Sexual Spectrum or — How Every subsequent Y in your road is affected by those who preceded *

          I think a lot.  I ruminate.  Ponder.  Plan for contingencies.  Meditate about the me of today who's composing this beginning sentence of a beginning paragraph which I've just begun with only the title above as my stanchion and which is, at the moment, only based on a couple-to-three ephemeral ideas without a solid bridge betwixt them.

          Today, I think I should list these ideas because that'll make it easier to see where to begin to build bridge-abutments and also will—I hope—help me to remember them before they, like most of my mental messages-in-a-bottle, drift out of reach.

          When thinking about the me of yesteryear, I recall the major decisions which had the most geographical, emotional, financial, and intellectual effect on the me-outcome (more specifically, the where, who, how's, and why's that comprise the me that is today-me).  I realize that I made some of the more drastic course corrections in my life because of the few women I loved in yesteryear and the one I'm currently in love with.

          Bridge.

          Human sexuality is a very complex amalgam of thoughts, emotions, suppositions, hormones, taboos, and facts.  Tens of billions of humans have simplified all that, in order to make it easier to understand, relate to, and explain to others (which begins with their children).  I too, simplified it to understand it.

          Not very long ago, I considered everyone who wasn't heterosexual to be homosexual.  When someone claimed to be bisexual—as far as I was concerned—they were homosexual.  I (erroneously) thought this way because I viewed all sexual attraction relative to my own and, for me, there's no choice involved.  I love breasts (especially, the pert variety); the shape of the female buttock is wondrous; and I can't get enough pudenda.  Conversely, the penis and scrotum are ugly; testosterone-packed male physiques are as attractive, to me, as inanimate objects, and androgyny is a blah.

          I formed my early simplistic left-handed/right-handed understanding of human sexuality by talking with hetero schoolmates.  The boys I talked with said they also didn't choose.  The girls talked about their unflinching attraction to hard muscles and body hair with the same tone I use when adoring all that's smooth, svelte, and hairless.  I also talked with a few gay guys (who I knew well enough to talk specifics) and they assured me their sexuality had been formed in adolescence and couldn't choose any more than I could—one said he considered bisexuals "straights and breeders at heart" and said they'd "never be fully accepted by the gay community".

          Bridge.

          In high school, I was informed that approximately ten percent of the population was left-handed and almost everyone in the world was right-handed, like me.  At the same time (probably in the same class) I learned there existed a small number of exceptional people who were ambidextrous.

          The textbook went on to explain these gifted people were capable of doing everything equally well with either hand.  I remember a story about a dead-before-I-was-born president who was innately left-handed but taught as a child (I think the book used the word forced) to become right-handed.  It said he occasionally would show-off his talent by writing simultaneously with both hands and may even have related that he could write in two different languages at the same time (but that might be confabulation on my part).  I also recall something about tutors and nannies being involved in forcing/re-training him to be right handed.  And I recall feeling scorn for the reason he had been was forced to stop writing with his left hand: some fucktard in his family believed the left hand was the devil's hand.  It's possible the school book encouraged my scorn by its choice of phrasing (although I'm sure it didn't use the word fucktard, that's all me).  A quick search would turn up this president's name but since I don't recall it off-the-top of my gulliver I'm disinclined to embellish poor memory with moot facts.

          In college, I was told that about ten percent of the population were homosexual, that almost everyone in the world was heterosexual like me.  At the same time (probably in the same dorm-room bullshitting session) I was informed of the existence of a small number of people who were attracted to both sexes.

          Specifically, one bullshit session attendee alleged, some bisexuals (more of whom, he said, were female than male) were not turned-off by the body, physique, or genitals of their own sex, which garnered nods of understanding from that roomful of hetero-men.  We could get our brains around how a hetero-woman might be capable of seeing beauty in the female form—what was confusing, to us, was how a hetero-man could be attracted to another man.  A joke was re-told (which originated from an unfunny comedian who I can't recall the name of) which said the upside of being bisexual was doubling one's chances of a date on Friday night.  Another bullshitter related a story (which probably began with: my junior high school neighbor's cousin's best-friend once told us...) about how this nameless boy he knew was groomed over a period of years by one of his older relatives to first receive and then give blowjobs and then, later, to give and eventually receive anal sex (his story never contained the word forced).  It was the first time I'd heard the word 'groomed' in that context (and I wasn't alone, because someone went off on a 'bridegroom/groom' tangent).  The nameless boy's story concluded with the allegation that before, during, and after the years of abuse, he was innately attracted only to girls.  The bullshitter telling the story surmised that because the nameless boy had been intimate with a member of the same sex for such a prolonged period of time that he might, now, be able to choose.  At this point the bullshit session switched its focus to the sexual proclivities of Greek philosophers (someone had a philosophy class) and the term "conditioned bisexuality" was thrown around the room.

