness.
I’m not saying I’m incapable of modesty or shyness, but my goalposts for revealing myself are way further apart than most people’s.
I’m just happy people are paying attention to me and listening to what I say.
To that end I’d answer almost any question.
Anyhow, lately, assuming I’ve not been overdoing it and draining my very limited batteries, I can at least have what I am calling a “mini-orgasm”.
It’s almost cute.
What happens is I get a modest surge of pleasure and I ejaculate some mostly clear liquid which I am assuming is prostate fluid.
It’s not much but at least it provides me some release without my necessarily having to wait like two or three weeks of not touching myself in order to build up enough – let’s say “pressure” – to have any eruption at all.
I usually continue to masturbate afterwards just to make sure that this was, indeed, all I am gonna get and to make sure I get as much balls emptying benefit as I can.
But not too long after I am all out of mojo and beginning to chafe, so I stop.
I know I will never get back the wild stallion of sexual impetus I had in my 20’s. Like a lot of old people, I look back at those days and sigh and wish I had been more self-confident and in control of myself and understood myself well enough to know what exactly I have going, sexually speaking, so I could use it to sow all the wild oats I could.
Youth is wasted on the young, and all that.
I know that a completely “normal” sexual response with others is probably not in the cards, at least not any time soon.
There’s a very strong chance that for me, sex will always be a performance. A sort of sexy show I put on to please a partner, which in turn pleases me, but maybe not to the point of cumming myself.
To my romantic side, this is heartbreakingly tragic. But despite my vulpine vampishness and extreme and joyous openness, there is a terrible conflict in me when it comes to sex with other men where I both want and fear it.
It even comes up when I am masturbating or otherwise browsing porn. I’ll be lusting away and suddenly I will have this strong fear/threat reaction like “this is wrong/bad!”.
Weird, I know. But I know from whence it comes. It’s a strange and terrible cocktail of societal programming and the fact that my first experience with male/male sex was being raped as a toddler.
So there’s a lot of dark and complicated shit going on way down deep in my sexuality.
Maybe if I was to meet the right fella and fall in love and get close enough to him that my barriers come down to the point where I actually felt completely safe with him, sex could be more than a performance for me.
It could be the mutuality I have always dreamed of. Two people sharing pleasure in a cosmic circuit where their pleasure gives you pleasure and vice versa until it all builds to a truly incredible moment of explosive connection.
Just my modest little fantasy.
More after the break.
I make things better
You know what? I make life more fun when I’m around.
After all, I’m funny, silly, warm, charismatic, and I put out a pretty happy vibe. It cheers people up to be around me, and that means more to me than I could possibly express.
All I want in life is to make people happy. A life spent spreading happiness would be like Heaven to me. I would feel like there was truly a reason for me to be alive then.
And it’s occurred to me, just now, that I do that. Maybe not on a global scale – yet – but in my own life, I liven up and ennoble the mood wherever I go, uplifting people with my large output of sun-shiny vibes.
And my lowered dose of Paxil is only making that effect stronger. Turns out that I am much more effective a vibrational influencer when I have access to more emotions.
Huh. Go figure.
And this trend is set to continue because my therapist and I are pondering when to do my next dosage lowering, from 30 mg (instead of the usual 40 mg) twice a week to 30 mg three times a week.
I’m excited for this experience to continue but I don’t think I am ready for it to be in my next month’s supply of blister packs, so it will probably be the month after.
So somewhere in March, the dosage will likely be stepped down.
Right now, I feel like I am still slowly attenuating to the lowered dosage. My mind still have to find places for the new emotions I am feeling, and that’s a painstaking process, so I am not in a huge rush.
Despite that insane kamikaze voice in my head saying, “GO COLD TURKEY! Rip off that fucking Band-aid and FLY!”
Followed by an insane cackle and an explosion.
Anyhow, back to my latest attempt to pump enough air into my ego for it to float.
The thing is, I’ve known objectively that people like having me around for a very long time but, like happens so often with me, somehow that knowledge never penetrated the layer of ice around my heart.
I knew it, but I didn’t feel it. I didn’t believe.
It’s like how I have known for my entire life that I am academically gifted (to say the least) and yet somehow that never made me feel any better about myself.
It all came too easy, I guess.
But now I am finally ready to celebrate my general awesomeness. I’m an amazing dude and it’s time I learned to embrace and enjoy that without worried that it will somehow lead to delusions of grandeur or me turning into a raging arsehole.
I’m incredible. And a big part of that is being the sweet, nice, caring dude I am.
I won’t be giving that up for anything!
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.