A Eunuch's Love Life

The more personally intimate blog of the love life of an androgynous but not sexless eunuch in this post-modern world

Friday, May 26, 2006

Happy Birthday to the rest of me

My birthday was this week, and friends gave me lovely presents, including a voucher for Thai massage, and a high tech "cyclonic" vibrator.

The massage was quite exquisite. I'm glad I insisted on a male masseur, for I wanted to feel the energies of a man, and not have my body "othered". He knelt on my hip/thigh sockets, so he knew the sex of my skeleton. And through my crown I could feel the heat from his groin as he stood at the head of the massage table, and I felt blissfully connected.

He told me that I have a beautiful body, and I'm sure he meant that, for all that he touched, for he moved and touched everything but the naughty bits.

Which are not so beautiful to a gay man, as a rule.

I went to 357 (the sauna in Chinatown) after the massage on Wednesday, and a handsome Asian man approached me in the dry sauna. I enjoyed the taste of him, until he asked me to come to a room to get fucked. His English did not seem very fluent, and there also seemed to be a lot of pressure to minimise verbal communication, so I didn't know how to check if he was going to be okay with what was under my towel.

His turgidity was fluctuating even when I was fellating him in the sauna room, and didn't improve remarkably in the more private room. I bent forward with him behind me to avoid having to explain myself, but his dick wasn't erect enough for me to just slip it into my cunt, and he then tried to direct it to the other orifice. Anal penetration generally takes more preparation for me, which hadn't happened, but I gave it a shot anyway.. and it felt like a shot! Ow! I had to stay with my body for a moment while it recovered from the sharp intrusion, and when I had recovered, he said " I can't fuck you," and left the room.

So, gay men think I have a beautiful body to look at and feel, but I am fundamentally unfuckable to them. Or most of them, anyway, who are into anal sex if they are into fucking, and pretty much not into vagina.

How do I avoid such mid-coital let downs? I've thought of asking in a husky voice, as soon as I had any potential partner in a discreet situation, " If I had a pussy, would you fuck it?" Yeah, I'll give that a go.

Anyway, I go home and unwrap the cyclonic vibrator. I didn't manage the mental trick that seems necessary for me to orgasm (that is, imagining that someone is with me), but it took the edge off . And destroyed the rotation function. I don't know if I should ever admit that outside of this blog, and even here I'm hiding this in light colour so only the really curious will read it, because men might be scared to put their fragile flesh into something so strong it destroys machinery!
I wondered for a little while last night if I was fucked up by my life, if being a eunuch was an imperialist creation ultimately not healthy or attractive to healthy people, but when I asked my vagina for its opinion, I realised I was meant to be in this body as it is, that my body was a good thing to live in, and I was personally very happy to have a vagina to feel with and touch with. Whatever biology I was born with, this is the body my brain is happiest being housed in, and this powerful pulsing vagina is an appropriate incarnation of my sexuality. I want to embrace, I want to lovingly take in, and I want to be penetrated to the core.

My life is not about the stories mainstream society tells. It's not even just about the stories I tell myself. But it is very much about the stories I tell myself, and a little about the stories other people tell themselves. But mostly it's about the stories I am telling myself.

Look out, here comes the weekend! Horny human with beautiful body and manducating muff on the move!

Thursday, May 25, 2006

Wait till you're asked

So, I'm in the spa at Rydalmere (on Sunday, after my trip to the beach), when a man starts exploring my body, doesn't like what he discovers, and then has to voice a rejection when I haven't put any kind of proposal to him whatsoever. Wait till you're asked, QUEEN!

I'm making no move at all, he's the one making the move on me, and then says "Thanks but no thanks." Wait till you're asked! Worse, he has to interrogate me to justify his rejection. Get this: After he's pulled back, which is where the interaction should have ended, after he's decided he aint interested, fair enough, pull back, fuck off, and spare me your normalism you tiny minded fool, after he's pulled back he wants to know my fucking life story, "Are you a woman?" ("Um, broadly, maybe, sort of, arguably", I said), "Are you transsexual?" (" Arguably, broadly, sort of", I replied), "Thanks but no thanks" (Great. Wait till you're asked, you rude egocentric queen!)

I can accept that at least 80 or 90% of guys are limited by normal gender/sex expectations, and will not be interested in someoone as special as me. Fine, good, fair enough, that still leaves me with enough possible partners on this planet. I don't need to hear your rejections or justifications or whatever you use to rationalise your pointless fucking lives. I don't make passes at you. You've got no fucking right to knock me back until I do make a pass at you. And hell will freeze over first.

