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, October 13, 2006


Justifying my importunity because I could be hit by a bus again, I asked a friend for a sexual favour, and he agreed to give me some sexual healing.

Three hours of luscious foreplay, but no follow through. You can lead a horse to water, but you need a thirsty horse, and that can't be faked. In the end, thinking about vagina was counter productive to the beautiful boy's erection, as it seems to be for all the guys close to me. Boy, was my libido cranky!!! All wound up and NOWHERE NOWHERE nowhere to go.

I wouldn't be surprised if the sheer voraciousness of my cunt frightened guys in general, not just the gay boys. It was all mostly just compliant, going along with whatever, when I was sex working, but my innate sexuality is more body animated and less ego controlled, and when my pussy is ready, it's a willful roaring nether mouth, my body turned rapturous raptor, my spine writhing like a snake rising to devour its prey whole, demanding and forceful and insistent and, well, basically, my pussy aint no pussy.

Still, it was pleasant and positive for me to experience completely unfaked sexual arousal, and my body's joy when it connects with the right kind of other body, with a pleasant other human's breath, smell, shape, texture, movement and response.

But I need a partner who is driven to fuck my cunt when it starts thrusting itself into the air. Or I just get another affirmation that I am unfuckable.

I've been so successful at making fundamentally mismatched connections.. but is it even possible for me to be part of a matched connection?

I have to spend less time with gay guys.

Then maybe there could be some cunt-fucker who wants to couple with me.

I am seriously uncoupled, in a mentally distraught way. I so fear I won't/can't be a match for anyone, because of my unusual sex.

And that fear is so strong it gives the thought an energy that manifests everytime, despite every other known rule about human love and sex and intimacy and relationship.

Love is stronger than fear. I don't mean if I just love the guys in my life more they will somehow change their brain hard wiring and find me sexually attractive (and not just for as long as they think of me as a boy or drag queen or pre-op transsexual). I mean if I love myself more, and take more risks, and take a chance at being bored mindless and have to deal with sexist shitheads and homophobes and all the other things likely to present at straight venues... But there are groovy places now like Kooky and.. and the queer/feral/uni student/scene around the inner west...

Again I am tortured with the hormone question. Would non-exclusively-gay guys fancy me if was more feminised? But would I fancy myself? I certainly don't fancy the idea of having more body fat hanging off my chest. I like my litheness. But I can't feed my cunt, and I'd give it all up, my beautiful androgynous body, if that would feed my cunt.

Fuck, guys, you don't know SHIT about being pussy whipped!

OK, current plan is to stay off hormones, and revisit this decision perhaps after a few months after I've given myself time to connect with a mate post-bus-bounce, maybe taking more chances to get close with the cute guys I do meet in mixed venues, cos I could hit by another bus tomorrow.

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Thursday, October 05, 2006

Buses and portents

I only just noticed: On September 4, I wrote on this blog

All that’s missing in my life is sex. Surely that should be bearable. But I just can’t accept this, and I can‘t change it, and maybe my work here is done, and maybe there’s a miracle around the corner. Or a bus. Ha ha.

One calendar month precisely later, I got both, the bus and the miracle.

So, let's try for a more positive outcome:

Maybe I'm doing everything right, and personally fulfilling intimate loving erotic relationships manifest with ease and joy and bliss and harmony in my life. All that was missing in my sex life was acceptance of my divine sexiness, and faith in divine abundance.

Blessed I am.

cuddles and portents

Last week I woke up and realised that I'd just been dreaming about lying in bed with a certain male friend wrapped around me, so I became depressed that I would even subconsciously want something that would most likely never happen, and started the day with the blues.

Then, a few days later, my friend called me about our proposed camping trip, saying he had no camping gear, and he actually agreed to share my tent and double sleeping bag.

The night we went camping, we saw a shooting star. I wished for a nice cuddle in bed. That night I got.... a nice cuddle in bed : )

It's better than sex.

