Let's Talk About Sex, Baby!

Growing up, sex was worse than violence. When I was fist allowed to start watching rated R movies, I was allowed to watch violent ones way before I was ever allowed to watch sexy ones. If I ever found myself, even as an adult, watching a violent action movie with my parents and there happened to be a nude sex scene, like what was so common in eighties action movies, I was honor-bound to look away, for as long as the scene went on. It was okay for me to watch people lose limbs, or have all kinds of weapons, from guns to blades, skewer them or slice them up. But if I ever once willingly watched a boob come unclothed, that was the end of it. 

My parents were always awkward about sex. I didn't even know what masturbation really was until my stepdad had "the talk" with me, at age thirteen. I started feeling those urges before the internet really got its wings, so I was mostly relegated to Victoria's Secret catalogs and MTV music videos, back when they actually showed those, but only when I was alone. And I'm not talking about alone in a room. No one could be in the entire house, or I'd feel weird. My parents were not the people I could talk to about this kind of thing.

Not to mention, there were things about sexuality, and gender identity, that were extremely taboo in the culture I grew up in. A healthy man felt sexually attracted to women, did the right manly things, and when he got married, which was the only time he was allowed to have sex, he was meant to only ever have eyes on his wife, from then on. Something they don't tell you, when your hormones are raging as strong as they do through puberty, is that if you try to bury this stuff, it eats you up from the inside. 

So, obviously, when I had a fascination with non-heteronormative relationships, I had no one to talk to about it. I went through a phase, as I think many young men do, where I was extremely fascinated by lesbians. Luckily for me, lesbian relationships had a head start in popular culture, being less threatening to the patriarchy than gay male relationships. So, I had a few places to go to watch idealized lesbian relationships. For someone that age, it's easy to fantasize about things like that. But for me, it took a turn when I started to fantasize about being a lesbian. 

Looking back, it makes some sense. Around that time, body positivity was becoming all the rage. There was a rebellious urge against male control over female sexuality. So, sexy women were everywhere. Beyond just women taking back control of their own sexuality, there was a big push for women to empower themselves in other ways, with champions like Hillary Clinton and Oprah to pave the way. Men who used to be considered the champions of male virility and swagger were being condemned for their juvenile ways. For me, as a kid, I was saturated with images of sexually charged femininity, while simultaneously told that white men like myself were being given too many privileges and I had to take a step back for those same women. Is it any wonder, then, that there was a period in my life when I thought I wanted to be a woman?

It didn't last that long, all things told, but it took me a very long time to come to a point where I didn't think less of myself because I was a man. It took longer for me to realize that as a heavyset, balding, hairy white man, it would take a lot of work for me to even pass as an ugly woman. But I couldn't talk to my parents about any of that. 

When I started exploring my sexuality, I tried to hide my explorations. Which is hilarious, because I never actually went so far as to actually have contact with anyone else. For a long time, I just obsessed. To keep my parents calm, I agreed to go to a Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous group in Manhattan. I drove an hour every week, so that my parents could feel okay about me having been interested in sex. The men I sat around talking with every week, they were all obsessed with paying for sex, or having unsafe sex. Many of them ruminated on their problems for years, never moving on. That's not where I was at, so I didn't stay long there, either. 

As I've mentioned before, ten years ago I tried to end myself. My frustrated sexuality was a source on contention in my marriage, among other things. So, when I had my existential crisis, that was part of the package that got dealt with. I outgrew the purity culture my parents, my church, had raised me on. 

When I saw masturbation and sexual interest as sinful, as big deals, I obsessed over them. The taboo nature of sexuality made it more enticing. The guilt I felt when I played with fire and "got burned" was the source of an ugly cycle. I'd lust, I'd try to avoid acting on it, but I'd play with it to see how long I could go before it took me down, then I'd relieve myself, then feel absolutely terrible about it, and then turn to pornography or fantasizing to help chase away the guilt. 

When I came out the other side of my crisis, I realized that sexuality doesn't have to be a big deal. It's okay for me to feel attracted to whomever I happen to be attracted to. It's okay to act on it, within reason. Realizing that these things weren't a big deal helped me take back my life. Like an appetite for food and there always being a corner of my life that I have to give over to eating, there will always be a part of my life I have to give over to sexuality. But just like someone who obsesses over food can develop bulimia or anorexia or severe obesity, someone who obsesses over sex can become sick. Acknowledging its existence but not letting it take over me, I can spend more of my time thinking about other things, like God, like my family, like my work, like my shows and books and movies and games. 

I'm comfortable in my own skin, now, for the most part. I'm comfortable with the impulses I have. And my spiritual life is better for it.