SARD: Part 20 – Fantasies…

A couple of days ago, I had someone email me and were discussing dreams. I Was asked if I am the type of person that remembers dreams.  Typically, I am not.  I fall asleep and then I wake up. I can’t remember, regularly remembering my dreams, since I was a teenaged kid.  There is one type of dream I have, however, on a regular basis and it is a highly sexual and erotic dream…

Now, before you all get excited for me to post it, I’ll just mention I am not going to discuss it. I’m not going to go into the sordid details, nor the surrounding topics within the sexual fantasy I have.  Because, that’s not really the point of this post. The point of this post is that it is the only dream I can ever remember. I’m not sure why it is that I can only remember THIS dream when I wake up or struggle with sleeping because it invades my mind and doesn’t leave.

The only thing I can surmise is that it exposes something about myself that is extremely self-deprecating (Have any of you noticed this tendency about myself). It gives me an image of myself I am not comfortable with, but it surrounds a fact about myself that shouldn’t be an issue but it is. It is such a focus of my dream-fantasy, that my senses become heightened and I am so….hmmm….aroused, that I don’t know what to do about it.

Sure, I have had other fantasies, but those fantasies are usually fantasies I have while I’m awake.  And this particular fantasy is one that I have awake, asleep, eating dinner, going for a walk…whatever. It’s a fantasy that makes me hyper aware of my vulnerability and overwhelmed with the knowledge that there is nothing I can do about it.  But ultimately, it is the only fantasy I can remember dreaming about when I have been a sleep.

I know a lot of you are probably wanting me to just divulge it, based on the number of things I have discussed that demonstrates my ability to be vulnerable. But it is the kind of fantasy that has even caused issues within relationships.  It’s not something illegal, and it doesn’t involve anyone being physically hurt. It is literally a psychological mind-fuck (for lack of a better term) and I have never understood why I fantasize about it.

The other day, I was emailing with another blogger who had offered a suggestion about facets of my sexuality that made some sense to me.  Again, I won’t mention the details of the conversation, because it scratches the surface of the topic of my fantasies, but it is something that stands on the forefront of my mind as being utterly accurate. Ultimately, I have never understood where the fantasy originates, why it is there nor how to grasp it’s impact to my sexual desires. But it is there, it is a part of me and it is the only thing I can remember when I dream…

SARD: Part 19 – Unable to Tell (Warning: NSFW 21+)

********Warning: This post is highly sexual in nature. It has a homoerotic theme and sexual assault connected to it. I am going to use sexual and vulgar language, simply because that is the only way I know how to tell this story. Some of you may be shocked at the brutal vulgarity, others may not. Some of you may find this hard to accept, some of you may not. Some of you might be aroused by this and some of you might be disgusted. Some of you might pity me, and some of you may find sorrow. Some of you may never understand why I wrote it and some of you might understand better than I do. I have always tried to be honest, but sometimes honesty is raw and not very nice.*******

I don’t know why this memory came to me, but it happened when I was a teenager, with a friend that I had…hmmm…”experimented” on a previous occasion. I’m not going to mention his name…mostly because I don’t want to. But, I had this memory occur today…

“Put your mouth on it…” his words sounded void of emotion other than lust raging in his eyes and escaping on the heat of his breath. I grabbed a hold of his penis, doing what I was ordered to do and put my mouth on it.

“Now suck it..”  Slowly, like he told me to do before, I moved my mouth up and down the shaft of his penis, taking his swelling member into my mouth and touching the back of my throat. I knew he liked what I was doing. I didn’t like this feeling I had. It felt different than the last time I was with him.  The last time, he seemed to care about my enjoyment in our sexual encounter, but this seemed forced – by whom, I couldn’t tell. I began to gag a little as he put his hands on the back of my head and thrusted upward forcing me to take him as far down my throat as he would go. His balls smashed against my chin as he let out a guttural sound.

