Listening to Prince

I am listening to Prince and I am crying.

I hear Prince, and know how much my freedom to any form of sexuality has been stolen from me. How I may never feel or know the bare rawness of adult and wanted sex.

I listen to Prince, I watch the wonderful sex scene in “Don’t Look Now”, I hear close friends speak of sex with a faraway look – I know I cannot reach into that.

When someone said there is nothing wrong with prostitution, nothing wrong with how porn is made, nothing wrong with the sex trade.

I want to scream back – there endless ways I can say about their destruction – but how’s about the stealing of a human ability to have the freedom to have a full sexuality.

I do not know how to be close on an intimate level.

I can do friendship dead easy, as long as there is no lust and no intimacy entering my space.

When I kiss, I find it almost impossible not be detached, not thinking several steps ahead, thinking what role should I be.

I hate this – especially when it with a woman who wants just a kiss, and to lets things fall into place.

But I can never be that natural.

Sex for me is always associated with being a role, being inside their fantasy – not allowing myself the freedom to fantasise.

I always have to be detached, always on the alert, always making them happy not caring about that I may have needs.

I hate this – my life is a million miles from my years in prostitution, but sex is still tainted with that pollution.

I listen to Prince, and imagine being wild in my sex life.

But I cannot imagine having that freedom.

When I get even slightly out of control, even by my own hands – I am terrified that I repeating porn again – I quickly get depressed.

I have still in control.

This makes me cry so bloody much.

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