About a month ago or so, I met a 23-year old on campus--a talkative fella named B that insisted we'd hang out later that evening. Supposedly, the plan was to go to the bar and meet up with some of his friends. However, his friend apparently never texted him back and we ended up going over to his house and having drinks with his roommates in the living room.
We popped into his room and immediate started on it and before long we were rolling on his bed but still managed to (mostly) keep our clothes on. Under 3 minutes later, we emerged from his room and went back to the table. His friend asked what we were up to, and B replied--
Oh, nothing.
Lies! His friend exclaimed, You've got an erection--he pointed directly at B's crotch--right there!
Later on, we ended up having sex at least twice and lots of oral. At one point, I stopped blowing him for a minute to give my mouth/jaw/fresh dimple piercings a break. He immediately kept saying--
I...really...did not want you to...stop...
He said it numerous times and in such a way that annoyed me fast. He wasn't quite as generous with me and told him so. All in all, I became quickly turned off and went home soon afterwards. We chatted a few times after that, and after mentioning that I had to go to bed because of early morning class the next day--which was true--(instead of not going over to his place to give him more of what he wanted), I never heard from him again.
I was half irritated and half relieved. He was cute enough but I wasn't attracted to him, and something about him in bed thoroughly turned me off. Nevertheless, though, I was pissed off that I allowed myself to be used solely for sex. After a while, the realization came that I had no one to blame but myself.
Then, two nights ago, another 23-year old (I don't know what it is with these 23-year olds wanting my nearly 31-year old self) came over to my apartment. We were supposed to watch a movie. I know it is easily guised and usually read as just getting laid instead of actually watching a movie...but I actually just wanted to watch the movie. Half-way through the oral sex, I stopped. Mean thing to do to a man, I know, but I felt repulsed...
I know it would be naturally assumed by this point that holy shit I DON'T LIKE SEX but of course that ain't true. I enjoyed sleeping around a bit when I was much younger because sex seemed so new and I was eager to discover and explore it--mostly because it felt like I rarely got the chance to (since men didn't stay with me for long, never more than a month--if even) and I welcomed (most) of the chances I got--which was still relatively few due to my shy nature and my habit of isolating myself in my room or apartment.
But now that I'm older and I am sober, my emotional reaction to certain things is a lot sharper and a lot more noticeable than it ever has been before. After the other night, I decided I will not invite any man over for any reason nor go anywhere private with any man--even if it seems harmless/platonic--until I know I want to be more physical with him. The disgust and the shame that follow each unwanted event affects me more than I ever realized--before, I always drank to numb it all, but not now.
I am afraid over time that sex itself will seem repulsive--or at least not very special--no matter who I have it with if I continue to sleep with just anyone. All in all, I do love it--but only with a man that I've known for a while and whom I care for very, very deeply and am (obviously) sexually-attracted to. I especially found joy giving blow jobs to the few men that I've loved so very much in my adult life. But not to the ones I don't care for.
I am glad I know all this about myself now, and am sorry it took me so long to realize it. I used to have trouble saying 'no' due to my (semi)sweet and shy, passive nature--but lately (especially after learning more and more what I want and don't want) the aggressive and headstrong part of me is growing out of the inspiration of Satanism and getting to know myself better.
I look forward to when I next time willingly pick and enjoy sex with someone I am deeply amorous of--even if it will be a long while from now...
...but until then, I've got my handy, dandy vibrator.
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Saturday, November 17, 2012
On Why I Drank.
Today I woke up on the wrong side of the bed--despite the fact that there is just one side for me to wake up on now.
I went to the Saturday morning women's AA meeting--not wanting to go--and arriving 15 minutes late. It seemed like everything was pissing me off left and right since the minute I got up and out of bed:
I check the phone to see I got no message, no email, no love. My contacts gave me shit and I kept dropping them and having to wash them before putting them on my eyeballs. I couldn't find my garter belt to hold my stockings up with (and wanting to wear them since it was to be in the 40's outside) so therefore did without the stockings and went bare-legged into the crisp outside air.
I should have been grateful that it wasn't as cold as I thought it would be and I felt fine wearing my black skirt, purple spaghetti-string top, and a yellow cardigan. But instead I grumbled to myself how I was late and that I didn't want to go to this morning's meeting.
