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This seems to be my day and night for getting the worst of the details of my life with Charles out in the open. So often I've wanted to do that. That my confessions will expunge the damage I have my doubts. But at least I get to live up to the reputation some folks have imputed to me for honesty. (And if I did it over time the entries would be much longer and test your kind patience.)
This is the worst.
As our sexual relationship dwindled so did I.
If my lover would not (to be fair at times could not) offer me an orgasm then what was I?
The answer: nothing. No one worth knowing, irrelevant, unimportant (to those few of you who know my full spectrum this wholly in vanilla mode). You can call this silly and foolish. But, my friend, this is how it is. Sexuality can't always be about wisdom, compassion and humanity. Sex often just is.
So I look at myself in my psychic mirror. Can I be a man again?
It is a bleak, frightening question. Almost all of my life I've been 'the man.' (Other possibilities exist but their rarity are legend.)
Face it. If you are desired for your butchness you get one shot. Not two. It gets hard and does what is wanted. Or you are a laughable failure. (Anybody wearing bright pink glasses who write otherwise can just go to … )
You know what one of the worst parts of it is? If I find myself unable to find myself permanently unable to fulfill another person then I will come to hate Charles with a violent passion. There will be no forgiveness. I'll forget his name, erase him from my mind and never be willing to talk to him again.
So very unfair. Much of his happiness for the near future depends on my esteem. But if he's left me damaged I'll never forgive him.
I can think of a few people who might be able to cope with me. Not a one of them are here.