Tears formed in my eyes as I tried to take him over and over, fighting back the urge to gag. I felt like vomiting. ‘This is nothing like before’, I thought to myself, as he continued to fuck my face with my on my knees and he stood in front of his chair. So many thoughts came rushing in as I tried to concentrate on breathing and trying not to gag.

“I’m going to fuck your ass just like I’m fucking your face, you little bitch!” came the words that oddly aroused me and disgusted me at the same time. It felt different than the first time he and I made love. I thought I mattered, but this was making me feel like I didn’t matter.  His forcefulness said all he wanted from me was sex. There was a loss of emotion in today, like loving me wasn’t going to be involved like he led me to believe the first time we did it.  Maybe I am nothing more than a whore? A faggot whore, I thought to myself.

Then, in a sudden motion, he yanked himself clear of my mouth and I looked up at him with tears in my eyes, gasping for a little breath and thankful I was no longer choking.  He looked down at me with a grin and I gave him my hand to assist me in getting up. I rose to my feet and he pulled me over and slightly shoved me past him. He put one hand on my upper back and pushed me over the chair. I knew what he wanted and I didn’t feel like it today, because he felt so rough, but I wanted the feeling of being wanted. And he wanted me, he wanted me for his own use.

“Bend over, so I can fuck you…” he whispered in me ear and I could feel his hot breath on my neck and upper back. He pulled my shorts down and I heard him spit on his hand.  I always thought this form of lubrication was disgusting and I’m not a huge fan of anyone’s spit outside of kissing.  He kicked my legs apart, unlike how he caressed me into submission the last time we were together. I knew what was coming, as I began to breath and try to relax. I spread my feet, giving him access to what he wanted. I leaned against the soft back of his chair.

“I hope you’re ready for my dick, baby”, he said, half giggling. I felt horrified this time.

I raised my head and turned to look at him and whimpered, “Can we do this another time?”

“Don’t be a pussy. You know you love my dick!” and he began to shove himself inside of me. I cringed, as the pressure of his penis pushed inside of me. I bit the back of the chair and tried to bear down to take it.  My knees buckled and he pushed me to a kneeling position on the arms of the chair.  This forced my ass apart even further and it allowed him to burrow right into me. The little bit of saliva on his dick helped, but it still hurt and I can feel the heat of friction.

I began to whimper a little as I bit the back of the chair. My forceful lover seemed to muster some sensitivity and spit on the entrance some more, providing a little more ease in getting himself into me. I knew it wasn’t for me, however, because he was pushing himself in further. Eventually, my rectum took him and he pushed in and out of me, slowly. I was thankful for it, because I was in pain.

His cock was huge and I could barely take it the last time we made love. This time, he felt monstrous and I began to cry as he began to pound into me. He grunted which each thrust as he held my hips into place, making sure he was not obstructed entering me.  I continued to bite the back of the chair, wishing it was over, in spite of my own arousal.  I didn’t understand why I was excited and wishing it would end at the same time.

I pulled my mouth off the back of the chair and became remotely aware that I was weak all over. He was holding me up as he fucked me. I was moaning, but holding still, worried about the pain and how to handle it.  He kept fucking me harder and harder. IT went on for so long, I couldn’t stand it and began to have an orgasm.  He noticed and leaned over slightly slowing his pace and bellowed, “I knew you loved this. You love it when I fuck you, bitch!”

I practically collapsed at this point and thankful he was so strong and could hold me up as he continued his assault on my tight hole.  Eventually, he began to slow and I could feel his penis start to pulsate, recognizing he was in the throes of his own orgasm.

“Take it out, take it out…!” I pleaded, and he finally did something I had hoped. He pulled himself out and it felt like my ass was on fire. He plopped his thick cock on me, between my butt cheeks and I could feel the heat of his spurt on my lower back as he rocked back and forth ejecting all of his cum onto me.

