Built up and accepting
- Anon Y. Mous
- Jan 16, 2015
- 6 min read

I don't know if this is true for traditional bed-wetters, but for those of us that got there the 'Irish way,' I assume it's somewhat universal. The most vivid memory, past the shamefully coming-to while fleeing the scene of wherever it was you dropped, is the cold. One does not get so drunk that they lose total control of bodily functions without being able to snore through quite a bit. An example would be the evidence of angry situational bedmates having made quite disruptive attempts to wake me once their more sensitive skin was alerted to my situation has been at several scenes of this particular crime. Yet never have I woken from their attempts. Nope. 100% of the time I'm awoken by my frigid body having lost a couple ticks due to the cooling urine acting to drop my core temp. Why, you ask, would an otherwise fine young man find himself in such predicaments? Simple, really. I get boners then I jerk off and then I feel lik
97% of men in surveys say that they masturbate, the other 3% lie about it. It's a bit too perfect an e shit. It's not a direct relationship, but you know. So then I feel bad, so then I jerk off again. And again. And again. And then you feel nauseous and your dick chafed. You've cum so many times that peeing is painful and a painful reminder not only of sin, but of great big buckets of sloth and loneliness. So I drink. One. Two. Three. Fourths free. Scotch. Scotch and Beer. And I'm drunk and pretty sure I'm an awful person for this indulgence. Not to mention the calories. Not a typical thing for a drunken compulsive masturbator to think about, but I'm full of delightful surprises in regard to my ability to seek out shamefulness.
I celebrated the freedom of leaving home at 18 with a balls to the wall testosterone fueled dive that made me gain 75 lbs. and stretch marks on my neck over the course of three months or so after failing off the basketball team during Christmas break of my freshman year. I was 265 pounds. Perhaps I was depressed. Mostly I was drunk and kinda sad. A downward, circular ride. Depressed, drink, more depressed, more drinks, more depressed and so on. Thankfully I had a wake up call that left me freezing, soaked from the waist down in my own urine. I hit snooze for a decade or so.axiom to be anything other than a myth. But what the trope may lack in facts it makes up for in truth. I was on both sides of that depending on present company, It brought me some pretty deep shame, so I'd lie to the world by being tall, good looking, eloquent and appearing confident, when inside I was a desperate, angry, withered little pud beater.
If I hadn't had such shame about my sexual feelings I wouldn't have put myself in so many dangerous situations in order to mitigate my sexuality. I wouldn't have hid from intimacy with women incapable of it, at least incapable of it with me. They were anorexics and bulimics in my case. It wasn't a conscious choice, but it would be too coincidental for it to have not been relevant. I wouldn't have insisted on staying up to the wee hours only to get drunk and angry enough to have the self-possession to finally feel like my feelings were worth satisfying. I wouldn't have snuck out of the house hammered. I wouldn't have found myself behind the wheel, barely able to stand, driving around the real fuckin’ seedy sections looking for smut shops so I could pump video machines full of cash in booths that had less privacy then the standard thruway rest stop bathroom, jerking off with a limp dick from the belly full of beer. I wouldn’t have found myself doing this regularly. For years.
Nope, I'd have bought my tapes and dvd's and been unashamed about my habits. Habits that are practically universal in one form or another. And instead of it causing me such shame that I'd periodically throw away every piece of even mildly arousing stimulus that I'd accrued since the last purge, I'd keep my little indulgences. And at the appropriate time I'd share what made me curious and turned on with a special lady. And perhaps in this new utopia she'd have something to share with me about her desires. Perhaps, in fact, my mere act of boringly being myself in a world accepting of that which is largely unavoidable would prompt her to follow curiosities she hadn't yet known she possessed. Perhaps it would lead to a love that doesn't strain so hard to prove itself before the natural act of sex. A futile endeavor for many of us who've on many occasions passed this gauntlet of self-denial only to find that you could have saved a lot of time, money and effort if the cultural norm were the complete opposite. Sex is a part of finding love. A GIANT part for many men. That just is. And if we civilized our men in a way that acknowledged that as normal and healthy perhaps not so many of us would wed our sexuality to the parts of our animal nature that we truly do have to regulate. These being physical dominance and aggression. But there they are, plopped clumsily into the same category, sex and violence. Actually, to be honest, we've so fucked this one up for the good men out there that we're making monsters.
Sex is R-rated if depicted honestly virtually every time, while beat-downs and copious murder are all over and throughout PG and PG-13 movies as long as the right guys get it, as long as it's justified. There appears to be simply NO JUSTIFICATION for sex. Normal, beautiful, crucial to the continuance of the species, sex. How fucking twisted are we.
I get it. I have two sons. They are 4 and 2 and the thought of them as sexual beings is off-putting. But that's only because I've been raised in a culture that chooses to remove all context. The reality is I took the roundabout way, and had sex with the wrong people, and jerked in danger and all that shit and I still found the one who would throw on some yoga pants, sit on my face and grind herself to pleasure while I pulled it until she couldn't resist. And I married her. Why? Because I love her. Why would she do those things to me? Because she loves me and it makes me happy and scratches some itch I'd been looking for in shame and darkness for many years. Not to mention in doing these things for me, she found a piece of her she'd refused to look for since that's not what good girls do, and she loved it. She was freed by it. I don't know why it worked with her, but it still does. We have the little ones and we're forty-something’s so it's not the same as it was. But if we find ourselves both home on a daycare day, she'll still find the shiny spandex and throw them on for me. We might not do all the exploration we used to, but we don't need to anymore. We've found it, we know where it is and we know how to get there. I have no regret because more than anywhere on earth, it’s where I want to be. But it took a long time and a good deal of crap to get there.
So how do we fix this mess we've made as a society? How can we make the world safe for the emotions of boys the world over who feel such shame at their compulsions? Let's take 'reaching sexual maturity' off the list of things we fear for our kids. Don't worry, there’s still PLENTY there in our teens behaviors to infuriate and repel us and allow us to play our roles as judgmental and dissatisfied adults so our children can successfully launch. Let's just remove this one anchor and instead try to think of our children's sexual maturity as yet another wondrous developmental milestone that we can brag about to their aunts and uncles. "Did you hear about our little Stevie? His sheets were crusty last week... First time! He's only 11! Can you believe it! We're so happy for him. Bob thinks he's dreaming of boys, but he doesn't clean his room. I assure you, its girls." Sounds unrealistic now, but over the eons we've beaten all kinds of instinctual behaviors out of our systems. This one is easy to justify. It's the start of their journey to finding love and comfort in a new family structure as their family of origin dissipates and dilutes, as it must, with time. That dirty sex of the loving and vulnerable kind is what makes that partner who will be the only family they will ever have that doesn't share some DNA, family, truly. It's also a sign that nature is compelling them to mate. And while it may take decades, it's still good to know that they are moved to sex that comforts and satisfies them. When you remove your own shamefulness from sex what remains is beautiful. I want all the beautiful there is for my kids.
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