Bringing out the worst in me

Dearest Blog

 

I’m really not in a pleasant mood today.  I’ve been letting the dark suffocate my mood, and certainly this is melodramatic, but I severely dislike some things a little bit.

So on this soul searching, I had a little moment. 

I had a flashback to one of my deepest memories.  Not one necessarily good or bad.  But something potentially very scarring and it is quite suppressed.   I would say I only really remind myself of it about once a year. 

Rather than wallow by myself, I figured it much more appropriate to let the world know finally.  I trust you can all take that.

My first ‘kiss’ was with a boy.

I would have been about 7 years old at the time I guess.  I had a friend from school I knew who I played football with on the weekends at the Bobby Charlton Soccer Academy in Middleton.  We were, at the time, in the same class at primary school. 

He was a better footballer than me (most obviously were) and he wasn’t the most academic of boys compared to me (most weren’t).  I did play for his local team a couple of times which was good when they were desperate.  I don’t really know why we were friends though, maybe through parents???

Anyway, usually we would go to each other’s home for lunch.  After that we could play computer games, more sport, watch TV, anything like that.  I have no idea at all how it happened, but one day it was suggested that we kiss.  And we did.  We were under the duvet and he was very definitely on top of me snogging me.  We didn’t go any further, although I remember certainly commenting on our penises getting bigger. 

This happened a few times.  We managed to have a very/not-so-convincing story about playing in bed or something equally innocent when my mum came in the bedroom one day.  She didn’t see anything, we were on other sides of the bed, but I’m not sure it wouldn’t be normal to see either way.

There is another similar incident.

A girl on my street to my knowledge had behavioral difficulties, and went to a specialized school to deal with this.  She was a year older.  I don’t remember thinking that she was very nice.  Anyway, when playing outside we would always organize different things.  She would be a ringleader as you can imagine.

There was a little alleyway next to wear I lived in-between the two houses.  One day, it was me and her, and she convinced me that the best idea was to expose our genitals to each other and rub them together.  I obliged. 

We even did the same thing in her bed one day.  I don’t really remember anything else from it, just a freeze frame of us lying there, trousers off, and my penis touching the outside of her vagina.  I had no idea what was going on.  I don’t remember how we got there, and how we finished.

These are isolated memories, but I would rather not have to deal with them alone her tonight, but needs must.  I think they have affected my viewpoint.   I think my views growing up on sex and relationships have struggled to fit into convention based on these events.  I remember, pre-puberty, running past some older girls in the neighbourhood with my penis out in the thought this would be attractive and get attention.

I thought the best way to get a girlfriend would be to try and get rumours spread about us being together, and then to write songs about her.

The boy I was with creates a thought that I can let myself get turned on at.  And no, I don’t want to have sex with small boys.   Why I dither and delve into ideas of other sexuality types can have and probably does possess some linkage to these ideas.  Somewhere deep in a subconscious something was clicked. 

I wouldn’t say that I’ve been scarred by the process, it’s just shaped me.  I love, admire and respect the beliefs I have now about the subject of sex and love.  These experiences taint a part of childhood and, now, for the first time, I question it.  I question if I am actually ok.

Usually, I fall asleep and then a new day comes with new priorities and ideas like this regress once again.  I feel that getting this on paper, however sketchy, should help, but actually it might be more of a painful reminder now I have written it, a constant reminder as to just how spoiled I am as a person. 

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