The first time I took a look back at my sexual/sexuality beginnings, oh, man, I felt so much shame and humiliation and, yes, anger to see how I was behaving when it came to having sex with guys! I didn’t see it at the time, but I was so easy it wasn’t funny; you didn’t have to do or say much to me to convince me that getting naked with you would be a lot of fun. I realized that I did have fun… for the most part… but then when I thought about the one time where I sucked off ten guys (and fucked three girls) and wound up throwing up at some point because of all of the sperm I had consumed, right along with the fact that when I went to the bathroom to put the kids in the pool, I was shitting sperm as if I had the runs – and that was just one day’s worth.
I saw that it never occurred to me that a lot of the guys who were getting me to have sex with them on a “regular” basis had been made aware that they didn’t have to do or say a whole lot to get me to do it with them; I realized, all late and wrong, that the word had gotten out that I was easy prey and when I did realize it, I was so pissed off with myself that I punched my bedroom wall and put a hole in it… then had to explain it to my mother on top of being made to fix it. I asked myself, “How could you have been so stupid?” and I was mentally beating myself up so badly that I wanted to throw up as I tried to make sense of this disturbing revelation. My face was wet with tears to understand that in a lot of those times, I had been used, taken advantage of, and all because I not only fell into the very deep end of the pool – I was in there and wasn’t of a mind to get out of it.
When I could think straight, I found that if there was anyone to blame, it wasn’t the people who “used” me – I had only myself to blame… but then I asked myself how I could blame myself for something I had no awareness of at the time? I knew I wasn’t smart enough to recognize something that, at the time I had this epiphany, I could easily recognize now and something I could easily avoid… but back then? Holy shit… I must have been the perfect dream for all those guys who liked having sex with other guys or, really, anyone who’d say yes to them when they wanted to get their rocks off! The only “consolation” I felt was that it wasn’t one-sided; if they took from me, they gave to me as well; unlike girls, I wasn’t a victim of, “Wham, bam, thank you ma’am!”
During my epiphany/initial moment of reflection, I started to understand that while I had shocked myself pretty badly, I was only thinking about the “bad” things, like how much my ass would hurt after being fucked two or three (or more) times a day or how my whole face would hurt from sucking dick several times a day or how I’d come home from being outside just reeking of sex and suffering from various scratches all over my back and butt from the girls I’d have sex with; I wasn’t thinking about how good it felt to be doing all of that stuff or the things I was learning every time I got naked – nope, I was just focused on the negative aspects and feeling the shame of being so damned easy. Over the next several hours, I started to see that I was getting upset over stuff that I couldn’t do anything about because, duh, it had already happened and now I understood what the “old heads” meant when they said that you can’t change the past.
I began to see that despite how easy it was to get me to have sex, the only person who thought ill of me was… me. If anyone had some “bad shit” to say about me in this, I never heard about it, directly or through the grapevine; it made sense for me to be so upset about all of this if people were saying bad things… but it was dumb for me to assume that they were and more so since, as I said, I hadn’t heard anything like that. Okay… so a lot of those people who I was having sex with heard through the grapevine that it didn’t take much to get me naked and all that; I realized that it could be a good or a bad thing but if I chose to look at it as a bad thing, I would just be giving myself a complex when there wasn’t a reason to. Sure, there were times when I’d say no to a proposition of sex but, um, yeah, there weren’t too many times when I did say no. Maybe I should have spent more time saying no… but I didn’t… and nothing I was going to say to myself about it was going to change anything that had already taken place.
And it wasn’t as if I didn’t have one moment of fun through it all. I was learning that looking at shit retrospectively was easy – you can always look at something you’ve already done and see – in this case – what I shouldn’t have been doing and, as such, my “common sense” started to tell me that there was no point in being ashamed of any of it. I understood why girls would be so concerned about being seen as easy; it made sense for those girls who were known to be easy to make the word “no” a major part of their vocabulary and for good reason, too – they could get pregnant, something I didn’t have to worry about, you know, being a guy and all that. I began to “make my peace” with it all by asking myself some questions and answering myself truthfully:
- Did I want to have sex? Yes!
- Did anything bad happen when you did? No, not really.
- Were you forced to have any sex? Nope…
- Did you enjoy it? Well, yeah! Doesn’t really make sense to do it when you weren’t enjoying it, right?
- Was it fair – they’d do it to you and you’d do it to them as well? Sure was and because that’s just the way it was.
- Did you learn anything from having sex with guys and gals? Oh, hell, yeah… and more than my peers were learning.
- Were you appreciated? I’d have to say yes because at no time did I feel like I was just a piece of ass…
- So what are you so upset about? Nothing, it seems…
- Are you going to have sex with guys and gals again? Sure, why not?
It took me a couple of days to get my head right about all of this. The sex I was having with girls, well, I wasn’t feeling all that bad about it even though I saw that, yep, some of them were seeking me out because I ate pussy and I had a big dick and some would come looking for me because I could shoot sperm. I had to get my head right knowing that guys were on the prowl for me because I sucked dick, would let them fuck me, and they didn’t mind sucking my dick and letting me fuck them because this was the thing that was “bothering” me the most, retrospectively speaking. It helped for me to see that guys were looking for me not just because I’d be willing to do it but also because it was actually hard to find another guy who’d want to do it. In those couple of days of very deep introspective thinking, I was now on my way of understanding men and our need to have sex… and by any means necessary and how that need could push us to do exactly what I’d been doing all along – having sex with guys and gals and because, really, being able to have sex like this was just a whole lot of fun.
