CAPTAIN'S BLOG
Chapter 1: Born Of A Broken ManSuddenly, I was awake. Not with a start, but about 30 seconds before my alarm went off, bringing my day to a grinding start. I have mixed feelings about this morning - morning is always an upsetting time for me. The realization that I have to go to work; hopefully it’s at least Friday, but not Sunday ; I hope I feel good today; I hope I have energy today. I also remembered that, since it was Friday , I was doing mushrooms later today. I had 4 mushroom chocolates, each with 2g of mushrooms each, for tonight. I was hoping for some good introspection, as I’d really been feeling stuck in life lately, and basically had nowhere else to look for help. And I needed help - over 60K of school debt (in Canada), and a 14$/hr, go-nowhere computer repair job where I was the only employee of a company with just enough customers to keep us bleeding and desperate for new customers. I looked around my room in my mother’s boyfriend’s basement. We had moved in with him a several years ago, after I moved back to Canada with my mother after my parents got divorced. It was an unfinished room, lacking walls and insulation, and half-buried. Bare concrete. I had decorated the walls with old Penny Arcade comic strips I had printed out - they were good to read when I was bored. Sometimes they’d help cheer me up, and were usually a good conversation starter. As of right now, though, everything in my room was moved around - I had to move everything away from one of the walls so a new gas line could be run through the house. We were going to put it all back after dinner tonight - it was going to be a major relief. Everything felt all jumbled up with my room like that. It was hard to relax in there, like everything was in the middle of being moved out. We moved everything about a week ago, just before I met Jenny. It’s a real shame how that all went down... but I’ve got problems. Deep problems. The funny thing is, I had asked Jenny out as a friend on a random whim, to a live showing of Rocky Horror Picture Show at the Rio Theatre and because she had mentioned she has a hookah, which I wanted to try out real bad, so I could feed my nicotine-but-no-cigarettes addiction. I was invited to the Rocky Horror Picture Show even by my good friend Jodi, and decided to invite Jenny because she seemed cool as fuck - and she was. Well, mostly. She lost her cool a bit when she lost her wallet, but I got to play the hero and pay for everything, so that was nice. Looking back, it’s funny how oblivious I was - the number of times I’ve been in her position are too many to count, oblivious to the attraction of another, especially during such an epic 9-year dry spell. But she was fat. Really quite fat. She had an adorable face, however. And she smart as a whip, a major in Political Science, so we had a lot to talk about in the coming weeks leading up to Obama’s reelection. She was a real joy to talk to, and after the theatre, she invited me back to her place to have a few tokes from her hookah - strictly tobacco though she said, before I could ask her about putting some marijuana in it. I gladly accepted, and when we got upstairs, she plied me with alcohol and body-heavy tobacco tokes, and I gotta say, I got pretty fucked up. I was really relaxing and enjoying myself that night, for what felt like the first night in a long time - “Hey, you know, this girl is pretty fucking cool, right? Damn. What an awesome new friend.” was crossing my mind, when I noticed Jenny leaning against a post, and she had a... strange... look on her face. I thought for a moment, and she said “Fred... you know... you’re pretty cute when you’re hammered.” This was not the first time she had commented on my appearance tonight. I laughed about it, and considered making some joke at my own expense - or perhaps bragging about my sexual prowess. I couldn’t decide. While thinking, it occurred to me that it was a strange thing that she just said. After a few moments consideration, my eyes went wide and I said excitedly “Oh! Oh that’s...! You’re!...” I paused a moment as the retrospect hit me like a truck - this girl has been flirting with me all night! Wow, a girl seduced me! Awesome! This is just what I’ve always wanted! Oh, oh - I should do something now, shouldn’t I? 7 years of being single after moving to Vancouver and finally, this seriously kick ass girl seduced me. After the smiling and shock subsided, I looked at her, and asked “So... that means I should kiss you now, right?” She smiled at me, and said “Yes, Fred.” We kissed passionately for a short time, as I was always slightly bored by kissing, then I quickly reached behind her to unhook her bra, enjoying the feeling of the warm body of someone who genuinely appreciates me - no money involved. At this point, I had been single for so long, I practically felt like I was a virgin again. After unhooking her bra and grabbing her