A very slow truck refused to go any faster as it practically stopped to make a left turn. I raised my hand in the Italian-style frustration behind the damn rusty thing. My own car squeaked annoyingly loud as I hit (seemingly) every pothole there was and I strained to hear my music over the constant squeaking--
(without being grateful that my car is a good one and it runs well and I still have it)
--and by the time I arrived 15 minutes late--I plopped down beside K with a gravity-pulled frown. I swore I wasn't too angry or sad, but I could not lift the corner of my mouth nor lift my eyes up for anything in the world. Normally I am responsive to each 'Hello, I'm----and I'm an alcoholic' but I averted my eyes and kept my lips fused shut.
But I listened. At first the ladies' stories were faint--they did not carve into my conscious mind much though I did half-heartedly try to listen. I lifted my face up a bit more throughout the meeting as I realized these ladies were describing me with their own personal stories. Then my sponsor, K, spoke up and mentioned how grateful she was--after listening to a lecture in class the previous week about various disease epidemics that are going around in less-fortunate countries than ours--and marveled at how lucky she felt, how lucky we are.
And she is right. My biggest problem is not when am I going to eat next, will I get a parasite from drinking this water, where can I find a pair of shoes that I can walk in, where will I sleep tonight, am I going to survive today? Nein, my biggest issue lately is: Am I going to pass this damn test today? Am I going get into the forensic genetics program?
The stories unfolded and I saw--of course--that my bad mood today stemmed from something a bit more obvious. I had realized the night before that the love I've had--whom I had spent a year and a half trying to get to know, trying to be a good friend of, and who I drove collectively 44 hours and spent $800 to go visit last spring--would never love me back. Never. It had taken me a year and a half to realize his words were false. That there were people--one in particular--that told me it was obvious that me and Z never spoke. I was rarely acknowledged by him. He had lively conversations with other people but never with me, though I had known him and been around longer than half the others.
After the meeting, I broke down and told K about Z and his treatment of me and the things he'd say right before ignoring my presence for weeks/months on end until he'd send another missive or call me 'darlin' or some such thing--which sucks me back in. Why was I not strong enough to admit to myself this before? Why could I not pull away from him for good? Why did he enjoy hurting me so much? I was probably one of the few, if not the only, woman that had never betrayed him or actively hurt him in any way. If I had indeed hurt him somehow, it was out of self-discontent and mostly unintentional.
It all reminds me of why I began drinking in the first place. I felt I could not be social, that I could not break out of my shyness unless I drank. I thought maybe I'm a tad bit more lovable drunk--a sweet drunk that smiles cutely all the time--whereas when I'm sober, I very rarely smile and my face is normally in-animated.
It started 9 years ago by just going to the bars to drink and be social. That was usually where I found my lays. Or hopeful dates--but were normally just goodnight-lays before I'd drunkenly drive back home. Then soon after, I began just drinking at home. It was first Jack's hard cola and the like. Then it was self-made mixed drinks. And by the time I was about to get my applied science degree in biotechnology before transferring here--I was drinking straight vodka or rum directly from the bottle.
By that point I had completely stopped going to the bars, and was just drinking at home, in my room. I figured I was still being social because I would drink while in SIN chat. In fact, I thought it was an improvement, for the months or more before I began studying up on Satanism and joined SIN, I had been just drinking hard liquor from the bottle in my room while watching movies or, sometimes, practicing belly dancing, or just dancing while watching Madonna videos to get my exercise in--while swinging my rum/vodka bottle around in my hand. I do recall doing yoga while drunk--at one point I nearly got stuck in the plow pose and toppled over to the side and passed out on the carpet.
Concerning my upset and sadness about Z, K told me not to worry about it. All that mattered was that I just work on myself. She suggested that I cut ties from him (again) but instead I will just stay away for a bit. I had done it before for a while until he sent me the first text message in weeks, at my weak moment. But now, better armed with info about the situation, I believe I can just keep away on my own terms and mostly ignore future messages. If need be, I'll frankly say that I am done and wish to move on, therefore ending (what should be called) an obsession from my side, and cutting out the one that has made me cry more than any other man in my life for the past year and a half.
We will see.
I went to the Saturday morning women's AA meeting--not wanting to go--and arriving 15 minutes late. It seemed like everything was pissing me off left and right since the minute I got up and out of bed:
I check the phone to see I got no message, no email, no love. My contacts gave me shit and I kept dropping them and having to wash them before putting them on my eyeballs. I couldn't find my garter belt to hold my stockings up with (and wanting to wear them since it was to be in the 40's outside) so therefore did without the stockings and went bare-legged into the crisp outside air.
