Life as an Extreme Sport


It’s been half an hour since I sat down and wrote this entry in the pile of pillows, and the shakes have hit me now; I’m shaking so hard I can barely get my fingers to strike the proper keys and typos abound. My stomach has turned itself into a knot, my breathing has grown ragged, and my muscles so recently relaxed by Ryan have cramped back into a tangled mess. I realize this is just stress, but I also realize how miserable this makes me.

I knew there would come a point when boundaries would have to be discussed and negotiated, I had simply hoped it would come at a time where I was more ready for such a conversation. Perhaps I had hoped it would come at a time where I could define sex as simply intercourse. Perhaps I had hoped he would want to make sure I was okay with him being sexual with others before doing it. Perhaps… perhaps a lot of things. The point is now moot, and I am faced with trying to figure out how I feel and what I want and what I can cope with at a time where I don’t want to try to do any of that, but feel like I must.

Why must I? Because it seems it would be misleading to tell him it was all fine and okay if it wasn’t, and it seems that if this will make me unhappy, I need to take my own steps to be not unhappy. The sad question seems to be not “what can you do that will make you happy” but “which option will make you the least unhappy.” I do not want to be here, in this situation. Physically, I am having a hard time being here, in this apartment.

I’m sitting here quietly thinking about lines and where I draw them. This will be transcribed later – I don’t want to risk the computer waking him. He lays across from me, in the futon, snoring gently. We went our own way Saturday night – me to a D&D disaster, he to a party. An ambient party where many drugs were consumed. Where clothes were shed, and there was skinny dipping, sensual massages, cuddle piles and kissing. He tells me about all of this, and then says at one point “I didn’t have sex with anyone…” I told him I thought he would have told me if he did, since he was mentioning the rest. I also told him that the kissing bothered me, and asked about the massages. I asked about how erotic it was, how much fondling and stroking. He said it was sensual, arms and legs and scalp. I believe him because I must, but I find myself considering boundaries; I am [obviously] bothered by him kissing other people.

It seems like there are so many boundaries one can draw:
1) touching/friendly massage
2) hugging
3) friendly kissing
4) sensual/erotic massasge
5) erotic kissing
6) fingering, stroking, fondling
7) oral sex
8) vaginal/anal intercourse

And it seems to me that it is back to the tricky business of trying to decide what sex is. My definition apparently starts somewhere around item #4; his starts somewhere else on the list. Right now, without having asked him, I’m guessing it’s around #7 or #8.

Then you add in the drugs and lowered inhibitions, and I wonder “well, maybe this isn’t normal…” and then “does it really matter if it’s normal?” Do I “excuse” things because of drugs, a [semi]normal part of his life?

I cannot help but think this is not going to go well, a conversation about this. I think I thought I had more time to mentally prepare for him being sexual with other people – apparently I didn’t.

I’ve moved off the futon as a concession to my twisted emotions that want to pack up and leave this apartment; I only hope they calm down enough to let my bruised body find a bit of sleep on the floor.