It gave me the same blissful euphoric magic glow as Brian M falling asleep with his head on my shoulder when I was 16. Or when Steven S put his arm around my waist that same year.

It's five hundred billion trillion percent better than a furtive grope and seedy desperate sex followed by disavowal.

I know what the rutting animals get, and I want much much more. Give me divine intimacy!

I'm not in love with him, nor am I falling in love, but I loved the feeling of the feeling of his arm wrapped snuggly around my naked body. (For the record, I did fall in love with Brian M, but not Steven S, who was a better and close friend than the elusive Brian.)

Knowing what I like and focusing on it, I become more likely to cuddle with a cuddle bunny who may NOT be so disinclined to foster sexual interaction...

I've got all those hot young guys close to me who seem sexually active with every gender and age and activity but who have so far seemed specifically sexually unavailable to me.

My friend Kooky gave me some advice about this, She thinks the guys I fancy may be intimidated by me because I am an icon, so I should make more of an effort to relax them and signal a willingness to intimacy with, say, a hand on the shoulder, or a squeezed knee.

And I may not have been previously entirely comfortable with my sexuality. I tried to give guys my age an even chance, but they're really a much stuffier and less healthy generation than my personal standards allow. I like the slim guys and the guys who stay flexible and fit and healthy and the guys who are too young (under 25) to have become fat and blokey and unhealthy. So, they're twenty years younger than me, and I'm old enough to be their father or mother, but I'm not their father or mother, and I'm a sexy and very fit Tantrika.

It's not my place to challenge or shift the limits my friends have against sexual intimacy with me, for those limits must be respected if they are part of the structure of our friendship, (and I'd much rather the intimate relationship I have with my friend than have sex with him instead. And maybe we're too sexually alike to be compatible, and we honour each other and ourselves too much to fake something for the sake of partner pleasing...) but I can do something to stretch or dissolve the limits I impose on my love life. I've been too shy and insecure, and not known what to say when a new cute guy gets close to me.

That changes now. I survived being hit by a bus. Fear of rejection loses a lot of power by comparison. And, as the Miracle of the Naked Cuddle shows, God gives me what I persistenly and earnestly ask for.

Blessed be!

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I got hit by a bus

I got hit by a bus yesterday

I got hit by a bus.

I got hit by a bus!


Because I'm still alive!

Actually, I think it was Jesus specfically who saved me, as this happened (on my bike) just outside the church (on Broadway, now part of Norte Dame University) where I had committed my first conscious act of radical Christian activism, altering their "Trespassers will be Prosecuted" sign to "Trespassers will be FORGIVEN". I did this a few years ago, but it got mentioned in the Sydney Morning Herald's Stay In Touch column, but more importantly, Jesus remembered it, and when I was HIT BY A BUS, Jesus saved me. Thanks mate.

I reckoned I owed Christ a bit of gratitude after that, so I delivered the local paper put out by the local social justice activist Christians (yeah, the mob I hang with, the Uniting Church in Waterloo) to the Block (always first, with first delivery to The Aboriginal Tent Embassy) and then Chippendale East of Abercrombie, seven hundred copies all up. I kept going cos I didn't want to leave it undone if I stopped and became stiff and sore. I was, after all, hit by A BUS.

Not a bone broken. 45, castrated, no fuckin' prescription oestrogen for fifteen years, and not a bone broken. HIT BY A BUS. Take that, "medical experts" who prophesised oesteoporosis and broken bones if I stayed free of their potions! I was HIT BY A BUS and I'm OK!

Thank you Jesus, and bollocks to the scribes!


I'm still euphoric. What a fantasticly good life!

I got hit by A BUS!!!!!!

And I'm OKAY!

My life ROCKS!

It's now a day later, and today I feel like I've been hit by a bus, but then, I've been hit by a bus(so i'm a little bit stiff and sore), and.. I was hit by a bus (I am the first hand witness to a miracle! I am Beloved! )