My So-Called Life, Episode 4: "Father Figures"

 I'm watching My So-Called Life. 

  Some people don't know this about me, some people know this too well: I can't just do one thing, at a time. I don't feel "stimulated" enough, I guess. That's the answer I've settled with. So, I decided to do something while watching tv. I can't read a book. I can't listen to music. 

I can't masturbate. I won't masturbate. 

  I'll be honest. Usually, I'd masturbate. Then fall asleep. Forget about the whole situation. Avoid it all. But. Now that I'm in a relationship, I've got a whole new view (this show is wicked) on masturbation. Well, the "regular" sense of the word. 

  Sex is so ugh. I mean. Ugh. It's always been something mystique & magical. Growing up, i was a total teeny-bopper, sock hop, "going steady" kinda girl, about it. Bullshit. Bewllshitbewllshitbewllshit.
Maybe that fantasizing ruined it all for me. Because. It's ruined. I probably want to have sex, thrice a month. Seriously. 
It could be my diet. It could be stress. It could be inner childhood turmoil. 
Or. It could be me. 

  I liked sex when I was younger. Wayyyyy younger. Way. I was a wild child. My yester years were full of playing house, playing doctor, playing Playboy mansion. I experienced a lot. Never the full-fledge, though. I always loved the excitement of "Show You Mine, Show Me Yours." It was me, getting closer to knowing about myself. My sexuality. My life. I felt like I was living. I was doing things that Lizzie McGuire never dared to talk about. 

  But. Middle school was the last of it. My last experiment. Ever since then, I've had beautiful, enjoyable experiences with my boyfriend. But. It never, fully, live up to expectation. it's intense. It warm. It's vulnerable. It's love. (Its not him. I've felt that way before I started getting physical with him.) But. I guess I'm still haunted by the first time. How come it never lived up to expectation? Maybe it just ruined it all for me. I might be in a depression. Who knows. 

"The best sex I have is with myself, to be honest." – Amber Rose

  I couldn't have said it better, myself. It's quick. It's intense. It's not necessarily "the best." But, it's the least complicated. I don't like it anymore. But I need it. My body needs it. It's healthy. It relieves stress.

  Is it because of the convenience, or am I afraid of a connection with someone else? The vulnerability. Maybe I just know what I want, more than others. Maybe I'm just über selfish. Maybe I prefer my hand, more than others. Or maybe it's not really my hand. Maybe that's why I can't play with my cum-gun, without pornography. Because it's not really me. It's someone else's sexual experience, other than mine. Maybe I'm still ashamed of it all. That'll suck. I know I'm not perfect. I'll never be. But, I thought I was a lot closer to being perfect, than I truly am. 

  I used to eat when I was bored. I used to shine my Oscar, when I was bored. Now what?
I don't enjoy either, anymore. They're both chores. Something I see adults do. They seem to be okay. (I use that term, loosely.) So, I do them. 

  I used to prefer cleaning other people's rooms, houses, etc, over my own. Only God knows why. Well. I hope God does. 
Danny has that in common, with me. 
I'll start there. I have a pile of clothes, waiting to be organized. 
Come, my little Jews. I must organize you & hang you. Let's party like it's 1933!