          Bridge.

          I have grown into the knowledge that gender and human sexuality is a very complex spectrum.  I picture a two dimensional xy Cartesian graph.  The horizontal line depicting the genitalia one is innately sexually attracted to.  On the left is the female pudenda (the minus 5 position); on the right is the male penis (the plus 5 position).  Someone who is equally attracted to both sexes and who chooses his or her next partner based solely on the fickle winds of chance mutual attraction is a 0.

          I think of the top of the vertical line as a measure of how strong one's attraction feels, or how often one thinks about sex, or how often one has the urge to engage in their preferred sexual act (it's subjective and doesn't matter if one plots one's strength point for a given moment in time or for the average over a period of time).  At the top, the plus 5 position, is sexual addicts and those incapable of controlling their constant sexual urges.  Where the vertical meets the horizontal (the zero point) is those who are asexual and incapable of any attraction.  Just above the zero point, the plus 1 position, is those who exclusively pleasure themselves (which would include iDollators).

          The bottom of the vertical line is for all the paranormal innate attractions.  At the bottom, the minus 5 position, is for necrophiliacs.  All of the minus positions cover the range of attractions which society considers abnormal from sexual attractions to inanimate objects, BDSM, and rape.       

         To be accurate and complete, this graph now needs to become an xyz three-dimensional graph in order to measure fantasy versus reality.  What one thinks about when one is engaging in the sexual act is important because it's the brain that's sexual, not the body.  The further along the plus z line the more fantastic one's mental images are from what's currently happening to one's body (within societal "norms").  100% focus on the sex one's body is experiencing—no fantasy—is 0; the further along the minus z line the more disparate the brain's focus is from what is currently being experienced by one's body (outside of societal "norms").  

          Bridge.

          Mental moving snapshots with sound:  My first significant other is berating me for my unwillingness to attend catholic mass.  Her sharp words are intended to make me feel guilty for my lack of materialism and lack of concern for our toddler's spiritual upbringing, which is my final straw (Snap.)  My second significant other's  insouciance becomes unbearable.  No words becomes no love (Snap.)  Which drives me to find my third who works toward attaining "marital tenure" and I decide, while she is on a relationship-sabbatical to locate my current love (Snap.)  Now we are ten years together.  Everything is as wonderful as I imagined it could be.  Better, having chosen not to tolerate the bad behavior of her predecessors, who taught me what type of woman to look for and what, who, and where not to be. 

          Bridge.

          So hey.  I've stopped saying "people don't choose" because some people do.  Maybe a lot of people do (maybe the world is equally divided in thirds: 1/3 hetero and can't choose otherwise; 1/3 homo and can't choose otherwise; and 1/3 are attracted to both, can choose, and do...or let their government/church choose for them).

          There seems to be a large quantity of fundamentalists and conservatives who use the word "choose and choice" with an definite air of certainty...maybe that's because every one of them are near the 0 point, in the middle of the horizontal axis and they've all decided to let their religious and political leaders tell them what choice to make.

          The most important point is everyone should be happy with what they've got (between their ears).  If you haven't yet found what makes you happy (between the sheets)...keep looking.  If you aren't yet as happy as you could be (because you see others who have chosen wisely and found their happy) stop attempting to make them as unhappy as you are; misery doesn't really love company.

          * Original essay from the spring of 2013; my views on these subjects have continued to grow after talking/listening to different people (over the previous seven years) explain their thoughts about gender and sex.

D’Abord Stalactite de Glace


Fickle icicle – grow n’ shrink

midnight stone

sunlight drink

yester-blowback, reminisce

trickle drip-track

puddle’s kiss.

