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#288 - early sexuality
07/25/02 @ 1:36 pm

Thinking about dreams again today. About how some people have commented that they find it boring to read about dreams in diaries. I find it fascinating. I love to hear people's dreams. I think I'm quite good at analyzing other people's dreams. And I have such a hard time with my own.

I still remember the first dream, or one of the first, that I ever wrote down. I was somewhere around 12-14. It was about the next Anne Rice book. I dreamed about the cover, and it had 3 or 4 scenes on it, and then the dream was about watching those scenes enacted. The most bizarre was Lestat removing a woman's breast with a sickle. Pretty gruesome.

But it got me to thinking about my younger years and dreams and reality. I had problems with reality then too. Or a desire to escape mine anyway. I spent all of my free time fantasizing. Mostly about Duran Duran. And meeting them. And fucking them. Those were the days...

On the bus to and from school, in the car, locked up in my room (by choice). That's how I started writing. I wrote down my fantasies about Duran Duran. Yep. My first story was about My Little Ponies. The second was about fucking Simon LeBon. Both while I was in the 6th grade.

There was also Narnia. I wanted soooooo desperately to go to Narnia. I read all the books, and took the suggestions to heart. There were entrances anywhere, and the only way to find them was not to look for them. Do you know how frustrating that is? I remember sitting in my room, gazing out of my window at this spot under a banana tree out back, where there was a shadowed spot leading into the wild brush behind the tree. I would imagine that that was the entrance, and if only I believed enough, I could go to Narnia through it.

That was about the time that my imagination was running wild, but I was adult enough not to let it completely get away with me, even if I wanted to. It was one thing to sit there and gaze and wish and fantasize. It was quite another when I convinced myself to go out there. Nothing happened, and I couldn't pretend that it had. Kids can play in their fantasies. I guess I wasn't a kid anymore.

Just someone obsessed with being anywhere but where I was.

I don't feel that way anymore, which is why it's so boring to fall asleep these days. I used to lay in bed for an hour or two, just fantasizing. Later, those fantasies would be written down on paper. I think this is why I don't write anymore. Because I don't wish for things I can't have anymore, I don't fantasize about them, and I don't write them.

It's sad. Because I miss writing. But it's far better to be happy in reality, then miserable and able to write. At least I think so.

Here are some interesting facts about me. Gwenllian mentioned The Blue Lagoon in a recent diary, and that it was one of the first films she saw that was sexual/sensual. Ditto. Unfortunately, looking for Chris Atkin's naughty bits did not measure up to the impressions that would be left on me by 3 not-so-innocent films.

Caveman: Ringo Starr wanted to fuck this woman so bad, he drugged her and her clan to try; he failed humorously, but it was an eye-opener

Porky's: Just one word: Meat

Death Wish II: the rape scene has stayed with me ever since

I would have been in the 7-10 age range when I saw these on cable, home alone. No wonder I'm so fucked up.

Then there are books. Around the time I wrote that first story about My Little Ponies, I decided to start reading adult books. The first was a bad romance, I think it was called "Swept From the Sea". The second was "Interview with the Vampire". Who here has read that? It is pretty intense. With lots of big words. I didn't understand alot that I read. But I finished it. And loved it. Books without sex kinda didn't interest me after that. In fact, I think that's why I *kept* reading: was to keep looking for sex.

It's kind of weird to have your sexuality learned from books. I thought women had a tendency to faint when they orgasmed. I can't remember why. I thought the word "penis" rhymed with "tennis". THAT lead to an embarressing moment with my cousin's sexually-sophisticated friends. All men had gravelly voices, which got worse when they were angry or turned on. Due to my lack of a thesaurus, or any clue that I needed one, I used the terms "he said gruffly" or "he said roughly" about 10 times each per page.

But I'm sure that those books had alot to do with positive results in my development, sexual or otherwise, as well. I learned from an early age that it was ok to be gay. That some women actually liked giving blow jobs (a VC Andrews book convinced me to get over my fear and finally give it a shot). That men (and me) didn't need to cower in fear when I was bleeding "down there".

You take the good with the bad I guess.

Oh, yah. I masturbated last night. Annoyingly frustrating husband was not willing to alleviate my needs, so I took care of them myself. I don't remember ever masturbating when my husband was home before. I was really damn desperate though. It's interesting that my masturbation orgasms are getting more powerful at the same time that my sex-with-husband ones are too. And it still takes me awhile to get over the hump, no pun intended, even when I masturbate.

OK, this lunch has taken long enough. adios.

husband just called me to say he had to leave the house for a meeting, and to check if the cat peed in the bedroom when I got home. yay.

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