Two Steps Back

I realised last month that it had been 4 years since I started having sex. I didn't realise it, and it almost past by completely unnoticed. Not that I've had reason to be thinking about sex lately, except maybe regretting it all.

I was back at the clinic today. Instead of walking (or hobbling, which might be a more accurate description) out having had my dick frozen for the 20th time or however long it's been, I had my dick frozen and a box of pills. Because there was one patch where some warts had been that was really sore, and the doctor was a bit wary of freezing it at first. He had to go get another doctor (who I've seen before, because I've pretty much seen every doctor who works there now) for a second opinion. That opinion was that it was either herpes, or some other condition whose name I can't remember now. So now I have pills to take for 5 days, just in case it is herpes, and results of a swab to wait for when I go back next week. If it is herpes, then these tablets are meant to clear it up. If it turns out it isn't herpes and this sore patch hasn't healed, then it's that other thing and I need to use steroid cream (which I'm not using now because if it's herpes it would just cause a massive outbreak) and they want to do a biopsy. Of this open sore and the warts just to make sure they are just warts and not something.

I started to laugh as she was explaining it. Not because it was amusing, but because I really couldn't believe this was happening. It's all getting ridiculous at this point, and I'm start to wonder what's the point of bothering to do anything if it's going to keep on going like this. Progress followed by one setback after another.

I tried thinking about what one of the other doctors said to me, about not blaming myself for anything. And I get what she meant. If you have sex, chances are you'll come into contact with HPV. I've never had it before, so I didn't know what the Aldara cream would end up doing. Yeah, I kind of wish I had just carried on with the freezing from the beginning instead of trying the cream. But I was going on the staff's recommendations, and was lured in by the idea of being able to treat it at home. But that's seeing things in hindsight.

It would have been one thing if I had got it from having some very satisfying sex, but that isn't even the case. If I look back, most of the time I wasn't really having sex with these guys because I really wanted to have sex with them. It was mostly cases of some guy coming on to me, and me feeling compelled to go along with it. So even though I wasn't exactly tripping over myself to sleep with them, I played along and ended up sleeping with them because I wouldn't say 'no'. Because after getting to a certain point it felt like I had to keep on going. And then I rarely ever got off when I did have sex. It's not like I even got that.

This is me thinking about these events through the filter of having spent a year with this situation dragging on, so maybe I'm not being objective about it. But once it's over (though it doesn't feel like it will ever be over at this point), I'm not sure how willing I am going to be about getting back to the whole casual sex thing. If it had been a lot of fun, that's something else. But it was mainly a lot of mediocre nights. I would rather be seeing someone in the context of a regular relationship, rather than going back to all that. (Not that I wasn't looking for a more substantial relationship before, I just had horrible luck meeting anyone who wanted to stay around.)

I'd rather spend an evening sitting with a guy watching a film and then maybe having sex, than sleeping with a dozen different people every fortnight. If I had to pick something good about the lacklustre sex I've had that lead me to this state, it would be that I enjoyed the physically intimate parts more than the sexually intimate ones. I think I need emotional support more than sexual relief.

That's not to say I don't want to have sex with someone, because that would be great. But I'd want something more from it as well.

Lost Time

It's 1am here, and I'm still in bed. Still in bed because I have spent all of Sunday here. I've found myself stuck in a cycle of getting up in the evening everyday, and I need to be at the hospital in the morning on Tuesday for my appointment. So the plan was to stay here in bed, falling back to sleep if I woke up, until the morning when I would get out of bed and lead a regular person's day. But for the past hour I've been awake and unable to get back to sleep. Will getting up now be enough to get me into an appropriate sleep cycle to make my appointment? Or did I just lose a whole day in vain?

A lost day would fit right in with the rest of my life right now, though. 

Sometimes I think back on the years I lost in my teens to early twenties, where I lived the life of a recluse for the most part. All the opportunities I missed. The years I missed where I had the gay commodity of youth. I started putting myself out there at my mid-twenties, so I only got the cusp of that. And I was hardly the svelte twink or toned jock that seems to be the image of youth. While I regret the wasted time, I'm also not too downbeat about it. Most of the men I was attracted were older anyway. I can only hope that these older guys would be interested now that I'm getting to be older as well. 

More recently, as has been the topic of this blog for the past dozen posts, it's been the time lost due to sexual health or lack thereof. It's been almost a year out of my life now, and a year where I was starting to do a bit better. Not perfect, but better. Which has been pretty much shot down now. It's going to be a process of rebuilding that, or else wallowing some more. I think I've spent enough of my life wallowing, I don't need any more. 

Part of rebuilding will involve getting more social again. Try to reconnect with people I have neglected, and to get out and meet new people. About two weeks ago was the first time I had been out in months, and one thing that I learnt (again) was that it's hard to make a good impression if you've got nothing to talk about. Doing something with your life helps make you a more interesting person. 

While lying here in bed I have been thinking about getting back on websites or apps. Sometimes I get bored of them and wonder that the point is, think of the disappointments and the weirdos, but I also miss it a bit now. The banter and conversation, and the little ego boost when someone calls you hot. The downside here is that despite anything they might say to the contrary, these are mainly about having sex and that's off the cards for now. 

But I've still considered it, even with the outcome of sex. I've started to want that outcome. Constructed in a way as to avoid certain things. It wouldn't involve me getting off (but looking back, that isn't much of a change). It would be more about servicing a guy and denying myself the same. I get to suck a bloke off, he gets sucked off, job done. Maybe even getting fucked, in a 'clothes on, just get my arse out and fuck me' sort of way. Which I've never done before, and the idea does turn me on. What's the name for this scenario, just basically being used for someone else's pleasure? Dom/sub? Slave? I don't know my terminology as well as I thought. 

