On Identity: Sexuality
CONTENT WARNING: mentions of childhood sexual assault (CSA) and grooming; discussion of CSA recovery; BDSM/Fetish
On the surface, my sexuality was never a question. I am one of those who always had attraction to a variety of genders. Boys and girls in elementary school were equally interesting, boy and girls in middle school were equally attractive. I came out as bisexual to my closest friends in my freshman year of high school, to my family the following year. No one who knew me was surprised by my orientation. If anything, they were surprised I was so worried about telling people, as I was the kid who Didn't Care what people thought. In reality, I was terrified of having another thing that separated me from my peers.
The more complicated nuances of my sexuality emerged as I was able to start recovering from my childhood. I was sexualized at a very young age, in a way that undermined all of the distinctions between sexual attraction & love (not that the US is great at making that distinction, in general). The way I was sexualized also eliminated any concept of boundaries, appropriate types of attraction, appropriate types of sexual expression. In so many ways, I was raised to be a fetish doll and that makes so many things difficult to mete out.
I still don't really have sexual act preferences. When potential partners or other interested parties ask me my kinks, I give them my hard "no"s - those lines one does not cross. There are significantly more of those than there used to be, about which I am proud - especially because they are directly related to my sense of worth.
I am polyamorous. I have been since my second relationship in adulthood. I feel caged and afraid when I'm in a monogamous relationship. I worry about appropriate displays of intimacy with people who aren't my partner. I'm afraid I won't reach out if something is wrong. I am always waiting for the trap and hunt for escape routes. Monogamous relationships are isolating, anxiety-ridden horrorfests for me (though, I'm always happy to hear they are ideal for other people - my experiences are unique and specific).
I also appreciate the fluidity of relationships. Some of my most intimate relationships are queer-platonic or traditionally platonic friendships (it's a difference that is largely dependent on how the parties involve view the thing, so don't worry too much about the nuance between them). I love the expectations of communication in polyamorous relationships. It holds me accountable while letting me explore my own range of attraction and attachment.
Ultimately, I'm drawn to wide planes where you build your own walls. Those walls have to be explicitly designed and precisely conveyed, and there is a process for changing them - minimize assumptions, know yourself, seek to be understood, seek to understand.
The hypersexuality was the most difficult for me to comprehend. I spent a lot of time being driven by my libido, and I hurt a lot of people for it. I hurt people for being secretive, for being oblivious, for being so casually sensual, for being emotionally distant. I have always been a very self-possessed person, even as a child (perhaps more so as a child), and this led to an assumption of precocious sexual intent. For example, I didn't own a bra until I was a b-cup, but I never took to slouching; adults presumed 10 year old me was actively aware of the attention I was getting, what it meant, and that my posture was to intentionally draw it. I have many conflicting feelings about this, but that is an exploration for another day.
This casual sensuality and general assumption of intent left me in a strange social space where I was a threat to my friends' partners, a resource for people who wanted sexual advice or information, intimidating to people who were interested in me, and an exception to a lot of gendered expectations. Before I consciously identified as genderqueer, I would consistently be told I made people who are generally attracted to women question their sexuality. In high school one of my men friends did a double-take when I was sitting strangely at my desk and explained, "I saw a girl sitting with her legs four feet apart, then I realized it was you." I am alternately honored, baffled, and frustrated by my liminal role, but I try to embrace it.
I am very aware of where I sit in most social situations, but rarely how other people hold me in their lives. A great deal of my sexual and romantic preferences come from this very distinct place. Lay your intentions on the table. Be as clear as possible. Everything changes, just let me know when it does. Love is neither finite nor universal - there's enough for many, many people and each love is different. I am a facilitator - tell me your needs and I will do what I can to accommodate. I expect the same courtesy. Don't lie to me. I need my own space, but I'm generally happy to share it.
On the surface, my sexuality was never a question. I am one of those who always had attraction to a variety of genders. Boys and girls in elementary school were equally interesting, boy and girls in middle school were equally attractive. I came out as bisexual to my closest friends in my freshman year of high school, to my family the following year. No one who knew me was surprised by my orientation. If anything, they were surprised I was so worried about telling people, as I was the kid who Didn't Care what people thought. In reality, I was terrified of having another thing that separated me from my peers.
The more complicated nuances of my sexuality emerged as I was able to start recovering from my childhood. I was sexualized at a very young age, in a way that undermined all of the distinctions between sexual attraction & love (not that the US is great at making that distinction, in general). The way I was sexualized also eliminated any concept of boundaries, appropriate types of attraction, appropriate types of sexual expression. In so many ways, I was raised to be a fetish doll and that makes so many things difficult to mete out.
I still don't really have sexual act preferences. When potential partners or other interested parties ask me my kinks, I give them my hard "no"s - those lines one does not cross. There are significantly more of those than there used to be, about which I am proud - especially because they are directly related to my sense of worth.
I am polyamorous. I have been since my second relationship in adulthood. I feel caged and afraid when I'm in a monogamous relationship. I worry about appropriate displays of intimacy with people who aren't my partner. I'm afraid I won't reach out if something is wrong. I am always waiting for the trap and hunt for escape routes. Monogamous relationships are isolating, anxiety-ridden horrorfests for me (though, I'm always happy to hear they are ideal for other people - my experiences are unique and specific).
I also appreciate the fluidity of relationships. Some of my most intimate relationships are queer-platonic or traditionally platonic friendships (it's a difference that is largely dependent on how the parties involve view the thing, so don't worry too much about the nuance between them). I love the expectations of communication in polyamorous relationships. It holds me accountable while letting me explore my own range of attraction and attachment.
Ultimately, I'm drawn to wide planes where you build your own walls. Those walls have to be explicitly designed and precisely conveyed, and there is a process for changing them - minimize assumptions, know yourself, seek to be understood, seek to understand.
The hypersexuality was the most difficult for me to comprehend. I spent a lot of time being driven by my libido, and I hurt a lot of people for it. I hurt people for being secretive, for being oblivious, for being so casually sensual, for being emotionally distant. I have always been a very self-possessed person, even as a child (perhaps more so as a child), and this led to an assumption of precocious sexual intent. For example, I didn't own a bra until I was a b-cup, but I never took to slouching; adults presumed 10 year old me was actively aware of the attention I was getting, what it meant, and that my posture was to intentionally draw it. I have many conflicting feelings about this, but that is an exploration for another day.
This casual sensuality and general assumption of intent left me in a strange social space where I was a threat to my friends' partners, a resource for people who wanted sexual advice or information, intimidating to people who were interested in me, and an exception to a lot of gendered expectations. Before I consciously identified as genderqueer, I would consistently be told I made people who are generally attracted to women question their sexuality. In high school one of my men friends did a double-take when I was sitting strangely at my desk and explained, "I saw a girl sitting with her legs four feet apart, then I realized it was you." I am alternately honored, baffled, and frustrated by my liminal role, but I try to embrace it.
I am very aware of where I sit in most social situations, but rarely how other people hold me in their lives. A great deal of my sexual and romantic preferences come from this very distinct place. Lay your intentions on the table. Be as clear as possible. Everything changes, just let me know when it does. Love is neither finite nor universal - there's enough for many, many people and each love is different. I am a facilitator - tell me your needs and I will do what I can to accommodate. I expect the same courtesy. Don't lie to me. I need my own space, but I'm generally happy to share it.
Comments
Post a Comment