Sex to death

A conversation at Trisa's journal has led me to be a little absorbed to-day in thoughts about my attitudes regarding sexuality. And having thought for awhile after posting my last bit, I've come to the conclusion that in fact, I sincerely do not know what's wrong with me.

Trisa's tired of the conversation so it looks like it's going to be a conversation with myself now, which is why I've carried it over here.

This reflection on myself found its impetus when I realised that both Cryptess and Trisa were at a consensus that I am "repressed,"

I think my first mistake in the conversation was not seeing what Trisa meant by this. I took it as if I had called myself repressed. Which has significant differences than if I were to try to figure how Trisa meant it from her perspective.

Under the perception I took, I took this to refer to that which I am most often consciously aware of suppressing in myself, namely my powerful attraction to Trisa. Or, perhaps the bigger thing was my repression in myself I exercise to not feel too acutely that which I want but cannot have. The fact that girls that I am attracted to enough to want to have sex with them do not desire to have sex with me. I should have realised it would be absurd for Trisa to be angry at me for such suppression.

I think the reality of what Trisa, and I think Cryptess, were pointing to was simply my lack of enthusiasm for engaging on general topics of sexuality in conversation. And it occurs to me that there are times when I have felt I ought to hold back certain racier comments for fear of insulting them or appearing vulgar to them. But as they both evidently enjoy such things quite a lot, I shall henceforth not restrain my discourse.

Hm. I think that's about the size of it. I'm glad I at least cleared it up with myself. Or maybe I haven't. Maybe there's something wrong with me that I cannot see but other people can.

Maybe I smell like pineapples or something.

Oh well. I guess I'll just have to trust my friends to point these things out gently . . .