He began caressing my back, as I recovered strength in my legs to hold myself into position. I was still panting and began to turn to look at him.  A couple of weeks ago, I thought I might have loved him as he made love to me; but today?  Today, I felt disgusted. I couldn’t even fake a smile.

He backed away from me, and pulled up his underwear and jeans, saying, “Thanks. I really needed that.”  He finished dressing as I stood up and asked, “I need to shower, do you want to shower with me?”

I asked it, half hoping there was some sort of romantic notion salvageable in his being.  He simply shook his head and said, “I got to go, so you got to leave…”

I figured one of his parents were on their way home or something, so I put my clothes back on. Not even cleaning myself off. I felt completely used and disgusted with myself. I didn’t like anything that happened this time.

I drove myself home, feeling the sticky ooze he left on my backside. I was thankful to get home to an empty house. None of my family was home, which made it easier to get in and showered before anyone knew anything.

Although, I had seen him again, I still to this day can’t distinguish between knowing if this was a sexual assault or simply engaging in my own temptations.


SARD: Part 18 – When the Questions Never End…?

I have these times when I have a sudden urge to “Get right with God” – you might have noticed it.  I go through a series of mental games with myself where I fall back on assumptions I used to have about sexuality. These assumptions amount to ideas of mind over matter – in other words, I convince myself that I don’t have to be bisexual, if I don’t want to be. I go on these missions to understand WHY I have engaged in certain sexual behaviors – because there MUST be a reason, right?

I remember when I first began to question my gender, as well. I remember wondering if my sexuality and gender are intimately connected in a lot of ways. I know the common understanding is that they are separate issues, but I have always wondered about how they might be connected. I’ve said before, that in my experience I am feel more masculine when I am with women, but more feminine when I am with men.  To me, it seems readily obvious that my so-called gender identity is connected to my sexuality.

But speaking of gender identity, I’m even beginning to question that.  I ascribe to science in so many ways, and science has already determined that the genetic make-up of men and women are different, based upon the shapes of their chromosomes.  There are anomalies, just like anything else in nature, but anomalies are rare – I even read the other day that there are only like 0.023% people in the U.S. that are Transgendered (Assuming a population of 320 million, that’s still  73,600 people. I could be misquoting the statistic, but that’s still as many people that would fill up a small city like Casper, WY). So, I question who/what I am and these questions conflict with any sort of faith I may still be struggling

The problem with this is that I get overwhelmed. Some of you have seen me literally obliterate entire blogs, because of it. I’ve deleted blogs I’ve had for 2 or 3 years, sometimes, because I get so sick of the online image I present of myself, that it is so far removed from the one I have in “real” life. I’ve even posted my picture once and I had someone email me and tell me what a “great looking man” I was.  It bothered me, actually, because I don’t feel great looking and I don’t feel like a man. But the sad reality for me, is that I don’t look or feel like a woman either. I realize I’m not androgynous looking – my physical features are extremely masculine. And sometimes I feel like I want to be Dexter St. Jock, swinging my penis around like a rope and slinging it across my shoulder onto my back as if I’m the manliest stud to walk the face of the earth. And yet, I still dream of fitting into a pretty dress, squealing like a girl, and doing other feminine things.  Are my pains the results of social constructs? Some would say so. Or are my pains the result of not living within acceptance of my true self – whatever that might be?  And there are others that would think that. And, what about living how God would want me to live?  Oh, I think that would be a resounding “Yes” from some.

The problem is that I have lost myself. I have lost myself and just don’t know how to get back to feeling happy, content, peaceful, confident, etc. And these questions make me contemplate just checking out from everything – not actual life, but checking out from the current path I’m on and finding another one.  But I also feel like these feelings are temporary. I find little bits of ironies in life a lot of the time – of course, 9 out of ten times, they’re an irony in my own life. And as I feel these things, I sometimes happen upon something like this post, which gives me hope that I’m not the only one who struggles from time to time.

SARD: Part 17 – Why Have I Never Come Out?

