I recall standing up at an assembly at Hyde, it was journaling time, we did it every Thursday morning, one or two questions and everyone would write about it, and then whoever wanted to share could. I wrote about masturbation. I was struggling with it. Not the physical act itself but the conflicting philosophies of my culture and my identity. Why was it so wrong? Especially if it felt so good? Why was I a sinner for enjoying my body? I raised my hand, trembling all the while, heart racing, and when I read it I could barely say the word: masturbation. And when I finished and looked out over the crowd, I saw a group of people, all of my teachers, who had encouraged me to take risks and share, every god damn day of that horrible school, and here was my risk, and that group of people turned away, and wouldn’t hear, wouldn’t comment. Boys don’t touch themselves and if they did we wouldn’t talk about it either. The men can’t talk about sex, the women can’t be alone with me in a room. Talk about your dad dying, or share with us your academic insecurities, but never speak a word of sex, and we won’t either.
I guess it’d be OK if you were gay, but you’re not.
Bi’s are greedy.
Bottom’s are less of a man than a gay man. Every gay man knows that.
Pegging is for pussies.
S&M is for freaks and creeps, deviants and psychos.
You just want your dick sucked you pig.
All you men want is sex.
All you care about is getting off.
All you think about is tits and ass and cumming.
Don’t look, it’s sexual harassment.
Don’t touch, it’s sexual assault.
Don’t love, it’s rape.
So many words now, so many words, for feelings that never had any words before…
So many words…