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Virginity and sexuality, and spring.
2 years ago
General
When I was preparing to meet In on the 1st, I took a shower; I knew it would be the last shower I took before I saw him. When it came to choosing a towel and washcloth, I wondered what color and design to use. It felt important. Usually I prefer the colorful towels. Each color has a meaning. The white ones meanwhile are boring, flat, and sometimes prestained. They are hard to keep apart mentally, too. But in the end, I took a white washcloth, and I took a white towel; this time, they seemed to me appropriate. In fact to choose a towel I brought out all the white ones and examined them. I wanted the best one, one that felt good and that wasn’t stained. Only one fit these requirements. It was large, and fluffy, and unlike the others, not darkened by old blood or grime. I picked it up, feeling fascinated; feeling like I was choosing a robe, or a veil, to wear to a purification.
Because that’s what that shower felt like. Well; not a purification, exactly. But a time to prepare myself to shed my purity. A ritual. I felt like I was washing myself in preparation of receiving touch that would alter me forever. I knew In and I would have sex; and likely, soon after we met. Which we did. I walked into the bathroom feeling reverent and open, bearing things of white, to wash myself with, and then to drape over my body when I came out. I wore the towel over my head and shoulders afterward. I felt clean.
Where virginity is concerned… I have had sex before. I have done several sexual things. I think most people would consider me far from virginal. And yet because of my dysphoria, because I feel I do not possess my body right, I do not feel as if I have had sex. It’s an unusual circumstance to be left in. To me, to lose one’s virginity involves using one’s own reproductive organs in consensual copulation with another individual in a way that is natural to oneself. I am incapable of it. I do not have the reproductive organs necessary to fuck in a way that’s natural to me.
I was wondering if having sex with In would make me feel, potentially, like I wasn’t a virgin. And I was preparing for that, in case circumstances occurred that, although I didn’t expect it, I did wind up feeling like I wasn’t a virgin.
I feel… a little closer to having lost my virginity. A little more whole, in that sense. I say a little more whole, because to me, the loss of virginity is an incredibly valuable experience, a thing of beauty, and for those who want it, a milestone of being a complete human being with all the breadth of desired animal experiences. It is something I very much want; something I covet. Something that, when it happens, I am absolute I will treasure.
More of me has been inside another being. I’ve engaged in new and delightful intimacies and loves. I’ve burned in new ways. It was incredible! I have been with a man; I have been with a man I love.
I have finally had a playful introduction into new intimacy. Me! I was not serious. Oh the feelings were serious, sure. But I was able to be more natural and playful and joyful, and that was so, so valuable, I needed that, I needed that, I needed that. Easy intimacy. With someone who loved and understood and wanted me. I remember laying there beside him and thinking, and truly feeling it in the core of my spirit, “I am wanted.” I am wanted. I am truly, truly wanted. To feel wanted is such a… such a resounding experience. I’ve not felt that way. I’ve always felt inferior to other men. I’ve always felt unwantable; unlovable. For once I felt, genuinely, my body was wanted as it was, my soul was wanted as it was. I was not only good enough but idolized and desired. To feel wanted… like you have a place. Like you have a place where you are not only tolerated but wanted. There’s such a sense of belonging in that. It… it’s near transformative, that feeling. I think that helped something in me start to blossom. Small, and shyly, but it is there now, red and pink and soft like a rose, sticking out of my chest and stomach and abdomen like great painted petals. I am wanted, and I can be wanted. An understanding, a reassurance I have always ached for. I need more reassurance; more physical repetitions to write it deep in my cognition. I need to make love with him more. Again and again, until that feeling is endemic to me, and I know without having to think it that I am wanted and able to be wanted.