I should have been grateful that it wasn't as cold as I thought it would be and I felt fine wearing my black skirt, purple spaghetti-string top, and a yellow cardigan. But instead I grumbled to myself how I was late and that I didn't want to go to this morning's meeting.
A very slow truck refused to go any faster as it practically stopped to make a left turn. I raised my hand in the Italian-style frustration behind the damn rusty thing. My own car squeaked annoyingly loud as I hit (seemingly) every pothole there was and I strained to hear my music over the constant squeaking--
(without being grateful that my car is a good one and it runs well and I still have it)
--and by the time I arrived 15 minutes late--I plopped down beside K with a gravity-pulled frown. I swore I wasn't too angry or sad, but I could not lift the corner of my mouth nor lift my eyes up for anything in the world. Normally I am responsive to each 'Hello, I'm----and I'm an alcoholic' but I averted my eyes and kept my lips fused shut.
But I listened. At first the ladies' stories were faint--they did not carve into my conscious mind much though I did half-heartedly try to listen. I lifted my face up a bit more throughout the meeting as I realized these ladies were describing me with their own personal stories. Then my sponsor, K, spoke up and mentioned how grateful she was--after listening to a lecture in class the previous week about various disease epidemics that are going around in less-fortunate countries than ours--and marveled at how lucky she felt, how lucky we are.
And she is right. My biggest problem is not when am I going to eat next, will I get a parasite from drinking this water, where can I find a pair of shoes that I can walk in, where will I sleep tonight, am I going to survive today? Nein, my biggest issue lately is: Am I going to pass this damn test today? Am I going get into the forensic genetics program?
The stories unfolded and I saw--of course--that my bad mood today stemmed from something a bit more obvious. I had realized the night before that the love I've had--whom I had spent a year and a half trying to get to know, trying to be a good friend of, and who I drove collectively 44 hours and spent $800 to go visit last spring--would never love me back. Never. It had taken me a year and a half to realize his words were false. That there were people--one in particular--that told me it was obvious that me and Z never spoke. I was rarely acknowledged by him. He had lively conversations with other people but never with me, though I had known him and been around longer than half the others.
After the meeting, I broke down and told K about Z and his treatment of me and the things he'd say right before ignoring my presence for weeks/months on end until he'd send another missive or call me 'darlin' or some such thing--which sucks me back in. Why was I not strong enough to admit to myself this before? Why could I not pull away from him for good? Why did he enjoy hurting me so much? I was probably one of the few, if not the only, woman that had never betrayed him or actively hurt him in any way. If I had indeed hurt him somehow, it was out of self-discontent and mostly unintentional.
It all reminds me of why I began drinking in the first place. I felt I could not be social, that I could not break out of my shyness unless I drank. I thought maybe I'm a tad bit more lovable drunk--a sweet drunk that smiles cutely all the time--whereas when I'm sober, I very rarely smile and my face is normally in-animated.
It started 9 years ago by just going to the bars to drink and be social. That was usually where I found my lays. Or hopeful dates--but were normally just goodnight-lays before I'd drunkenly drive back home. Then soon after, I began just drinking at home. It was first Jack's hard cola and the like. Then it was self-made mixed drinks. And by the time I was about to get my applied science degree in biotechnology before transferring here--I was drinking straight vodka or rum directly from the bottle.
By that point I had completely stopped going to the bars, and was just drinking at home, in my room. I figured I was still being social because I would drink while in SIN chat. In fact, I thought it was an improvement, for the months or more before I began studying up on Satanism and joined SIN, I had been just drinking hard liquor from the bottle in my room while watching movies or, sometimes, practicing belly dancing, or just dancing while watching Madonna videos to get my exercise in--while swinging my rum/vodka bottle around in my hand. I do recall doing yoga while drunk--at one point I nearly got stuck in the plow pose and toppled over to the side and passed out on the carpet.
Concerning my upset and sadness about Z, K told me not to worry about it. All that mattered was that I just work on myself. She suggested that I cut ties from him (again) but instead I will just stay away for a bit. I had done it before for a while until he sent me the first text message in weeks, at my weak moment. But now, better armed with info about the situation, I believe I can just keep away on my own terms and mostly ignore future messages. If need be, I'll frankly say that I am done and wish to move on, therefore ending (what should be called) an obsession from my side, and cutting out the one that has made me cry more than any other man in my life for the past year and a half.
