It’s a nickname – a moniker, if you will – given to me by an ex-girlfriend’s older sister. I don’t know where it came from. As memory serves me, I never once wore mascara. I wore eyeliner on occasion – mostly for Halloween. The habit of having Miranda dress me up like her masochistic Barbie …
Every now and again, I have a spike in visitors and views. Today is one of those days. No idea why, though. “Bailey Jay nude pics penis hard on” hasn’t even made an appearance (though after this post, I can guarantee that it will). So that just leaves a sudden interest in reading what I have to say, which, if you really want to know, is very little. Hell, most of this blog is just complaints.
Yesterday marked my first week of being a thirty-year-old. I have to say, I feel no difference from the time I spent being, say, twenty-six – mentally. Physically, I’m a wreck. The parts that I want working still function. I still have my hair and my sight. However, stamina and flexibility have gone out the door (get your head out of the gutter). However, that has little to do with age. It has more to do with my lifestyle up to this point. And age.
And with age comes looking back to my younger self. I never beat around the bush (when asked) about my sexuality. That is to say, I claim to lack one. This isn’t admittance of being asexual (I have a child, though that doesn’t mean a think, actually). All I’m saying is, I don’t see things as gay, straight, or whatever. Why limited yourself, is all I’m stating.
I find myself attracted to several facets in a person, not just what’s between their legs or what decorates their chests. Some asshole decided to give this “non-subscription of sexual labels” a label. I’m a postmodern sexual being, or a PoMo Sexual. Of course, I’ve discussed this before. Several times, actually. On various places.
In high school, if one were to ask me, I called myself bisexual. Now that isn’t true. While I did get the opportunity to kiss a boy I crushed on hard, it wasn’t him being a boy that turned me on to him. It was his charisma. Other men (post high school) that I found myself attracted to were philosophers in their own respect.
For me, love is one part sexual/physical attraction, one part intellectual attraction, and one part emotional attachment. If I can’t learn anything from you, it’s likely that there’s no future for us. Trust is big in any relationship, though I couple it with emotional attachment. Sexual attraction, though I’ve denied other wise, is also important. Usually, though, I attribute the animal urges to my attraction to the metaphysical. Though, as I’ve said, redheads catch my eye nine times out of ten. They’re trouble and I’m just attracted to the trouble. Moving on, though.
I’ve denied myself any relationship with someone of the same sex (that shipped sailed when I held one higher above the rest). Nor have I ever been with someone of the “third sex.” But people and their genders aren’t notches on a belt. It’s just realizations. Damn, I was young once. But that fun and fancy free bullshit wasn’t for me, anyway.
I’m sure I had a purpose to this post, but the poetry reading starts in about ten minutes. In summation, though, talk nerdy to me. Yeah. I’m sure that’s the moral of this post.