I received an email the other day from a follower inquiring as to why I have never come out as bisexual or someone with a gender identity disorder.  This is a complex question to answer, as you might imagine.  The reality is that there are a multitude of issues I deal with and my sexuality and gender are certainly some of the more complex matters I handle on an ongoing basis.  I discussed in my last post for my Sexual and Relationship Development, the times I have come out to someone – and they are pretty rare; but, there are many reasons I have not come out on any grand scale and I don’t plan on it.

One of the main reasons I don’t share my sexuality or gender identity issues is because of safety.  Any Google search of hate crimes against LGBT will give you an article like this one, that states about 20% of the hate crimes reported in the U.S. are directed towards those in the LGBT community.  Even in my home state of Colorado, hate against the LGBT community exists (Granted, this article is a little dated, so the statistics might be different now). The intention of my post isn’t to divulge all of the horrible crimes that hit the LGBT community, because there have been oodles and oodles of articles, news stories, outcries, policies made and so many other things to address the matter.  No my main point is to stress that it is not something people like me can face without worry. And I truly admire those that stand up, regardless.

And, although there are laws that protect LGBT people in the workforce, there are still repercussions that occur when people come out.  We live in an imperfect world and there are always imperfect consequences to these matters.  I’ve mentioned before, that I work in an industry that is stereotypically masculine and if I were to out myself, I worry about how it would impact my career in the long run.  Especially after returning from a two year lay-off, I now have a sense of needing to protect my job and my career. I realize there are always legal avenues I could pursue, if I were to come out and there was any kind of backlash in that action, but I don’t want the headache of it all right now in my life.  The reality is that I am trying to recover my financial state and protect myself from another slide.  At this point in my life, I feel old and I feel like there is not much time left for me to achieve the success I desire (Of course, this is an entirely different topic…).

Another thing I don’t discuss too often online is the fact that I do have children.  My role as a parent is to protect them and protect any sense of a stable life for them.  Granted, the mere fact that I’m currently preparing for divorce is going to unsettle them a bit (a couple of my kids are already adults, so maybe a little easier for them), but to have to deal with one of their parents struggling with their own sense of self, is not something I want to burden them.  Granted, I have had this discussion with others – even therapists – that express that my demonstration of courage would be a strong trait to instill in my children; I would not want them to have to deal with the negative consequences that could come along with it.  I understand this is a sensitive topic on its own, but I believe my goal is to love them the best I know how.

My family is traditionally very conservative in their beliefs and traditions, so my coming out would come as a complete surprise, I believe.  My dad’s side of the family is probably a little more conservative than my mom’s side of the family.  Although, I have a couple of aunts on my mom’s side of the family that are very pro-LGBT, I think they are also very judgmental and tend to have the attitudes that if you don’t live life the way the see fit, then you are wrong (I don’t get along so well, with these aunts…lol). I’ve always wondered how people in my family would react, if they were to know and sometimes I’ve toyed with the idea that maybe a few might actually realize I am bisexual and/or trans (I’m still working through this issue).  I also have grandparents that are still alive, but they are getting older and one of them is truly struggling with health right now; but I wouldn’t want them to deal with the latter days of their lives thinking something horrible about themselves that I’m not what they had envisioned for life.  I know there are a multitude of different “what ifs” that can’t be defined, simply because they are “what ifs”, but I have decided that this is easier for me to handle this way.