breasts a few times - which really did look great - suddenly, all desire to continue immediately left me. But the inertia of my testosterone was too strong... against my better judgement, I continued on. I mean, I’m a guy, right? She even seduced me, which is something I’ve been wanting a woman to do to me, but now I take the reins, right? There was also the problem of getting home - I was in downtown Vancouver, and I was utterly hammered, tripping on alcohol, marijuana, and nicotine, so there’s no way I could drive the 45 minute drive to the suburbs, and the skytrain was shut down by this time. My stepbrother lived up the street, so I could just go there, but, it’s hard to go there after turning down sex. To ring them up, explain some version of what happened, and go to sleep lonely and alone once again. It’s bad for the reputation, bad for the self-image of every 26 year old with a sex life frozen at 20, bad for the self image of a sad, lonely boy who seriously misses the attention of another human who has genuine feelings for him. And for a moment, it did get better. Frustrated and horny, Jenny aggressively grabbed me, and brought me to her bedroom, which was just behind her. In the doorway, she took off my shirt, and we moved into darkness of her bedroom, when she then pushed me onto the bed. This was fortunate, as it had not occurred to me I would be taking off my pants that night, so I had worn a thong instead of boxers like I always did, and the darkness and angle gave me the time I needed to remove everything all at once, quickly stashing the underwear in a pocket under cover of darkness - I was fortunate she was grabbing my butt over my pants earlier, otherwise things may have gone quite a bit differently that night indeed. She removed her pants, keeping on her shirt, and got on top of me, and we kissed, and as she grabbed onto my penis... nothing happened. That’s fairly normal for me - I’m a late bloomer, I’d tell myself - but I’m fairly impressively large once it all gets going, so I do my best to backroll my confidence on that. But... well.. I’ve had enjoyable sex many times, but admittedly, the last several times have been lackluster. I am fortunate to have very gifted hands as well, so I think everyone I’ve had sex with was at least mostly satisfied, but the fear of not being able to get it up is practically the only thing I can think of, plus the phrase “Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted?” going through my head on a loop. Jenny, again frustrated and horny, pulls on me to indicate that I should take over, and be the aggressive one. It is at this point, that my disappointment really takes hold. No. I don’t want to be aggressive. I want you to be the aggressive one. I can’t quite form those words - but the idea is strong in my mind, blocking out all other thoughts. And that’s when my body - after faking it pretty well many times, and not so well a few times, let me know that it had had enough of this game. None of this turns me on. I don’t like any of it. Stop. Unfortunately, and as any normal 26 year old guy would, I blamed the absurd amounts of alcohol I had been drinking. Fortunately, so did she. Unfortunately, she would not continue to be so generous with her understanding in the morning. We snuggled and watched Community. I hated it. I can’t remember why. I’ve watched it since, and I absolutely love it. I just remember being anxious the whole time, one long, slow-burning panic attack. And then we’d get out of bed, chatting or eating or watching TV or snuggling, and the panic attack would fade... but would slowly come back, creeping up on me like a cat hunting its paranoid prey. I kinda realized that I was always anxious when I slept with women. Especially if it was just for sex - but I liked Jenny. This wasn’t just about sex. Certainly, a fat girl is not where I would go for just sex. She was a really cool girl, and I should be able to be with a girl like her, from what I had known about her at that time. Of course, we had gone on only one date, but hey, she was cool and smart and nerdy and even cute in that nerdy way I have a special appreciation for. She had purple hair. We watched one of the Obama debates on her big screen TV in our underwear in her apartment. We had a drink on the balcony with the early morning sun shining while I had a smoke. But my brain was desperately trying to tell me something that I wasn’t even listening for, and it found the best way was to target me where it hurt: my sexuality. Clearly, nothing else had worked up to this point. So we fooled around a lot, but I could never get hard enough to really have sex with her. I know I can physically get hard, but none of these actions turn me on - I have to be intensely focused on the pleasure, to the point where it distracts me from the actual pleasure. I need things that will force me to focus on what feels good in the moment, otherwise