It’s Saturday, which means it’s time to talk about sex, mistakes, discoveries, and the kind of laughter that only happens when you stop pretending you know what you’re doing.
For most of my life, sex was something I ran away from as quickly as possible. First was the abuse that seemed to lend credence to the exgay arguments that it was sinful, lead to really bad consequences, and I was called, by God, to celibacy (nope).
The conversion therapy world exploited the abuse done to me and gave me false answers and hope that I then taught others out of my ignorance. If you are in that world, please know, there is an exit door, and I encourage you to leave that world as soon as you can. Back to the point…
When you spend years disconnected from your own body, you start to believe that’s just how it is.
When I came out as gay in 2015, I had the sexual emotional maturity of a 19-year-old. Here I was 30+ years later and thought I was instantly supposed to know the answers, hit the marks, deliver the performance. My sex drive reigned supreme and I had no idea how to navigate sex in a healthy way.
Let’s say that gay sex came naturally to me, but it was still awkward, stilted and a lot of “is this ok?” Or “WOW, I had no idea you… do that again!” being said to the guy I was dating at the time.
Then came the moment — unexpected, unplanned, and honestly a little ridiculous — when everything shifted…
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