Religion and God?  Obviously, for those of you that have followed my blog for a while, religion is tight issue with me.  I struggle with being raised Catholic and coming to the understanding that I am bisexual.  I understand the catholic theological point of view on the matter and it ultimately boils down to the fact that sexual relationships within Catholicism are completely okay, when they are kept to the confines of a marriage between one man and one woman.  The historical and theological references that can be made do not need to be discussed, other than to point out that they will lead to the same conclusion: regardless of your sexuality, a human being is called to be sexually chaste; or in the case of marriage, sexual fidelity within the marriage.  This is a topic that has been debated for centuries, but not the purpose of my post, so I’m not going to make an argument other than to point out it’s relevance to me not coming out: I have not decided how I want to live my life, with this particular aspect of my life. I can’t give up my concept of God, I can’t give up that idea that God wants me to live a certain way.  And because of that, I do have a bit of fear about how I should live my life.  Intellectually, I understand a lot of the arguments for and against; but spiritually, I just haven’t figured it out yet.  And I’m not ready to completely reject it, although, I am totally and utterly apprehensive about embracing it.

Although, there are many other reasons I have not come out, the ones I listed above are the most critical ones. They are the ones that are on my mind when I consider the impacts or purpose of doing just that.  However, the one reason I have felt the most comfortable is the one reason I am able to function on a day to day basis without it overbearing me with the worries:

My sexuality is on a need to know basis.  It’s truly my business.

SARD: Part 16 – The times I’ve tried to come out

WARNING: Intended for Adult audiences and probably NSFW 21+


In this segment of the series I have called Sexual and Relationship Development (or SARD), I wanted to discuss the relatively few times I have come out to anyone as bisexual.  This morning I had a thought about how revealing who I am on any grand scale might benefit me.  I don’t think it would, actually, but the thought had me thinking about the people I have tried to tell.  There haven’t been very many, but I thought I’d mention the handful that I have told – or even the ones that new but didn’t know how right they were. In this particular segment, I’m going to come clean about a lot of things that I am not proud of doing, but they happened, so I’m going to divulge them.

I think my earliest recollection of telling anyone I was bisexual was an ex-girlfriend of mine. I don’t use real names for the not-so-innocent people involved, so I call her Katy. Katy and I had been pretty adventurous, sexually, when we dated. And there were a couple times, in addition to the cross-dressing I did with her, that toys were introduced in our love making and sexual play. Katy used a toy with a strap-on with me a couple of times.  During one such session, she was behind me and asked, “Are you gay?”  I replied with, “No, I enjoy sex with you…”  And then she began to insert the toy into me and said, “But you love cock so much, baby…”  I nodded and she said, “Are you bi…?”  I was being taken at that point, but I nodded and told her yes.

Another time, I had a friend in college who’s name was Timmy.  I had always assumed Timmy was gay, but I never knew for sure. He was kind of a quiet guy, but very nice to everyone around him.  He also spoke softly, and at the time, effeminate men were always assumed to be gay – society hadn’t really begun to shed it’s stereotypes just yet.  So, one day, I asked him, “Timmy, are you gay?” His eyes practically swallowed his face, they got so big. He looked around, as if everyone was watching, and he said in a hushed voice, “Um…yeah…”  I felt bad for having put him on the spot, so I offered a little bit about myself, “It’s okay. I’m bisexual…I won’t tell anyone.” Timmy has always been a good friend. Gawd knows how many times he’s had to put up with me whining about my relationship. The one and only thing that worried me about Timmy is the time I met him for dinner, about 10 years after college and he told me he had been with 250 guys – I mean, how can one ass handle that?!?!?!  (I literally asked him that and he assumed I was teasing…he’s a slut!, but a good friend. I haven’t seen him in a few years, I should email him…)

The next person I told was a bartender in a bar at a hotel I was staying at for work.  My marriage was in turmoil (Ugh…when isn’t it, huh?) and I strongly considered going out on my spouse. I happened to be sitting in this bar one night and having a drink. I was already in the process of trying to come to terms with myself and was going through this thing in my head where I was assuming that because my marriage was bad, it must be me. And since I couldn’t make any relationship with a woman work, it must be because I am not straight and it’s subconsciously playing itself out in my relationships. Well, I struck up a conversation with the bartender and she was really nice, so I asked her about the nightlife of this particular town.  She began to tell me all the various places that “single guys” would like.  I lowered my voice, so as only she could hear and playfully changed my voice to a slight lisp and expressed, “Honey, I’m not tho thure I would fit in at thome of those plathes…” She got a look of understanding on her face and gave a small smirk and said, “Oh, well you want to go to…” And she rattled off the names of two local gay bars.  I didn’t go – probably because I was terrified of actually being found out. But at the time, I felt somewhat liberated feeling a little open.

