Diary of An Unrepentant Sex Addict

Wednesday, March 16, 2005

Days Gone By

Last weekend, I was doing some run-of-the-mill housecleaning. On a shelf, I found a couple of shoeboxes I hadn't looked into in years. I know what's in there, I just hadn't looked at the contents since well before moving to California.

The boxes hold all the old letters and notes I used to exchange with girlfriends when I was in high school. My first few girlfriends were long-distance relationships, and even when seeing someone closer to home, there were plenty of notes being passed in the hallways. For some reason, I decided to take some time to re-read these mementos.

In the last 10-12 years, I've developed an increasingly-negative self-image. Most of it comes from the fact that my overwhelming shyness makes it increasingly harder to get into relationships (or even into a bed, for that matter). Part of it comes from an unhealthy relationship I was in for several years. Either way, I often feel not only that I'm not currently attractive, but that I never really was.

I should have re-read these notes years ago. I was reminded, as I stood there reading, that these people whom I dated (and some of whom I actually had sexual activity with) did in fact consider me attractive. "Of course!" you may say, "why else would they have dated you?" That's a damn good argument, but when you're deep in the depths of self-criticism, you often forget little logical details like that.

There were the letters from the first girl to ever give me head (well before I'd lose my "technical" virginity). She was seriously orally-fixated. In one letter, she makes her first confession that she wants to suck me off. All the way to orgasm and then some. Her words start out plain-enough, but with each sentence you can imagine her starting to squirm as her language gets more and more explicit. She confesses that just writing about it has made her incredibly wet, and while I don't notice the gap from reading the letter, she had just returned to writing after masterbating wildly. I remember how badly (and immediately) I too needed to jack off, the first time I read that. And many times after.

There were notes from the only girl I ever actually dated from my own high school. Notes in which she told me how much she couldn't wait until we were together again, even though she hoped I understood why she needed time before we went all the way. Her passing references to the previous boyfriend who always harangued her over her weight, and how much it meant to her that I always told her how beautiful I considered her, every time we were together. Then the notes after we finally had our first time together, when you could almost hear the hint of tears in her voice as she confessed that her previous lovers had always been pushy and demanding, and what a difference it made to be with someone who let her set the pace and set the limits. Someone who actually treated her like an equal partner in the sex, rather than just using her. Of course, at that point I was still incredibly new to sex, and I was so grateful to just be having it at all, that it was natural for me to treat the person with such high regard. It's a habit that stuck.

And there were the short letters from the very first girl I had intercourse with. Sad letters that reminded me that she had actually been seeing me behind the back of someone else. Someone abusive, someone whom she'd eventually became pregnant by. She disappeared shortly after breaking up with me, after they moved in somewhere together. I'm reminded of how intensely I thought I loved her, my first real lover. And I see how it was really for the better, though I cried for days when she left me (long before getting pregnant, of course-- I probably wouldn't have felt so attached to her had she already been).

One common thing that ran through all of these, was that these girls, these women, saw something in me that appealed to them. I may not look in the mirror and consider myself terribly dashing, but some combination of my looks, my sense of humor, and my sense of compassion made the difference to them.

I need to find that part within me again. It's been too long, and I find I really miss it.



  • I sometimes wonder what kind of cosmic joke is being played upon us: why is it that what we see in the mirror is often so different from what other people see?

    Why can't we see ourselves with the loving eye that we use to see our best friends? Instead we look upon ourselves as with repulsion. (Or at least one bad days!)

    By Blogger Julie, at Thursday, March 17, 2005 7:08:00 PM  

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