Not so Cruisy
Evidently consumerist sex is off the menu for me. Back to other things, then, and the comfort of a warm alcoholic glow.
My comics love me. My cat loves me. My planet loves me. (I mean, the sunshine and the air and the wind and the grass and the trees and the ground and the birda and the animals and the clouds, not necessarily the nations that constitute the global body politic.)I don't have a normal gender or sex, but I can sing and dance and I have a fit and flexible androgynous body that suiyts me and an IQ of 138 and I'd rather be me than anyone else, and I don't want to be celibate, but if the choice ie between that and compromising my integrity (because If I put on a normal gender presentation, male or female, I can attract partners, but they are attracted to the illusion, and lose interest if or when they find the real androgynous me underneath)... well, nothing is worth more than my integrity, and I know that I can, by God, survive anything.
And somedays I just wish my skin was not so hungry, or that I could relax and have faith that it will be touched by another, or that it does not really need to be touched, or that I could at least go a few hours without thinking about wanting to be touched.
But I still manage to haul myself out of bed for some Tibetan exercise and hope that making my body thinner might help it get touched. Hey, something's bound to work someday, hey.