I ran up and down the stairs to work off my anger, and then someone came over to me sitting in the movie room and let me suck his dick, and didn't recoil in horror from my feminised groin, and he got his rocks off, and said "Thank you", and I felt human.

I'm still working my way up to fuckable, but at least I got to human.

But if you think I'm unfuckable, at least wait till you're asked!

Sunday, May 21, 2006

a moment of hope

I kept my self distracted by composing a long rambling SMS message on my phone as I travelled to the beach, and was rewarded for persisting through the tears. A short time after I had lain down, still crying, with my hat pulled over my eyes so that people could easily avoid my sobbing, a guy came over and said he had met me fifteen years ago, and spent a couple of days at my place. I worked out that this had been over seventeen years ago, for he remembered me having a la-lu, but the important thing is: he still fancied me! He was with his boyfriend, who got pretty jealous pretty quickly, but I was very glad for the flattery of his flirting.

I had just been contemplating taking up tobacco again, to mask the pain of having no hope of being loved, but I reckon I can survive without it a bit longer now. Some gay men CAN fancy someone like me . I'm off to the sauna at Rydalmere now, and I think I'll even be OK if there is no lover for me there tonight, and even better if there is!
"Taking the path of least persistence is the most direct route to failure." ~ Rayoa

in pain

At church this morning, someone spoke of the discrimation parents practise against their gay children, and I was wracked by the pain of being rejected for my effeminacy since birth, the pain of living without love, the agony of being conditioned to not be dependent on physical affection, the impossibility of living without this without something to numb the pain (only tobacco will do?), and I did not want others to see me cry, for I was painfully taught not to cry in front of anyone, so I held myself from within, muscles gripping bone, and fled as soon as the service finished, and I am going to the beach, to feel the love from the sun and the sea air, to avoid thinking about human physical affection, and pray that there's not too much more agony for me, a quick sharp fatal heart attack would be nice, thanks God, but spare me the overwhelming despair of the crying child in me, forever out of reach of human love, please spare me from this endless grief, stop my goddamn crying, release me from hopelessness, don't let this pain immobilise me unless it also, please God, kills me.

Saturday, May 20, 2006

More bullshit crying

I thought I was over the hump (if you'll pardon the pun) yesterday, being the first day in a week that I had actually woken up feeling happy, but today I was in tears all morning again, in fact, all the way to Villawood Immigration Detention Centre, and nearly had to cancel my visit, but I managed to stop the waterworks on the walk from the train station.

It's the weekend I can't stand, when single people are pairing up, when paired people are spending time with their partner, and my whole body aches and yearns and shakes and weeps.

I nearly went to the sauna yesterday, when I was feeling pretty good, but a friend asked me if I could cope if I didn't get lucky, and I couldn't face that prospect, so I went dancing, because I felt like dancing, and I danced for an hour or so at the Shift, and then sat down by the dancefloor for ten minutes, but nobody talked to me, except for some security wally telling me I couldn't sit there, and I left feeling unwanted and unwantable.

It's Saturday night now, and if I had any confidence at all, I should be out trying to get lucky, but I don't, and it's all I can do to keep my housemate from hearing me sobbing and crying. I feel sick. I hate being concious of my need for physical affection and the apparent impossibility of me actually attracting any physical affection.

Wanting personal intimacy is just unbearable torture for me.

I hope you're all doing better than I am!

Wednesday, May 17, 2006

Lessons from childhood

My problem is not that I am not sexually attractive; the problem is that I think I must be able to function without being dependent on (or recieving any) human physical affection.

I learned this as a child from my parents, who, perhaps because they were worried about me being a sissy boy sooky lala, decided to toughen me up by not picking me up or comforting me when I cried, and by leaving me to my own devices when I was pummelled by my older brother. So, I learned that I am abandoned to violence, that I cannot count on anyone in my family for help, that non-family are more likely to intervene to protect me (for I was saved from a pummelling whenever my brother and I were looked after by baby-sitters), and that I have to be able to cope without any physical comfort from those known to me.

But there was nothing wrong with me being a sissy boy sooky lala.

What was wrong and FUCKED UP were the actions and underlying beliefs of my parents, which they had no doubt inherited and implemented in a well-meaning if poorly thought out manner.