Another time I told someone was a childhood friend of mine – Robert (I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned him before or not, so I didn’t find a link). He and I were friends since age six. He is totally and utterly unaware of any of my sexual experiences – other than with some girls – until I mentioned to him I was bisexual. He and I were both friends with a couple of the guys that I had been involved, but no one talked about it, so I doubt he knew. I had considered a Rob a pretty close friend of mine and we had grown up together, gotten into fights together, flirted with different girls together, etc. etc. We had lost contact for a while, because life just takes you in different directions.  But we reconnected and I he and I went out and had a beer. I told him there was something I wanted to tell him and he said “Yeah, whatever…”. I looked him in the eyes and I said, “I’m bi…”  He looked a little shocked, but said, “I don’t care…but I’m not fucking you!” (Truth be told, he’s NOT my type…I wouldn’t fuck him, if he wanted to know…). I couldn’t go through with it, however, so the next day I called him up and started laughing in the phone. I was saying things like, “You’re so fucking gullible and dumb. $10 says you would have popped your cock out, if I asked…I’m not gay, bone head!”  It must have worked, because he said, “I figured you were fucking with me…”  I didn’t stay friends with Robert.  He made me feel really uncomfortable around a family member to the point that the hair on my neck stuck up.  A few years after that, I had heard he got messed up on meth and I have not heard hide nor hair of him since.

Another person I told was my wife. It came about one night, because I had fallen asleep and was dreaming. She and I had only been together about 6 years at this point, so it was fairly early in our marriage. But I had a VIVID dream that night. My wife asked me the next morning, if I knew what I was saying in my sleep.  Of course, I didn’t, but she had a little look of concern on her face and asked me, “Are you gay?” I am sure I scrunched my eyebrows, but I said, “Um… no, why?”  She said, “Well, it seems like you had an exciting dream about a guy…”  I asked, “Why is that?” And she said, “You kept telling him to put it in your mouth, you want to suck it…”  I felt horrified!  I said, “I had a dream… Look, there’s something I got to tell you…”  And she looked worried and said, “Are you cheating on me with a guy? I can’t be married to you, if you’re gay, you know that, right?”  I replied, “No, no, no… Look, I did have a dream about someone, but it was someone long before you and I met. And yes, it was a guy. I thought maybe I was gay at one time, but I think I am bi or confused or whatever. But I am NOT cheating on you with a guy. I promise that. It was just a dream…” Of course, she needed a little comforting, but it kind of worked its way out at the time. But I never heard the end of it, during arguments. There were so many times when we argued, that I heard things like, “Well, maybe you need to go find someone to give it to you up the ass!” or “Go find a dick to suck!” or “Faggot!”  Of course, these were just as bad as all of the times I was accused of screwing other women too.

The only other people I have told, in real life, were therapists. I have told three therapists about my sexuality. Of course, not one of them seemed surprised at all.  I’m not sure why I’m writing about this today, but it did strike me and I felt the need to do it.

So, there you have it!

SARD Part 15 – Damn Co-Dependency!


There are some days that have me questioning things.  Today, I’m feeling low…it was such an awesome high, yesterday, that I knew a low was going to follow – it always does.  I am torn about my marriage and I wonder, in some small way, if all I’m doing is trying to run and hide from myself and my responsibilities as a man.  I have such a hard time dealing with myself, when others I deal with aren’t happy with me.  This is so true in my normal everyday dealing with people, that it is no surprise that it is a cornerstone of any romantic/intimate relationship I have. I have so many examples of my codependency.