We will see.
Friday, November 16, 2012
The first 14 days.
Last Saturday, I met up with my sponsor--K--at the 10:30am meeting (that turned out to be all women), cleaned up the place after the meeting, then we both went to some new Mexican food restaurant for lunch.
We walked into the place. A strange yet eye-catching tree arrangement greeted us, and then a host popped out from behind it and showed us to a table at a booth. As the host led us along, I trailed behind staring at the bar that was right beside us. It was gussied up and the liquor bottles glittered at me as I walked past. I had been sober for 8 days now.
We sat down at the table across from each other and I pulled out my Big Book and journal--specifically for AA--and laid them on the table. Our waiter came up and broke out with his pad and pen--
So, what would you ladies like to drink? Could I get you a couple of margaritas, perhaps?
I glanced at K. The corner of her mouth twitched. I looked back over at the waiter.
I'll have a Dr. Pepper, I said.
And I'll have a Coke, K added.
The waiter jotted down our requests and ambled away to get our drinks. I looked longingly over at the glistening array of liquor bottles lined up behind the bar. Christ. A margarita would be good. A rum and coke would be even better. The back of my tongue and the inner side of my throat began to throb. I could taste it.
I told K this, and she replied that it gets easier with time. Occasionally she'd see a billboard of a new kind of vodka or some such thing, and she'd think--
(Damn...that sounds good...)
--but would catch herself and realize what she was thinking, and immediately change the direction of where that thought was heading.
It also reminded me about when I quit smoking: it was damn hard at first--every time I could smell cigarette smoke--but after a while, as more time pass that I didn't smoke, I began to dislike the smell of cigarette smoke--to the point that I eventually loathed it. I mentioned to K that maybe I'd eventually feel the same way about The Drink as time went on, and she agreed.
Several days later, I went to class as usual. Did my learning. Afterward, I went to the language lab to do my German homework. The little seed of desire somehow got planted in my mind during my last class. By the time I sat down to work on German lab stuff, the seed had sprouted. I had walked by a street behind the campus that was filled with bars. I stood on the curb and wondered--
(Will I never walk into a bar ever again?)
--and the idea of it scared me. Despite my issues, I had had fun going to bars to drink and socialize. Drinking seemed to allow me to smile and laugh and talk. Could I do that without The Drink? But of course, but it wouldn't be easy to manufacture that feeling without alcohol or some kind of drug.
I texted K and with a bit of help from her--my desire to drink that day ebbed away.
We walked into the place. A strange yet eye-catching tree arrangement greeted us, and then a host popped out from behind it and showed us to a table at a booth. As the host led us along, I trailed behind staring at the bar that was right beside us. It was gussied up and the liquor bottles glittered at me as I walked past. I had been sober for 8 days now.
We sat down at the table across from each other and I pulled out my Big Book and journal--specifically for AA--and laid them on the table. Our waiter came up and broke out with his pad and pen--
So, what would you ladies like to drink? Could I get you a couple of margaritas, perhaps?
I glanced at K. The corner of her mouth twitched. I looked back over at the waiter.
I'll have a Dr. Pepper, I said.
And I'll have a Coke, K added.
The waiter jotted down our requests and ambled away to get our drinks. I looked longingly over at the glistening array of liquor bottles lined up behind the bar. Christ. A margarita would be good. A rum and coke would be even better. The back of my tongue and the inner side of my throat began to throb. I could taste it.
I told K this, and she replied that it gets easier with time. Occasionally she'd see a billboard of a new kind of vodka or some such thing, and she'd think--
(Damn...that sounds good...)
--but would catch herself and realize what she was thinking, and immediately change the direction of where that thought was heading.
It also reminded me about when I quit smoking: it was damn hard at first--every time I could smell cigarette smoke--but after a while, as more time pass that I didn't smoke, I began to dislike the smell of cigarette smoke--to the point that I eventually loathed it. I mentioned to K that maybe I'd eventually feel the same way about The Drink as time went on, and she agreed.
Several days later, I went to class as usual. Did my learning. Afterward, I went to the language lab to do my German homework. The little seed of desire somehow got planted in my mind during my last class. By the time I sat down to work on German lab stuff, the seed had sprouted. I had walked by a street behind the campus that was filled with bars. I stood on the curb and wondered--
(Will I never walk into a bar ever again?)