I realized that in my sexual insanity, I had dodged a lot of bullets that some of my like-minded peers hadn’t been able to dodge, like getting busted in the act and then getting their asses soundly beaten for it; some wound up getting a dose or two of the clap; one guy got his asshole torn open by an adult-sized dick and was in the hospital for a long time and, yeah, quite a few of them were forced to have sex. I thought about the one guy who wasn’t in our little clique who, as the rumor went, got gang-raped by fifteen or twenty drunks and wound up spending months in the hospital and the local “loony bin” due to the physical and psychological damages he suffered. Yeah… sometimes, ya just get lucky…
And, after those couple of days of feeling sorry for myself and being ashamed, I came out of it just fine and with more understanding about the things I wasn’t able to think of while it was going on so that, as I moved forward, I’d have better judgement than in the past and, oh, yeah, just because I could do it and even wanted to do it, I didn’t have to and, sometimes, should run like hell when the situation didn’t feel right. Yep, none of this “saved” me when, a few weeks after my epiphany, I got drugged and raped – it took me a long time to stop kicking my own ass about being dumb enough to fall for the tricks that dude used to ensnare me but, yeah, I did feel “better” about it because I turned the tables on him and beat him for his “crime” and left him to die from his injuries; it was the “final lesson” I had to learn… to be more vigilant about who was asking me to have sex with them and, yes, that included women as well; I can’t begin to tell you how many of my peers got blamed for getting a girl pregnant when he wasn’t the one who knocked the girl up or getting accused of rape when he didn’t force the girl to have sex.
You live, you learn, right? That moment made me take stock of myself and at the ripe old age of 14. I had learned a great deal about sex and way before I was “supposed” to have any knowledge of it and whether or not my being so damned easy was going to be a good or a bad thing about myself… and I chose not to let any of it fuck with my head, not like similar behaviors from my peers did. In being so easy, it gave me incentive to find out why I was the way I was – I learned what the word “bisexual” meant; it put me on the path to understand a lot of shit about sex, which got me to working on understanding a lot of other things about life, too. Today, I realize that when I did that very first moment of reflection, I could have let my shame consume me; I could have let Guilt dig a huge hole for me and one I wouldn’t have been able to get out of; I could have let my actions fuck up the way I’d look at sex going forward, instilling a great many inhibitions within me that would have taken the joy of having sex away or, at the worst, made me not want to have sex at all.
Later, I’d tackle the question of whether or not I was really gay… but that’s another story for another time…
Today, I’m not proud of some of the things I did, especially when men and more so when the guy was old enough to be my father and, yeah, if I knew then what I know now, um, I wouldn’t have been so, uh, eager to have sex with them… which doesn’t and never will change the fact that it happened. Even today, it doesn’t really make me feel good to know that in those particular situations, I got “paid” to lie down with those men; yeah, shameful, I know and if I were to knock myself about any of it, this would be the one thing I’d constantly kick my own ass about. But I realized something: If I didn’t “care” about it when it was going on, did it make sense for me to “care” about it all after the fact? No… it didn’t… but then again, I learned just how deep the taboos can go and what can make some men delve into them. I’ve had people tell me that they were sorry that some grown men had abused me… and while I was now aware that, in more modern times, yeah, you could call it abuse… but if I didn’t see it that way or feel that I was being abused, was there really a need for them to apologize… and should I allow myself to feel badly about it? Again, if I knew then what I know now, chances are good that none of what I did in that regard would have happened… but isn’t it easy for me to say this now? Sure it is! In retrospect, it’s easy for me to see that I shouldn’t have done all that I had done; I shouldn’t have been so easy to have sex with, shouldn’t have been in thrall to the lure of sex… but since I’m “guilty as charged,” does it make sense to let it fuck with me?
No… it doesn’t. If nothing else, I understand a lot of the things that, socially, we try to ignore or otherwise turn a blind eye to, like, men do and will have sex with other males and there are a lot of reasons why that don’t exactly go along with our sense of morality. I got to understand the nature of the beast, as it were, and looking into the face of the beast, at first, was pretty fucking scary when you begin to understand the sheer power that sex has and that it is a power that can take morality (as we understand it) and just shred it into little tiny pieces when a man or even a woman wants to have sex. Yes… you get to see the good and bad of it all; you learn that while we tend to romanticize sex and coat it with lots of sugary things, the reality is something very different.
Do I regret being so easy? Not one bit because to have such regrets would, even now, fuck with my head and in ways I’d rather not have my head fucked with. I could say, and justifiably so, that I should have been “better” about that very crazy period in my sexual life but, once more, it’s easy to say that well after the fact; it’s easy for me to say, “If I could go back and do it all over again, I’d do this or I wouldn’t have done that…” and, honestly, the really “scary” part is that if I could go back and do it again, there’s probably not a whole lot I would have changed because if I changed it, I wouldn’t know what I know now and I wouldn’t have learned one damned thing.
So, no – I don’t feel sorry for myself and firmly believe that no one else should feel sorry for me, either. Yeah, sometimes, when I look back at all of it, I think, “Wow… you were really kinda stupid, ya know?” or I’d tell myself, “Um, jeez, ya shouldn’t have done that…” and, yeah, that built-in moral compass will pop up and remind me of my “sins” and wants me to feel much shame over them… but is there a point in doing this? It was what it was and it cannot ever be undone and now the onus is on me to accept it and doing so without it totally and completely fucking my head up – and it doesn’t, not any more. It did in that very first moment of reflection – ain’t gonna lie about that and maybe having such an epiphany is necessary in order to begin understanding yourself? It helped me more than it “hurt” me and this, too, is something I see as being important because, back then, I didn’t know… but now I do.