I took a look on Craigslist, which seems to have started getting a bit more active here, to see if there was anyone looking for this kind of stuff. Didn't see anyone, and the one guy putting up a bunch of posts looking for young lads to take a shit for him kind of drove me away. 

So I don't know what to do about this, and now I'm too horny and too hungry (it's nearly a day since I've eaten) to get back to sleep. 

Maybe I will take the plunge and get what messages I've gotten. But I think I'm going to be too anxious to actually reply if I did. 

"You poor thing"

Over 3 months since I last posted anything, what can I say? I turned 28, spent a lot of time studying (or using that as an excuse) and not socialising, and these warts still have cleared up. 

During December I had held the vain hope that this warts situation would be over and done with by the start of the new year. Obviously hadn't been the case. That said, there is some improvements. Since I started the freezing treatment again I've seen a difference. The nurses and doctors seem to know now that this is a burden for me. I usually get some sympathetic words. It's nice, but being pitied as the guy with warts on his dick for months isn't the best feeling. 

They have to really go for it with the freezing, though. Some weeks whoever I saw would do about one full application then leave it. It wasn't until a doctor did a full three that I noticed a big change. That change being a lot of pain, the surface of the warts turning a mossy green, said surface peeling off, and strong smelling pus. But the reward for that misery is that large parts of it flatten and shrink. It should have cleared after 3-4 more treatments if this keeps up. 

I have missed a week though, having being a) unable to book an appointment when I left because the reception had closed, b) not managing to call for an appointment due to not sleeping well and getting up too late to call, and c) the fact that the clinic had stopped doing walk-in appointments. Didn't find that out until I travelled all the way there only to be turned away. So I've gone two weeks without treatment, which I am disappointed about because I want this fucking thing gone. 

Contrary to my original attitude at my initial diagnosis, I have started to do some blaming. I've thought about the men I've been with, and who might have been the one to give me this. My two main candidates are the pushy lad I fooled around with in a park, and the guy who smelt of cigarettes when I had the threesome in a hotel. They just both seem like the shadiest men I've been in contact with. But I've not confronted them (can't since I don't have contact details), and I can't really be sure. 

A healthy dose of that blame has been directed at myself. I got this for sleeping around with strangers, should have been more careful, more selective, more sensible. Logically I know that—barring chastity—there would still be a chance it would happen even if I had been 'careful'. Looking 'clean' doesn't necessarily mean much all the time. It's not like you have to do anything risky to end up with this. Slut-shaming myself isn't going to help me in any way. 

The other part of the blame has been going towards Aldara, the cream I was using. When I first used it and used way too much, I had to stop any treatment for a while. It was during that time that the warts spread. Even when I was using the proper amounts, it still caused irritation which meant I had to stop using it. Which just lead to losing whatever progress I had made. I think my skin is just too sensitive for it. Can't handle it. But fuck, do I regret the months I spent using (and then not) that stuff. If I had kept with the freezing, I might have been better months ago. 

I have found the past year pretty rough. There's the pain and irritation for starters. The fact that I haven't confided in anyone I know about it. The length of time it's been dragging on. I stopped going out on the off chance that someone would hit on me and expect something to happen. I started overeating at times because I couldn't see the point in trying not to. Things like dating have been put on an indefinite hold, because I don't want to be stringing a guy along until this has cleared up. (That is making the assumption that I would get more than one date, which history would throw into question.) in general not feeling that comfortable with myself. 

On the flip side, there are a few positives. After a long time of not feeling horny at all, I have a libido again. Actually started wanking again this week, but perhaps overdoing it. Wanking with a foreskin, and warts on the inside of it, is basically the same as scratching the warts (and the way they're positioned rubbing them against each other). Which is only going to make them worse. And worser still given that I have been wanking multiple times on the days I do. I should probably cut it out, and probably will. Or hopefully will, because I'll be having more freezing and more pain and pus and greenness (which is good because I take that as a sign that the warts are dying). 

I've also started feeling better about myself, physically and sexually. I had a wank into the bathroom skin, where I could see myself in the mirror. And I didn't feel too bad about this. Normally I avoid mirrors when I'm doing sex things, but I don't know, I kind of enjoyed it? It didn't feel bad seeing myself like that. There's stuff I'd like to try and change (which overeating didn't help), but rather than thinking I have to put sex off until I do, I've gotten more to a point when I think it's fine even if I'm not exactly where I want to be. 

Part of this, if I had to get armchair psychologist on the matter, might be down to the porn I've been watching. A lot of it (most of it) has been by a British company called Triga. They focus on working class men, using rough and a lot of times with some kind of delinquency theme (they're hooligans or louts or petty criminals) or sports. A lot of that doesn't appeal to me, I've not got any particular fetish for chavs or scallies or the like. Rugby themed stuff does but more for the body type you get with rugby players. But body type is what I think I've found appealing. They tend to feature 'regular blokes' who aren't necessarily in perfect shape. 

While perfect shape is nice once in a while, it also kind of feels a bit alienating. Seeing nothing but guys with hard muscles and low body fat and looking like they should be modelling somewhere. But a lot of the guys in Triga films look a lot more like people you might just on the street. They don't necessarily have movie star looks. Some of them are carrying a bit of extra weight. And I just found it more relatable than a lot of other porn, which is different than just finding something hot. Seeing guys who look more like me enjoying sex, I think, helped a bit in making me feel more comfortable in myself sexually. Not necessarily going to go out and have gangbangs with a bunch of chavs who piss and spit on me (although I did like the look of being in the middle of one minus those elements), but it's a feeling I hope I can hold on to. 

***

Looking at all I've written, I guess 'what I could say' was a lot more than I thought. 

Now I'm off to jack off again (third time today) because I've made myself horny again.