For example, I had a girlfriend once who cheated on me, and I did everything I could to try and convince her not to cheat on me.  I felt like I must have done something that would make her want to do this.  It must be something I have done, so I apologized for things I happened to be doing wrong.  Granted, they were wrong, but looking at it logically, almost anyone would agree that there is no excuse for cheating. However, I would make her indiscretions my issue, rather than making her accountable to herself (Granted, I did put my hand through her door when she told me…so THAT was childish and wrong). Then you can look at my marriage and there are so many examples of that same behavior, that I wouldn’t even know where to begin.

Granted, my wife has never cheated (Well…kind of…there was that one time when she had a picture of a friend’s penis; and, recently, she began talking to an ex boyfriend and told me she was going to leave me for him, if I didn’t change).  This is not something I can excuse in my behavior, because I have.  And I have made other mistakes, as well – I was wrong for it, and I won’t do that to anyone again.  But for years, previous to that, I had been the victim of domestic violence.  That’s right, I said it…I had been hit by her on several occasions during arguments.  And I’m not talking about a slap across the face (Gawd knows, I have a sarcastic tongue…); no, I’m talking closed fists to my face kind of hits.  I remember her telling me on several occasions, when I expressed I didn’t like that treatment, “If you’d show me some respect, you wouldn’t get hit”. What did I do? I tried to change my behavior to accommodate her needs. I mean, I loved her, so wouldn’t I want to change myself to suit her?  This is just a small taste of the toxicity in my marriage.

In fact, when I began my first WP blog, it was intended to be about my failing marriage – that was almost 5 years ago, when I began blogging on WP.  I have changed myself so much to try and meet her needs, I began to forget who I am.  I expressed in previous postings, that I absolutely changed who I am as a basic individual. I have also come to terms with my sexuality over the past few years.  I truly believe I am bisexual. But something else began to emerge – Stephanie.  I am now questioning this reality. I’m questioning if it is simply another way for me to try and adapt to all of the heartache I feel as man.  Am I really someone that has problems with his identity, or have I been so emasculated through not being appreciated for who I am, that I felt I needed to change everything about myself – including my gender. But I’m questioning so much about the marriage that I am now having doubts about it’s continuance or it’s demise.

Something else happened today that had me questioning if I am even a good person.  Somehow, I inadvertently offended someone on here that I considered a friend.  I won’t go into details, because it’s not fair to discuss it, but she had asked me to unfriend her and has since blocked me.  Now, I’m wondering what I did wrong.  I always feel like there is always something I can do to have prevented a negative situation from occurring.  I look to turn a cheek, I look to explain myself for fear that the other person thinks I mean to hurt them. I look for some way to salvage any wrong -perceived or real.  It’s something I don’t know how to let go and accept that sometimes oil and water really don’t mix.

I feel like a failure when I want to make someone happy and it doesn’t happen…

And now, I begin to wonder again, if I am to blame for my marriage. Am I avoiding some responsibility? Should I be handling my life in a different way? What can I do to make things right? I’m probably only thinking of my needs, wants and desires when I consider my sexuality or consider that I’m not the gender I was born to be.  I start to question all my knowledge of self and wonder if I’m truly fucked up? Maybe when I question all of this, I should be seeking God…or return to my faith and accept that I am all wrong.

I feel like I was happy as a man at one time. I felt at one time I was happy being heterosexual. I felt at one time, I was secure in who I was as a person.  But life happened to me, it happened to me and it made me question everything about myself. Just like today did – and I don’t even know why, because it’s not like I was even close to this “friend” I mentioned above. It shouldn’t feel important. Granted, I have had conversations with a few of you on here and I feel like losing any of those friendships would devastate me, if this one is doing what it is doing now.

But, it made me want to eat this:


At least it’s not a beer, right?

