Insecurities are horrible things, aren’t they? Giggling, pointing, snide, gossipy, cruel things. They’re the mean girl in your head, sniggering that you’re weird or unwanted or unattractive. They weave themselves into your thoughts, slowly thickening like a room filling with smoke. They start small and bloom on your brain, an ugly rash speckling every brunch or date or dinner with this feeling that you’re not quite right.
Does anyone get the perfect amount of sex? My friends and I talk a lot about our love lives and so often sex is a bone of contention even in happy relationships. There seems to be a lot of mismatched expectation and negotiation: a lot of pleading, begging, gnashing, blocking, sighing, yearning, weeping, scrabbling, silent mounting and tearful pleas to “get off me so I can go to sleep.”
Never have truer words been spoken about coming out than no matter how many gay mates you have, or how much you support the LGBT community, it’s different when it’s you.