I felt… I felt like a teenager. Like I was young and finally exploring intimacy, as I was meant to, at that age. The experience was denied me because of my body and my raising combined. My first puberty stole my body instead of turning me into an adult, and it has been like being frozen in time. With my body not having grown into that of an adult man it is like I stopped growing at thirteen and have been frozen on the cusp of puberty ever since, far behind everyone else. But lately, I feel… it’s… it’s like the gears of puberty are finally, achingly slowly, beginning to turn. Like after two decades I am moving forward again. I have returned slightly to my body, tackling the dysphoria, and sensory experience. Understanding myself and joy and feeling. All the things I should have learned as a young teen, all the desires and feelings and experimenting, are becoming part of my life finally. Making love with In felt like part of my teenage experiences. It felt like healing. It was playful and kind and good, and messy. There was so much figuring out we had to do! Oh, how we laughed, trying to work it out! How fun, exploring how to fit our bodies together! How wonderful! Smiling and giggling and giddy and open with one another, so close, so disarmed and in love and so silly, so fun… accepting all the things that didn’t work, just laughing because even when they didn’t work, we enjoyed the messing up, because it was funny and all part of the experience… and also delighting in the things that did work. What a breeze, what a pleasure it was, making love with him, figuring out making love with him. I want to share myself with him like that for all of time, if I can. I want to fuck him and fuck him well. With more experience, I can’t wait to see what we can do with and to each other. There is so much more intimate exploration to do!
I don’t feel like I have lost my virginity. But I have grown, and moved towards it in a natural and joyful spirit. Part of me needed this, was desperate to finally have these experiences. I feel larger and more whole because of it. This is right… animalistically, I know, profoundly I know this is right. I am changed. I am more secure. I am healing the things in me that hurt, that have ached for years and years. Because it is wanted, my body is changing, and my mind is changing, as well. I am just a little older. I am just a little more mature. I am made for making love. I am made to grow in this way.
Some day, I will lose my virginity. I can’t wait until that day. With my own body whole, I will finally join myself in union with another, and that day will be breathlessly blessed. I will mature much that day. I will finally grow, and I won’t stop growing. My spring will come. My spring will come!
The springtime of my life will come. I have discovered that despite my age, I can feel those same things I was meant to feel, I can be that young person I should have been, I can experience things with wide eyes and wonder and a sense of fresh joy. Spring may be late but it is not lost. I can have that, too. It is not lost. It was waiting. It was waiting.
…I was lost, but it was not. It is coming. Spring is coming. Spring is coming! Oh, love, it was waiting; for you, for this. Spring is not lost. Something in me is starting to bloom, and I know, I know, I know what it means; the warmth of spring has touched me, and I will grow into it, and feel the full season. Spring is coming. I will feel full spring. Late… but full, and full of wonder and beauty, and play, and joy, and easy ecstasy. Spring has grazed me, and soon, I will feel the full warmth of it proper. It is just beginning.
Because that’s what that shower felt like. Well; not a purification, exactly. But a time to prepare myself to shed my purity. A ritual. I felt like I was washing myself in preparation of receiving touch that would alter me forever. I knew In and I would have sex; and likely, soon after we met. Which we did. I walked into the bathroom feeling reverent and open, bearing things of white, to wash myself with, and then to drape over my body when I came out. I wore the towel over my head and shoulders afterward. I felt clean.
Where virginity is concerned… I have had sex before. I have done several sexual things. I think most people would consider me far from virginal. And yet because of my dysphoria, because I feel I do not possess my body right, I do not feel as if I have had sex. It’s an unusual circumstance to be left in. To me, to lose one’s virginity involves using one’s own reproductive organs in consensual copulation with another individual in a way that is natural to oneself. I am incapable of it. I do not have the reproductive organs necessary to fuck in a way that’s natural to me.
I was wondering if having sex with In would make me feel, potentially, like I wasn’t a virgin. And I was preparing for that, in case circumstances occurred that, although I didn’t expect it, I did wind up feeling like I wasn’t a virgin.
I feel… a little closer to having lost my virginity. A little more whole, in that sense. I say a little more whole, because to me, the loss of virginity is an incredibly valuable experience, a thing of beauty, and for those who want it, a milestone of being a complete human being with all the breadth of desired animal experiences. It is something I very much want; something I covet. Something that, when it happens, I am absolute I will treasure.
More of me has been inside another being. I’ve engaged in new and delightful intimacies and loves. I’ve burned in new ways. It was incredible! I have been with a man; I have been with a man I love.