--and the idea of it scared me. Despite my issues, I had had fun going to bars to drink and socialize. Drinking seemed to allow me to smile and laugh and talk. Could I do that without The Drink? But of course, but it wouldn't be easy to manufacture that feeling without alcohol or some kind of drug.
I texted K and with a bit of help from her--my desire to drink that day ebbed away.
Sunday, November 11, 2012
The AA...or something akin to it.
Yesterday, after German, I was sitting in my political science class while my lively professor was going over the qualifications of being a Texas governor:
1. Be at least 30 years old.
2. Resident of Texas for at least 5 years.
3. No individual can be excluded from office for religious belief--provided he acknowledges 'the existence of a Supreme Being'.
Ah, jeez, I muttered. I had taken government class before but we never got into the specifics of the Texas government and this was my first actual bits of info I've ever cared to get (still don't care) on Texas governmental-related things.
My professor waved his hands frantically in front of us students, But wait! he said, What if you are a Buddhist that believes in a different kind of being or nature, or what if you believe in...dare I say it...
I looked up from my notes at my professor expectantly.
...in...--he waved his arms even more dramatically--...Satan!
I leaned back in my chair and laughed with probably a bit more humor than the rest of the 200+ students in this classroom.
Then I remembered I was supposed to go to an AA-type meeting on campus at noon. My shoulders slumped down. I didn't want to go but I had agreed--for the sake of my on-campus counselor--to check it out.
Besides that, though, I obviously need something to change. I had been missing a few of my morning classes from waking up sick in the morning from the night before, and had missed a few of my afternoon classes for the sake of drinking instead. Showing up to my classes relatively drunk. Showing up to my study group actually trashed. Then driving home.
I've known it's been an issue for a while but I kinda sorta ignored it--thinking I knew it was a problem but it wasn't as bad as it could be. But now I'm tired of how my life has been. I haven't gotten back into shape yet due to favoring drinking over working out, and plus I'm probably overloading my liver with alky, preventing it from metabolizing fat--which is another main function of that little triangular organ.
So I went to the meeting. It was mostly 3 guys, and later 2 other girls that were new showed up. All of these people had been sober for months/years. I was the only one that got trashed last night. They all had this big blue book that proclaimed ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS for the title. One of the guys kindly gave me a mini-me version of the book that was the size of a pocket bible.
Sam, the one that sat diagonally-across from me, kept looking up in my direction as he spoke and/or read from The Big Book--as they all call it. I just occasionally looked down at my mini-me Big Book to follow along.
I have put off AA for years--the number one reason being that I despised its religious influence. This particular group did not fall heavily on that and was not even an official AA group, but instead were just loosely based on it. Sam--the cute one that reminded me of someone I once used to know--said he was not big on religious organization, instead--he thought of it being just a no-name 'higher being' or 'creator'. All of these people said we could not count on ourselves--that we had to grab a-hold of this 'higher being' for help...
All that I knew I'd have difficultly swallowing, but I figured I'd just ignore that part for now. Maybe most people can't handle the idea that they have the will to do things on their own without the 'help' of a 'higher being'. That's fine. Whatever works for them.
But I'm not one of those.
Nevertheless, they did have an interesting way of describing alcoholism and addictions, and breaking it all down. I figured I'd go ahead and stick to this to see what happens. Just my own willpower hasn't been enough--I think largely due to depression and lack of friends in my immediate area--and ones I do know just drink during their free time.
At the end of the meeting, we all bid our goodbyes and exchanged phone numbers. Sam gave me The Eye and walked over to my side to shake my hand, saying he hoped to see me next Friday, and I--
(Ooh la la, be my sponsor, babe?)
--agreed that I would return next week.
Later that night, I received a call from one of the ladies that were there--Kayla--and she did the 20-question thing with me--seeking to find out my background and to sponsor me. I'd never had a sponsor before, but I figured--it might be worthwhile, at least for the time being while it's hard and I'm full of inner resistance against the whole thing. Either way, I'm willing to give anything a try if it's gonna help me get back on track in my life.
I have to admit, I'm not looking forward to giving up The Drink, but I am tired of going to class with The Sickness and The Shakes, or just missing class altogether. My time spent could have been done to create things, to write my novel and my other book I started 10 years ago, to go out and remember what it's like not to be numb and instead let back in the vitality of being alive.
I refuse to fuck up this shit anymore.
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