I don’t know what it is about being lonely that makes an orgasm seem comforting. Somehow, even more so when I pleasure myself (it just makes me feel much more in control of my own happiness, I guess). But it’s just something I find funny. Only because…well…I’m asexual.
Though this isn’t the case for all asexuals, this is how it is for me – I’m repulsed by the idea of sex, and by the sight of genitalia; I’m also grossed out by the feeling of sweat or other fluids on my body. Having sex always makes me feel regretful and disgusting. At best I feel nothing about it. I don’t know whether it has something to do with the years I suffered from sexual abuse, the two kids I popped out my vagina, or the fact that I’m now constantly attached to this demanding baby who grabs at my boobs so violently that I feel like I’m being molested? It also could just be the fact that I don’t see the point in sex. It seems like one of those things that takes up so much time and energy, and it completely interferes with my other goals in life. I don’t know. But whatever the reason…I am now extremely anti-sex. (For me only, other people can have as much sex as they want, I don’t give a shit what other people do.)
Point is, it was an odd sensation for me when suddenly I felt like having an orgasm. I wasn’t horny. (I don’t get horny anymore.) I wasn’t connecting with anyone, because I was alone. (Sometimes if I feel particularly connected to someone I’ll have sex with them, but only on rare occasions, and often times I regret it shortly afterwards – or even during.) But, no, I wasn’t with anybody. I was sitting in bed, all alone. Sick. Feeling like crap. Feeling sad. Feeling lonely. I felt unwanted, unappreciated, unloved. I kept wishing someone would make me feel special. I just wanted some comfort. And viola. I felt it. This pulsating (very subtle, but still) from down there. Good thing I hadn’t thrown out my dildo like I had wanted to months before, ha!
I didn’t think of anything sexy. I didn’t think of anything naughty. There wasn’t anything about it really that seemed terrible (which is new for me). It wasn’t wrong. It wasn’t a bad experience. I thought of a warm feeling in my heart. I thought of loving eyes. I thought about a big smile, and a cozy hug. And it got me there. That was it.
There’s something empowering about giving yourself an orgasm. Honestly, I don’t care about whether or not other people can. I don’t really like orgasming in front (or on) other people. It makes me feel too vulnerable and awkward. But when I’m by myself I feel a sense of strength in my ability to bring myself pleasure. Just the thought that I don’t need anybody else. I’ve got this. It’s on me. 100%. I am responsible. And that’s a great thing! I’m in control. I love the feeling of control, at least control over myself, because I often times have had no ability to control what is going on in my life, or what is going on with me. Feeling – no, knowing – that it is all up to me and no one can do anything about it feels AMAZING!
I’m not saying afterwards all my sadness and loneliness went away. But I sure as hell felt more capable. I felt like, maybe it didn’t matter if anyone else cared about me, because I care about me. I can take care of myself. I can love myself. I have the power. I will be okay. And ultimately that’s what got me through – the feeling of control when I felt out of control. The feeling of power when I felt powerless. The feeling of strength when I felt weak. The feeling of love when love seemed to have slipped away from me. No matter what happens in my life, and no matter who comes in or goes out of my life, I will be okay. I am in control.