As I have been reaching back into my past to talk about my early years and introduction to the world of sex, I've really enjoyed writing things that I rarely get to vocalize in my day-to-day life. Let's be honest, most people do not want to hear a friend or co-worker come clean about having sex under-age with men aged 40 and up. So I have been very quiet about my early years, never really letting on to those around me that I was anything but a straight-laced kid. I still play that part well, even though my sexual life has leaked into my regular life a few times recently, and many of my friends know that I have and enjoy sex with multiple men and women. I never go into detail about my encounters. I never really discuss with friends my choice to frequently go condomless. And I definitely don't talk about my early days, except maybe when the topic of "first times" comes up. I generally let people know that I lost my virginity at a young age, though sometimes I flub the age if I don't think the person will like the truth. But for the past four years I've lived in a rural area at a college filled with heavily religious people who look down on sex before marriage. Lying has become a survival mechanism for me.
That is why I love this blog. It gives me a chance to tell what I really want to tell and I can be honest. But sometimes the honesty is hard.
I'm planning on talking about earlier experiences than what I have already posted about with Paul. And I'm going to be talking about the rest of my high school time too. But every time I write a post I think, "Will I be judged for this?" or "Should I post this? Is this even ok to talk about?" I don't know if this fear is simply from my lying to survive in Northwest Ohio, or if it is something deeper. I've already mentioned that I have depression in this blog, and part of what my depression does to me is deny me things that make me happy, convincing me that I don't deserve happiness. Is it possible that I'm afraid to let these memories out because of the joy I get from writing them? Maybe.
I know it isn't a fear of my readers. The few of you who read and comment regularly are amazing and I know you won't judge me for what I write. And frankly, if some bozo does show up randomly and condemn my actions, I don't care. If someone far away from me feels the need to insult me through the internet, I just feel sorry. Anonymous insults hurt like a handshake hurts: not at all. I'm not concerned with making everyone out there happy. I'm not writing this blog to please other people, I'm writing it for myself.
Do I know that underage sex is wrong and illegal? Yes. Do I think that teen boys should sit on toilets and slurp down the cum of older men? No. Am I aware that what men did to me constitutes statutory rape? Yes.
Do I regret doing any of it? No.
While I don't think that every man should have the sexual awakening that I did, I'm glad for my own experiences. Even the truly bad ones that I try to pretend never happened. All these experiences shaped me into the man I am today. Sure, my life hasn't been great. I have depression, I have risked my safety for sex, I have been horrified by bad things. But my life isn't all that terrible either, and I have survived. I have survived and become a wonderful man. So I refuse to let myself be ashamed or afraid when I write about these past events. And I won't feel ashamed any time one of my bad experiences or darker moments show up on this blog. If the words need to be written, I will write them.
So now that I have made that commitment to myself, I would like to ask my readers to bare with me on this journey. I really enjoy writing my blog, but my favorite part is interacting with you in the comments. I would still write if no one commented and no one read, but I have to say, I much prefer what we have here. Thank you all very much. I hope this blogging adventure is as fun for you as it is for me.