• Hools

Exploring More Than Just the Body

When I was 22 years old I dated a 35 year old. Though age has never really been much of a dealbreaker for me, he was definitely in it for my 'tight young bod'. I didn't like him at all, but felt that push of society and my very influential roommate to do the dating thing. My roommate was convinced she was going to get rid of my virginity. Not herself, because she was strictly into the penis equipped, but she really felt that it was her duty to find someone to take it away from me. The first person I made out with was a 16 year old high school student in her home town when we were visiting for some holiday away from college (though I was 17, I still felt I was too mature for high schoolers, what a prick I was) and she forced us into a room and held the door shut until we were in the the dark long enough to lock lips for a minute. Now that I think back to her relationship with me, it was quite unhealthy, and I wonder why I've dated some disrespectful dudes in the past....

The 35 year old, who I'm going to call Doug, was, as I recall, some sort of half millionaire who owned a house in the beaches and lived with a washed up old pop star (and by old he was Canadian famous for a hot second but was very much on the decline), my roommate wanted to fuck the pop star so she used me to take Doug out of their hair. I remember once we had ended up in Doug's room, lying on his bed, while he caressed my arms, probably high, and said "I know how talented you are because of you hands". I wasn't sure if that was a hint to give him a hand job, but at 22 I had zero sexual experience and at that time only grazed a penis briefly over the boxers. He constantly tried so hard to get me in bed, without realizing any of the signals that I was just not interested, because at 22 I didn't have the word 'no' in my vocabulary.

On New Years Eve, after the clock had stuck a new year and I had driven home from Missassauga from a night of tobagganing with old school friends, my roommate texted Doug to come over. I don't know why my maidenhood was so important to her. Perhaps it was because she had no other friends to talk to about sex, and I had nothing to offer the conversation that consumed her being, sex was her MO. I should also mention she would also constantly try to see my tits. "It's weird that we live together and I haven't seen your boobs yet" she would exclaim, having grown up in a household where her mom and her were constantly naked. I hadn't had anyone see my breasts by this time in my life. In fact, I wouldn't even change near a mirror. I would be in my room with the door locked alone and still cover my breasts to put on my bra because I was even too ashamed to look at myself naked.

Doug arrived, probably high and drunk, though I was so unaware of his actual presence most of the time. We spent little time in the main room before he asked to bring me into my bedroom. I don't know why I said yes. I felt that I didn't have another option. I mean, we had invited him over, he was expecting it, I had to give into expectation, it's how I was taught in school, how I was raised; to do whatever someone wanted for their own pleasure. I hardly remember much of the lead up. I know we were naked and I know that he went down on me until I stopped him. Everything was new and I didn't know what to do, I felt so inadequate because I assumed 'wow this must be what people get so excited about, so should I'. Of course I was naive by it. I didn't know asexuality yet. I didn't know it was okay to not be fed by some weird sexual hunger driven strictly by the attraction upon a physical person. I stopped him and told him 'I can't, I've never actually done this before' because saying the word 'virgin' had become such a dirty word in my mouth I had to find another way to explain it. 

I think maybe we ghosted each other after that. But I know I stopped persisting, and I was able to communicate in some way to my roommate I would no longer engage, because I had found out he had been referring to me as 'The Virgin' to all his friends. I felt so disgusting. Like some sort of unattractive monster for having not had sex. I wish that narrative was better. Even though I don't remember what he looks like and probably wouldn't stop in the street if we ever ran into each other, I remember the feeling of anger towards him thinking I was not worth his time after he found out I'd never had sex. I remember that he referred to me as 'fun' and all I could think of was, there's nothing about me that he likes except for my body, my body is what's fun and the person I am doesn't matter. It was such a horrible feeling. I began to resent the word 'fun' because I would just assume it meant that I was participating in a sexual way that aroused some sort of part of someone's brain I didn't have access to. For a long time being called 'fun' was a bad trigger for me because it always had to do with how I got someone off, without them ever asking me a single question about myself, as if Holly, the person inside, meant nothing, while Holly, the body outside, was the only interesting part of me. It made me sick. Now, when I'm with someone and they say that I'm fun I'm aware it's not just a physical pleasure instinct. But it's taken me years to get to that place.

I get afraid of being in public because of people who stare. The fact that I have no idea what is going on in someone's mind, a stranger's mind in particular, my first instinct is 'they're thinking about me naked and how they would abuse me'. I couldn't talk to anyone at parties because I was afraid of me just being another body in their mind to pull out the file and look at while masterbating. The idea of sexual attraction consumed me. I think for the most part nowadays I maybe just block that out of my mind. I'm lucky to be with people who like me for the person I am, more than just the physical body I live in. I like when partners are attracted to my body, even though I can't understand it. The words 'you're gorgeous' have lingered off the tongues that touch mine and it fuels me knowing that it's not JUST about what I look like. 

I'm attracted to the brain, it's such a beautiful thing for me. When someone allows me inside them I feel this connection deep in my heart that swoons. In a way I suppose I can understand how people develop feelings for someone they're just sleeping with. It's an intimacy that's more than just a sexual release. People who feel closer to me because they understand that me letting them in is more than just some hole to stick themselves inside. I feel closer in the same way but through mental stimulation. Those who allow me to listen to how they think, who share with me the things they're passionate about. Watching someone physically get excited while discussing the thing that fuels them is what turns me on. Someone who has a passion for music, plucking on the guitar without it being a performance, just fully giving into the instrument, is very attractive to watch.

I have had sex with people because that's what they wanted it. For me, I'm not getting anything out of it. At least for those people, because I'm aware when all it is is that end goal. Though I have to adjust my brain sometimes when deep in the act of sexual activity with those who actually like me. My brain says 'oh just get to the part they want'. It's really weird for me to accept that someone just wants to get me off because they actually care about my physical pleasure. What's nice about being Poly is the different levels of what that is for each partner I'm with. I have different people examining my body and touching me in spots I didn't know were exciting, discovering how each part of me reacts to each new person. The thrill for me is the person touching me. Staring into the eyes of someone and feeling a connection that I've lacked through so many other partners in the past where it was always just about the finish for them. 

Again, here's just another classic Holly word vomit post. But I suppose that's what life is, just excreting thoughts all over people and hoping that something strings together. It's why I couldn't write a book, there would be no chapters. And I would hate it, because I love chapters.

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