I get distracted. In an effort to compromise, I found some pink, fluffy handcuffs. She says I’m cute; well, when she’s in the bathroom, I handcuff myself to the bedpost, and make sure I have on my cutest face when she comes back. She comes back, smiles at my predicament, and I feel a strange feeling, literally a feeling I have never felt before, below my guts, kinda where my ovaries should be. It’s really faint. She jumps on the bed, and I can feel a hardness returning. She teases my exposed body for a short time, then uncuffs me. I’m disappointed, but I smile instead and say “My hero!”, trying to keep the game going. She tells me that she doesn’t touch condoms - so I’ll have to put it on myself. That... is... not so hot. Condoms are bad news for me. It’s already hard enough for me to feel anything, nevermind through a condom - plus the death knell of having to stop sexy times to start putting on a condom messes with my immersion, and suddenly I’m thinking about cats or that time in high school when I ate that nacho that fell on the ground. I get the condom on me, and she lies down on top of me, kissing me, pinning my shoulders to the bed. She is a pretty good kisser, fortunately. I can feel her start to shift her weight, and she whispers “You should take over now”. And suddenly, again, I am overwhelmed with the sense of ‘No’. I don’t want to be in control. I want you to be in control. But I can tell that I must comply. I push lightly on her shoulder, and she says “You’ll have to try harder than that”. I frown. This is becoming not worth it quite rapidly. I push again, perhaps exerting only a single Joule more on her shoulder, causing her to move the tiniest amount. This is not what I want. I don’t want to do it. Frustrated, Jenny suddenly sits up. “I don’t get it. What is your problem?” “I.. I don’t know.” And I really don’t. It’s a long, weird, confusing, hard-to-explain tale that twists and turns with no ending. And it would elucidate nothing. Especially now, with both of half naked and one of us flooded with hormones. I feel like if I tried to explain it to her, she wouldn’t understand. Assuming I’d even be able to vomit out whatever it was I was feeling - so much built up confusion, from something I had wanted for such a long time. It was like my first time all over again, but so, so much worse. So I blamed it on my medication. My doctor prescribed me some Viagara. We tried again later that day. It still didn’t work. Jenny got really frustrated this time - she made a joke about my sexual dysfunction at my expense. I had been in an abusive relationship before, but I didn’t even know how to process what had just happened. She asked me if I was ok with her making those kinds of jokes, because that’s how she deals with her disappointment with other people’s sexual dysfunctions. She jokes darkly that maybe I’m gay too, like her last two exes. Genuinely concerned with the issue, and really quite interested in some sexy fun despite my bodies’ disagreement, I said “Yeah, I’ve thought about that. I mean, I’m attracted to women. I look at porn with women in it. They turn me on. They’re sexy, and attractive. Maybe I even like them... a little too much. So, I don’t think I’m gay. I’m genuinely not attracted to men, to the point where I haven’t even really tried to be with men, although I wouldn’t be fundamentally against it if I was approached by someone.” She gave me a look that suggested she did not believe me. Fortunately, I didn’t particularly care. I was relatively confident. There was just something about women. They were special. They were different.They were what I wanted. Men were... gross. Women were not. How is that people even like guys, anyways? All this body hair. Ugh. Later in the day, we managed to have sex. Doggystyle has always been my favourite, so that started to go pretty well. Just as I was getting into the swing of things though, she stopped us. She said she doesn’t like doggystyle. She doesn’t like how it makes her feel. I practically threw up my arms in despair. Disappointed and frustrated, I considered just leaving. But I liked this girl, and at this point, was invested too deep. We got along well. We met at nerd college. She was cute. She was smart. But she wanted someone I wasn’t, and I had just recently discovered I could no longer pretend to be that person any longer. She got on her back, missionary, and I tried some more, but what little magic there was, was long gone as fears of her “jokes” returned. I sighed. “Jenny, I’m sorry. I can’t.” I sat on the edge of the bed. I didn’t really feel much of anything, emotionally. I couldn’t believe this was happening. Well, I did - this is what happened with Mina and Sirena too. And Amy. And the escorts. It’s what kept me alone in my house every night - too scared to go out and met someone I like, only to disappoint them when they took me home. This is what has prevented me from