Owning Difficult Truths in The Secret Writings of Eros: Book 3- Fallout, Pain, Acceptance, and Perseverance

Ladies and Gentlemen… this is certainly not an entry I had anticipated writing. Frankly, there is an entry in Drafts right now that I would much rather be finishing. Because I would rather finish a hypothetical entry, an entry on ideas rather than do this entry, But my mind and body said “DO THIS ENTRY” so… I am writing it down. Whether it sees the light of day? We’ll address when it comes time.

Starting right off the bat with an obvious and unnecessary reminder- I am extremely fucking touch starved. To double down…I am extremely fucking touch starved and a criminal prosecutor… so every single person that decides “I don’t need consent” comes across my doorstep professionally… every single person that decides “If they say no, I punch them in the mouth and take it anyway” comes across my professional doorstep. I am a man who is 38 years old… and has only had ANY sexual content with 6 women… and “sexual content” means quite literally ANYTHING more than kissing. So… touching a boob? SEEING a boob? Seeing a vagina? I am 38 years old… the number of women for whom I have seen their vagina is five. AND that includes the woman who sexually assaulted me; the woman who (after a close friendship and physical relationship) told me that I was Genetic Garbage; it includes the Ex-Wife who not only refused any and all sex for years and years but ALSO said (and acted on) she would rather have sex with a total stranger than her “fat” husband.... thereby contracting an STI because “Yay Stranger, Boo Fat Disgusting Husband” meant she would rather contract a permanent disease than fucking TOUCH ME… it includes the Porn Model who repeatedly said that touching me at all was an act of pity… and it includes the woman who… after a full decade of being in relationship after relationship where she was beaten, stabbed, and physically abused… viewed the prospect of being in a relationship of support , love, and respect as a negative .... that gets to be my own personal history.

BUT considering my job? I get to see everything progress. Y’see, I am a 38 year old short fat white cis het criminal prosecutor. So quite literally anything that makes me sad gets an on-line celebration. FUCK following the law. FUCK all whites. FUCK all men. And what I come to?

Is the same as what I came to even 4 years ago.

WHY is it such an abomination for someone like me to want an honest relationship involving connection, physical touch, quality time, trust and meaningful… anything?!

I am 38 years old. I haven’t even had sex 38 time in my life. Fuck that, I haven’t even had 38 positive dates in my life… and I was married for almost 10 years!

I know that according to my family, according to my ex-wife, according to most of society the best thing I could do would be to just slit my throat and bleed the fuck out. But I can’t do that. I can’t punch my own ticket right now. But all the same? I don’t exactly expect anything positive to happen miraculously either.