And now that I am aware of where my underlying pattern (of being fucked up when it comes to physically affectionate relationships) comes from, I can do something about it, and substitute some more positive beliefs and consequent behaviours.

There is nothing wrong with me being a sissy sooky lala. It's a beautiful thing.

I need and deserve physical affection.

(Lack of it will not kill me quickly, but it will kill me!)

I don't need to prove I can survive without human physical affection. I don't need to survive independently. I can live interdependently, and I want to.

I can and want to and deserve to give and recieve human physical affection.


Tuesday, May 16, 2006

Crying for days

Darn, I've been crying since I woke up and can't stop for long. Usual complaint. (As Bette Midler put it, "Ah,Way, lackonookigotme.")

Every day has started this way since last Thursday morning. I cried for about two hours then, all the way through my morning exercises and meditation, but I refused to medicate, as I had work to do that required an unmedicated brain. Instead, I decided to quit smoking, since my sinuses had been so cleaned out by all the crying. And I figured that stopping smoking would demonstrate to myself that I was doing something proactive about addressing my complaint.

I smoked a tiny amount of tobacco Thursday and Friday, and managed to stay clean of it for all of the last three days. There's no point in busting now, for I'm over the physical hump. Now there's just the psychological dependence, and the grief of the ended relationship (with tobacco). But it was a crap relationship, like my last romantic partnership, and while it may have comforted me by relieving the withdrawal symptoms (as my erstwhile human partner comforted me with skin contact), it was destructive to my life and skin and breath and the chances of any man finding me intimately attractive (just as me being romatically partnered with a fundamentally passive homosexual man who had to cheat on me and steal from me and lie to me was detrimental to both my physical happiness and my domestic security).

Day three of tobacco free, yesterday, was a little challenging, being my first day at work without the crutch/smokescreen, dealing with numerous problems.

But today I didn't stop crying after I woke up, and only lasted a couple of hours at the office before I had to declare myself unfit for duty.

I am telling myself that the problem is just a meme, a nasty "screaming memey". But there's too much energy behind it right now, and I can't reason it away. Is this what's always been underneath my habitual smokescreen?

i envy all other humans who have a real chance for personal intimate loving relationships. i envy my friends who have and talk about their love life and i resent that i am excluded, even though it must be my own fault. They tell me that it's just the meme that excludes me, although some of them ascribe the meme to society more than to me.

The meme is that i am not sexually attractive to any man, for i have no secondary sex characterstics, i am not a man or a woman, nor even a doubly sexed transsexual, but just a neuter with no sex hormones and a strong resistence to taking any.

My friends look at a man and tell me he's sexy. i feel reminded that i cannot participate in this. no man finds me sexy, and i don't think any ever will.

My friends tell me i'm beautiful, but that's no solace, for it seems to me that if i am beautiful, it is in the way that my cat or a flower is beautiful, and no one wants to get jiggy with them, or me.

My friends offer me a hug out of sympathy, but that's not the sort of contact i am missing, and i feel miserable that the only time i am offered physical touch is when i am extremely distressed, and the offer is out of pity.

i think back to when i used to have someone to sleep naked with occassionally, and that was over ten years ago, when I would stay out all night drinking, and occassionally get lucky in the wee hours, or the morning after at an early opener.

The evidence of my history is that i am attractive only till the beer goggles fall off, or as a transitional partner (for men moving from straight to gay, or moving to expressing as transgendered), or as a fantasy actor (when I was a sex worker, serving the desires of others and not my own), or as a meal ticket (almost every "romantic" relationship I've been in).

i may have something to offer that some man will want, but i feel like i am dying in the meantime for lack of loving. i am surrounded by people who have love lifes, and i am happy for them, but i am starving, and looking at the banquet open to all men, women and transsexuals is too distressing for me currently.

This too will pass.

Thanks for bearing with me. I've had a slight break from crying as I typed this for the last hour or so.

Ah! Way!

Tuesday, May 02, 2006

Love and Sex Difference

There's a lot about human sexual attraction in this week's New Scientist , and I am feeling a little left out after reading it this morning, for I don't have any fertility signifiers.

There is no biological reason for anyone to be sexually interested in me.

I just have to have faith that some other thing may work, or that I can be content to be continent.

On the other hand, the factors than maintain relationships past the time needed for basic breeding are not so biological, and have more to do with being a nice human positively interested in ones partner.

So I can choose to be a little more inclined to see nice things about people, instead of looking for the sign that they would not be interested in me.

Love conquers all.