The Waiting Game.

I was always encouraged to wait. Refrain from promiscuity, from giving it away too soon — to too many. Seek love and proceed with caution because whoever you choose to lay with, will be bound to you eternally. So, I did, for some things anyway…the occasional fellatio may have taken place here and there, but nothing too extreme that would compromise my “purity”. 

As if the waiting would contribute to a better array of partners or make me less susceptible to having my heart tinkered with. So, I waited. And although my sexual debut wasn’t accompanied by fireworks and mind-blowing orgasms, there was love. Or what I thought it was supposed to be at 20. And I would fall in love again…and again…and again, succumbing to my lover’s touch, unravelling at every wimp because the perceived emotional connection was celestial.

I could never quite put my finger on it, why I couldn’t separate the emotional from the carnal. Only quenching my sexual appetite in relationships because I assumed that would make it more sacred and long-lasting. But what they don’t tell you is that the waiting is ongoing. I waited for my partners to communicate, to step and show up in ways I would for them without question, to reciprocate the love I exuded. 

I waited. 

Only for the celestial to become orbital, around conflict, distrust, disappointment and misunderstanding. You see, I never wanted to be the centre of their universes, I just wanted to be looked at the way stars are. 

So, I figured if the façade I had created around sex, love and relationships continued to produce the same result, it was time for something different. Maybe casual sex would do the trick. 

So, I leap. 

Into the arms of men that couldn’t be bothered to catch anything more than this p…well you know. Onto mattresses where the imprint of my body would be outlined with regret and shame. I stopped wishing on stars and wanting to emulate them and became the sun. Burning, hot with anxiety. Distant. And these same men that were once basking and glaring would turn away and shield their eyes once the intrigue wore off, once they got what they wanted. Then, I cried. Felt undesirable, used. Questioned my worth time and time again, questioned if I was worthy or deserving of love. 

Then, I searched. 

Within myself and on Google. 

Discovered (demisexuality) that there’s nothing wrong with wanting to build intense, intimate connections with someone — wanting to be completely and utterly open with them before opening myself up for them. 

Whatever path you choose to venture along for your sexual endeavours, do it for you and not because “they” told you to. Don’t compromise or tolerate mistreatment. Don’t settle or make excuses for someone who people who wouldn’t excuse you. And maybe astronomy isn’t your thing, but please occupy all the space you need to get exactly what you deserve. As for me, I guess it’s back to the waiting game. 

Because I deserve to be waited on (hand and foot).