She said she’s always bored during sex.
Every massage I’ve given her
every moan to crawl from her mouth
every flexion of her back
that is in my memory’s reach got examined and reorganized with
this new information.
I hold the memory in my hand. I thought I knew its shape and weight,
but with this insight I watch it warp—is sits uncomfortably now.
When you tell me to go as hard and as fast as I could,
2 scrolls of ideas dropped and unraveled in my consciousness.
Scroll 1: Scroll 2:
You were enjoying yourself and Insecurity corkscrews thru my body and I
you liked what I was doing. think you’re beggin me on cause u don’t
like this and you want me to finish quickly.
I’ve thought I was so insecure and irrational
for the latter scroll, but now I can know
ur boredom could make it possible.
Actually, I’ve put so much work into learning more about women. Studying medical illustrations of vulvas then letting my hand spell out the scientific name of each part as I try pleasing via caress. Attempting to learn more about women was fueled by my desire to please and be loved back.
If I can learn from this sex book and put my attention on you and show concern for your feeling/who you are, I’ll be different from other guys who just have sex without care for their partners. I’d be better.
But I’ve put pressure on myself to perform which I’ve associated with my identity as a caring person.
Sex has become a circus I’m losing at trying to perform. Show off tricks here and there from my books or from an article, but is no longer even about me.
It’s nearly all for my partner.
So I’m energetically charged from engulfing my thoughts in
literature for sex, advice videos, and all the diagrams I can carry on my back.
The charging and the personal association with my personality mix to a heap of criticism for myself.
I can’t possibly be good enough.