"My brand of brutish happiness does not appease many people."

Just came to me

Very marginally relatedly [adverbs galore!], I strongly gender-identify as male. With self-calibrated gender quizzes, I routinely test around 75% (0% being female and 100% being male). I can't tell how much of this gender identity happened after I started being conscious of it, o what a conundrum. This train of thought is branching out into dozens of tendrils, and I don't have the inclination to pursue each of them at this moment in time. Lovely dendritic imagery there, don't you think? Even if I got my metaphors crossed. lol misfiring axons. At times I think it would have been nice to remain unaware of this maleness paradigm beneath my skin, but probably that's just because it's all wrapped up in my sexual painful issues, which I often lament but really actually need to learn to deal with positively and effectively. However I don't think the desire to just coast and be is all bad, concerning this issue. Anyhow skipping back a bit it's not just "oh I like to swear and read sci-fi" or something, not just a collection of actions and possessions coalescing into a persona; it's an underlying core consistency, one that makes me regularly identify with males and male issues (though I of course retain femininity-- not makeup femininity but emergency contraception femininity; not dizzy girlishness but an ability to appeal to raw weakness and not a blustery front). Okay now my mind is starting to slither down those aforementioned myelin sheaths so I'm going to leave this alone and continue cleaning my room. I need fresh air desperately.

part of my dysfunctional sexuality

I can't get off to things I find attractive. When I masturbate, I masturbate to revolting, painful, hardcore porn. I enjoy this and don't think it's a problem in and of itself. The problem comes in when I'm in a good mood and also want to fap, because I know that watching a man fuck a woman's face will indeed get me off, but it will also make my lighthearted spirit dissipate. The problem comes in when I can't masturbate to amateur couples enjoying realistic sex because it just makes me very sad (that it's not me in that situation). The problem comes in when I read/watch literature/films that turn me on on a variety of levels, visceral and cerebral, and can't imagine bringing myself off with that passion.

Masturbation doesn't come naturally to me. Sexual interest, hungry longing, all of that is me, but I didn't masturbate until I was nineteen(!). Even then it was just something I thought I should finally do. It doesn't make me happier, less horny, lower-strung, it's just an activity. I remember reading sex scenes in books when I was about thirteen, and feeling my cunt get hot and my clit throb... and that's about it. I read and reread these passages, enjoying how they made me feel, but that's where it stopped. (Sometimes I tried to put my hand down my pants quickly to see if I could feel myself throb with my fingers, but I guess it was an electron-like problem of observation because I never was able to catch myself.) Mentally, I've been enmeshed in the world of pornography for years-- I bow down in humble thanks, internet-- but my problem is that I have been trained by convenience (and possibly circumstance) to react Pavlovianly regarding arousal. Watching eighteen men come on a woman's face (I felt my clit get hard just writing that) turned out to be a convenient way to get off, so I used it; but I've never been a person to just explore myself and masturbate to anything interesting, so eventually I became utterly reliant on the context of hardcore degrading porn to get off. If this were only a part of my repertoire I would take no issue with it, but as of now it's worrisome to me. I also wonder: Do I just have no curiosity to explore myself, or is it an actual aversion? I just feel lazy, because laying there for fifteen minutes squishing my g-spot around and feeling no change in arousal is fucking boring.

Just as I never received any positive attention from the opposite sex at the age where it would have done me good and helped me consider the possibility that I might be attractive to someone, now my insane intimacy problems prevent me from letting someone else make me come. How have I had sex with [x] people without experiencing an orgasm? Well fucked if I know, I enjoy myself anyway. Some have tried, but after a while I sort of wave them off and we resume having fun. I'm concerned that I may not be *able* to come with another human being, just as at this point I am not *able* to come from things other than hardcore porn that arouse me.

Hmmmmmmm.

Today I got hit on twice at the bar! What the hell! I've never ever been hit on before. I mean where someone comes up to you out of the blue and the sexwooing attempts begin. One time it was some fat drunk guy and the next time it was a pair of guys offering to play cards with me and Karen. Who knows, maybe having a lesbian with you is a good luck charm. I'm not all aquiver with delight or something, I'm just befuddled (~52% pleasantly). I wasn't even wearing nice clothes or anything! Hmm, the only variable that actually changed was that I plucked my eyebrows (on a whim while stoned). MAYBE SEVENTEEN MAGAZINE WAS TELLING TRUTHS ALL ALONG. I think it'd be odd for a guy to see what the fuck is in those magazines. "They tell you how to pluck your eyebrows with a diagram with angles?!" Oh you ought to see how many cosmetic products pertain only to eyebrows. And this is coming from a person who never wears makeup or even blows dry her hair. (Shit, which sounds worse, blows dry or blow-dries?) Can you imagine how much brain power the average middle class American girl spends fussing over her appearance? I mean hey, maybe I'm less attractive and less accessible because I don't give a shit, but christ, I'm okay with that tradeoff. Anyway this became a good-natured tirade, but all I meant to mention was the hitting on. A first! And don't you dare mock me because it was totally undesirable. It's just kooky! Oh also I forgot, I lied and told the first guy I wasn't single. He just up and asked, and I remembered how my prior honesty had bought me an extra five acutely uncomfortable minutes of being cajoled by the middle-aged black man in the record store in St. Louis, so I just lied and said no. He left pretty promptly. The fat guy, not the black guy who wanted my number despite me being from a different city.

It's so weird! This feeling of possible desirability. Kind of like... eating a taffy apple when you are a kid and have a loose tooth. A new feeling, and kind of like you're maybe doing something wrong, but suck it up kid, really when that tooth is out you can justify it, it's not a grown-up tooth after all.