But I know, deep down, this co-dependency thing will be there with me, at all times! I don’t understand when it developed, where it developed or why it developed. I feel like I used to be secure, but somehow it’s like everything else I’m realizing about myself – it feels like it has probably always been there, but has never surfaced until later in life. But there are other things that I began to question after I started feeling co-dependent, so are any of those a reality for me?

SARD: Part 14 – That time I was Stephanie.

WARNING: NSFW, Intended for older than 18 years of age.


Today, I was having a discussion with a friend via email. And she asked me my name (Obviously, my real name is NOT “Tar Nished”), and I gave it to her.  I’m usually open about giving my real name on email, but I have an issue with my gender identity, and although, I think I have pretty well nailed it down, something comes along that makes me think about it. So, I am making another entry in my Sexual and Relationship Development to discuss that time I went by the name Stephanie. I even joked around with my friend about using this name.

I have mentioned that there were various times in my youth, and sometimes in adulthood, where I have felt an inclination towards femininity and being a female over a male.  I’m not totally sure when some of these tendencies began to arise, but today as I spoke with my friend and the name Stephanie came up, I remembered how it came into being.  The truth of the matter is that it is the name my mother would have given me, had I been born as a girl.  But how does it come into play in my Sexual Development?

Back in high school, I had a friend that lived on the same street as I did. His name was Chris.  One day, we both decided to call ourselves by the opposite gender name our mothers would have given us, had we been born girls. He would have been Heather and I would have been Stephanie.  It all began rather innocently, we would call each other on the phone, such as, “Hi Heather, it’s Stephanie.” Or we would go knock on each other’s door and ask, “Is Heather here?”  Our mothers both thought we were goofing off with each other and harassing each other.

One evening, however, I was over at Chris’ house and in his back yard. We were just talking, when out of the blue he asked, “So, does Stephanie like boys or girls?” He had a bit of a grin on his face. I smirked and replied, “I might like boys, why?”  His grin deepened and he opened up the fly to his jeans and said, pulling his penis out and said, “What would Stephanie do with this?”  Almost immediately, I sank to my knees in front of Chris and began to give him a blow job.  He stroked my head as I looked up into his eyes with his cock in my mouth.  He said to me, in a deep, low voice, “Good girl. I like it, keep doing it”.

I would have probably continued doing it, but the door of his house opened, letting some light out. I stood up immediately and wiped the saliva off my mouth.  Chris put himself back inside his jeans and zipped his zipper. Luckily we were in an area of his yard, darkened by shadows as one of his brothers came out to find out what we were doing. Chris had told him we were just hanging out.

Chris and I never did anything like that again.  In fact, we both had treated it like it never occurred. We never used our “girl” names again and there was never another sexual encounter.  I treated it like I did almost all of the same-sex encounters I have had – like there was something wrong with me.  I simply made the decision, at the time, that it was wrong that I shouldn’t (there’s that damned word again…) be doing it and that if I never did it again, everything would be alright. I felt that pretending to be a girl was just that – pretending. I had a penis, there was no way I could be a girl.  Like I’ve mentioned in other posts, the concept of being anything other than a masculine male did not seem to be reality.

I’m somewhat shocked that I had forgotten this incident, but re-visiting the name of Stephanie had brought it out.  I easily come to contemplate my reality, my sexuality, sexual behavior, my gender, how I see myself an all that goes into it.  Today, I had an email exchange with a different friend that encouraged me in a similar way as the one I mentioned above – to seek happiness. One friend suggested that if I want to feel pretty, then that is what I should pursue. The first friend suggested that if I want a boyfriend, then maybe it was time for me to find that.

I am in a better place today, than I was many years ago. I’m in a better place than I was a year ago. I’m in a better place than I was 4 months ago. I am enjoying being me…the real and authentic me. I like that I have more power over how I see myself than I ever imagined before. Sometimes I think about all of the things I should (there it is again…), but I also think that I need to just live for now and whatever happens is okay.

But I have come to love my inner Stephanie.