That my sexuality flowed through me like the waves on shore.
That I was unafraid of it, that I loved it. That everyone could see I was a sexual creature.
When I went out I put on makeup, and got complimented for it. When I was comfortable enough in your presence to not be “all put together” it was an honor.
Imagine everyone wanted to be me, or everyone secretly wanted to sleep with me. Rumors of my sexual exploits were shared with a wink and a smile.
Imagine I could have any man or woman I wanted.
Then would you celebrate my sex? My life would be hellish and dangerous in a thousand other ways, but in that piece at least I would feel valued. I could be the target of slut shaming or physical violence, workplace inequity or other forms of not being taken seriously yes, but…
Would you still be waiting with bated breath for when I violated someone?
Would you trust me… Then?
Would you believe in the fundamental goodness of my being?
Because the way it stands I and so many other men feel guilty until proven innocent.
We’re automatically the violators. When you hear perpetrator the image of a man comes to your mind. Don’t lie.
And it’s not just me.
I sometimes feel that I need to go out of my way to prove my integrity. I need to put it on my business cards and sell it to you.
And even then you might not believe it. Hell, I’ve even begun to doubt MYSELF when you look at me like that.
Who have I hurt? What have I done wrong?
Someone knows. Let’s find out.
All the other men have.
I’m probably just like them.