flirting like I see others do - from feeling like I can take charge and, if I really wanted to, take someone and show them a great time. But I’ve always feared - and been proven correct - that my body wants something else, and it doesn’t know what. Jenny made another joke at my expense. I frowned at her. I think she expected me to defend myself - but, again, this was the expected result. I knew this would happen. It’s almost like, if I cannot imagine myself experiencing the pleasure of the girl I am having sex with, I can’t feel the pleasure through the other noise in my head. The actions themselves don’t turn me on otherwise, so I have to focus on what does - which is the girls’ experience. Her moans and apparent pleasure are what fuels my sex drive - I find disappointingly little sex appeal in being the Man in Charge. And it is simply a fact that I, personally, find larger people unattractive. I wish I didn’t, but that’s how I feel. I couldn’t imagine myself as Jenny. For a lot of reasons - one of those reasons was her body. And that, I learned, was also a problem. Another reason was how poorly she handled my dysfunction, but it’s asking a lot from someone who has their own problems and ambitions. We just met, we hardly knew each other, and I had some serious problems, and she probably did too. But hey, that’s just what happens. So no hard feelings. But wow - what a disaster. While sitting there, between her legs, I have this feeling just eating away at me - something a therapist told me a long time ago: “It is much, much harder to change yourself while in a relationship.” I want to fix things, but I think I know deep down Jenny won’t be able to handle the changes I need to make to me happy. If she can’t handle me sexually, then we’re friends, not lovers. I had to give Jenny a ride to dinner with some friends downtown. As we talked while on the way, she asked me if there was anything that bothered me about her. I knew there wasn’t anything really wrong with her - except maybe her coping mechanisms - but I had no idea how to explain how I felt about myself, so I went with the next best thing, and said the first thing that came mind. Something that bothered me, but wouldn’t end a relationship for me otherwise. I knew this was a very dangerous decision, somewhere in the back of my mind. But I was so anxious, so confused, so conflicted, and so ready to leave but unable to say it, I couldn’t think straight. This was all becoming a big mistake. She let slip earlier that she renewed her rental lease to stay in town just for me - otherwise she would have been on a plane to Texas right now. When she told me that, all I could say was... I’m not ready for this. This is a mistake. Don’t stay here for me, it will only lead to heartache. This is crazy. She needed an answer. I paused - I had to say something. The relationship was already smoldering, and I can tell no matter what I said would set it alight. It made me sad - I really liked her. This is what people mean when say they don’t want to ruin their friendship with a breakup, I realized, just before I blurted out “Your belly really bothers me." Obviously, this only served to infuriate her further - instantly turning the relationship into a raging, atmosphere consuming fire - and while her belly was most certainly unpleasantly plump, it was nowhere near as unpleasant as the things she said about my penis not working very well, nor as her expectations from me sexually. You know, I can’t believe my penis didn’t respond well to negative reinforcement. Which is good, because the relationship probably would’ve hobbled along on the good sex for a while otherwise, and would have seriously delayed what I was going to do at the end of the week: trip balls so I could find myself?, maybe. In a rage, she demanded to be let out of the car, and with a hearty door slam, she stormed off. I never heard from her again, except when she shows up on friend's Facebook feeds. I’d love to meet her again someday, but things sure went south pretty quickly, so I probably won’t. I got home and put some better underwear on immediately. I forgot I was wearing her boxers, only recognizing them when I took them off. Standing there with them in my hand, I took a deep breath. I looked at my underwear pile, and put my hand underneath it, feeling around for a familiar fabric. After a short search, I pulled out my black thong, and I note that I am relieved to have found it. It felt good to wear again - and it felt good to be free of Jenny.
1 Comment
Fred
6/27/2015 11:20:20 am
You're such a great writer. This was such a good read. I really hope I can read the whole thing some day.
Reply
Your comment will be posted after it is approved.
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorChristina Hitchens is a trans female writer living in BC, Canada. She loves computers, animals, and a good argument. Archives
March 2022
Categories
All
|