Danger icicle – toe th’ brink

frightful mass

girth n’ length

knelt a roof crack, precipice

tickle hold-back

parti pris.

          – D'Abord Stalactite de Glace (First Icicle) by Veach Glines

Neither Overwhemed Nor Underwhelmed



What is the cement of memory?

Does what we remember form who we are?

Why do we forget 99% of our lives?


          As I type this opening paragraph, my brain is switching between thoughts about choosing interesting words that will entertain itself as it compiles this sentence and—switch—scrounging thru my memory-attic for events, which can fit in a bright mauve container labelled ‘overwhelming’.   My as-I-type brain just decided that the first event to go in, is

          Witnessing—for almost two full minutes—the 2017 total eclipse of the sun.   I prepared for this event for months.  I bought expensive wrap-around viewing glasses and a phone-app to track where the shadow was going to be.   Weeks before, I drove a few hundred miles to reconnoiter.  I read articles describing what to look for when it happened.   The day of, I woke at 4am for a 5am departure in order to set-up three hours ahead of time.  As the moon began to creep across the sun, I recalled aloud (for the handful of people with me) a few previous partial eclipses and used the term underwhelming to describe those curled and faded polaroid snapshots.—switch—These vague recollections of pinholes in paper and flimsy cardboard glasses are now attached—like a deflated balloon static-stuck to the back of a worn-out child’s sweater—to the overwhelming event.   (I typed ‘overshadowing event’ and edited it so as to not end this paragraph on a pun.)—switch

          The moment when the entire moon’s shadow—the umbra—completely covered the sun:  the blue sky turned black; the yellow corona around the sun became white; stars were visible; the air temperature dropped; the silence of no-more bird and insect noises grabbed for my attention; spots of corona-sunlight, inside of darker shadows, took-on the changing shape (circular to crescent) of the umbra; and ripples of light wavered across the ground like faint “light snakes.”   My senses were overloaded.  I could not catch up.   There was no time to think or focus on the moment.

          —switch—It seems my as-I-type brain considers it's desirable when it-itself is unable to function as it's currently functioning (which, it considers to be its norm; its steady-state; its comfortable, uneventful, default mode; its regular state of being, which is neither over- or under-whelmed) and this asItype brain is not putting anything into its memory.  Short-term memory disappears unless something over- or under-whelms enough to get stored long-term.

          I know if I were not currently writing about thoughts—an act which facilitates asItype to be able, in the future, to become asIread (which, in turn, will become the me that has re-remembered based on what previous-me wrote)—I would, very soon, no longer be able to recall how I occupied myself this mid-November Friday morning.   If I'd instead been studying, reading, hiking, gaming, painting, listening to music, watching videos, talking with friends, playing with my cat, or performing routine chores, I would (probably) not be able to answer the question, “What did you do last Friday morning?”   Because of these words, these paragraphs, this essay (about normally neither being over- or under-whelmed) I can say I was writing an essay about memory.

          Now asItype wonders why are our recollections valued?   Is being able to recall something because it was sufficiently overwhelming/underwhelming to become immediately-permanently locked in long-term memory a prerequisite to being consciously aware of what is important to who we are and who we want to be?  And—switch—let me dig for a stronger, more recent, memory to stick in the intense yellow underwhelming container (next to those partial eclipses).

          Last June, I drove the west-east Going-To-The-Sun Road, through Glacier National Park.  I would not use the word boring to describe the slow procession up and over—but I would not use the word exciting either.  Rivulets of snow melt soaked me a few times (cabriolet top was down) and some of the hairpin turns with sheer drops revealed very interesting views; but a complete lack of wildlife and over 90 minutes of traffic-jams combined to make the 50-mile drive an unsatisfactory experience.—switch

          Why?—my asItype-self asks itself.  What made this memorably underwhelming?

          Preconceived expectations were not met—during my first visit to Glacier National Park (13 years ago) the Going-To-The-Sun Road was closed because of snow (which created—in that 2006-me’s brain—an unfulfilled desire).  On that trip, I felt privileged-lucky to see:  bald eagle, elk, black bears and grizzly bears, and experienced no vehicle traffic or full parking lots. 
 
 
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