I have finally had a playful introduction into new intimacy. Me! I was not serious. Oh the feelings were serious, sure. But I was able to be more natural and playful and joyful, and that was so, so valuable, I needed that, I needed that, I needed that. Easy intimacy. With someone who loved and understood and wanted me. I remember laying there beside him and thinking, and truly feeling it in the core of my spirit, “I am wanted.” I am wanted. I am truly, truly wanted. To feel wanted is such a… such a resounding experience. I’ve not felt that way. I’ve always felt inferior to other men. I’ve always felt unwantable; unlovable. For once I felt, genuinely, my body was wanted as it was, my soul was wanted as it was. I was not only good enough but idolized and desired. To feel wanted… like you have a place. Like you have a place where you are not only tolerated but wanted. There’s such a sense of belonging in that. It… it’s near transformative, that feeling. I think that helped something in me start to blossom. Small, and shyly, but it is there now, red and pink and soft like a rose, sticking out of my chest and stomach and abdomen like great painted petals. I am wanted, and I can be wanted. An understanding, a reassurance I have always ached for. I need more reassurance; more physical repetitions to write it deep in my cognition. I need to make love with him more. Again and again, until that feeling is endemic to me, and I know without having to think it that I am wanted and able to be wanted.
I felt… I felt like a teenager. Like I was young and finally exploring intimacy, as I was meant to, at that age. The experience was denied me because of my body and my raising combined. My first puberty stole my body instead of turning me into an adult, and it has been like being frozen in time. With my body not having grown into that of an adult man it is like I stopped growing at thirteen and have been frozen on the cusp of puberty ever since, far behind everyone else. But lately, I feel… it’s… it’s like the gears of puberty are finally, achingly slowly, beginning to turn. Like after two decades I am moving forward again. I have returned slightly to my body, tackling the dysphoria, and sensory experience. Understanding myself and joy and feeling. All the things I should have learned as a young teen, all the desires and feelings and experimenting, are becoming part of my life finally. Making love with In felt like part of my teenage experiences. It felt like healing. It was playful and kind and good, and messy. There was so much figuring out we had to do! Oh, how we laughed, trying to work it out! How fun, exploring how to fit our bodies together! How wonderful! Smiling and giggling and giddy and open with one another, so close, so disarmed and in love and so silly, so fun… accepting all the things that didn’t work, just laughing because even when they didn’t work, we enjoyed the messing up, because it was funny and all part of the experience… and also delighting in the things that did work. What a breeze, what a pleasure it was, making love with him, figuring out making love with him. I want to share myself with him like that for all of time, if I can. I want to fuck him and fuck him well. With more experience, I can’t wait to see what we can do with and to each other. There is so much more intimate exploration to do!
I don’t feel like I have lost my virginity. But I have grown, and moved towards it in a natural and joyful spirit. Part of me needed this, was desperate to finally have these experiences. I feel larger and more whole because of it. This is right… animalistically, I know, profoundly I know this is right. I am changed. I am more secure. I am healing the things in me that hurt, that have ached for years and years. Because it is wanted, my body is changing, and my mind is changing, as well. I am just a little older. I am just a little more mature. I am made for making love. I am made to grow in this way.
Some day, I will lose my virginity. I can’t wait until that day. With my own body whole, I will finally join myself in union with another, and that day will be breathlessly blessed. I will mature much that day. I will finally grow, and I won’t stop growing. My spring will come. My spring will come!
The springtime of my life will come. I have discovered that despite my age, I can feel those same things I was meant to feel, I can be that young person I should have been, I can experience things with wide eyes and wonder and a sense of fresh joy. Spring may be late but it is not lost. I can have that, too. It is not lost. It was waiting. It was waiting.
…I was lost, but it was not. It is coming. Spring is coming. Spring is coming! Oh, love, it was waiting; for you, for this. Spring is not lost. Something in me is starting to bloom, and I know, I know, I know what it means; the warmth of spring has touched me, and I will grow into it, and feel the full season. Spring is coming. I will feel full spring. Late… but full, and full of wonder and beauty, and play, and joy, and easy ecstasy. Spring has grazed me, and soon, I will feel the full warmth of it proper. It is just beginning.
