Whose blood is on my hands? Huh? I just slapped a mosquito in between my legs… and now, blood is smeared on my crotch. I don’t feel like I just had “period-sex,” but instead, I feel so disgusted that the cigarette I’m rolling might contain Hepatitis that I’m not even going to smoke it between my semi-bloodied fingers.

Oh my gosh, I love sex. I love thinking about sex, I love talking about sex, and, of course, I love writing about sex. So, um, I’m not so keen on the theories of sex, or how childhood events or experiences might influence an adult’s sex life. Last night a read a short article about how fetishes form… and well, Freud explains that adult fetishes have their roots in childhood, and so I started to revisit some of my own experiences.

I have always wanted to write about all of the “sexual” or “fetish” experiences I can remember. I was in preschool from age three to five. This is when I first learned about human bodies and gender differences and sexual stimulation. To think that a little pre-pubescent kid doesn’t get EXCITED is well… silly—at least in my case. I don’t remember the names of either of the two kids who were hiding with me behind the toy chest in the corner. One of them was a girl and the other was a boy, the girl was Holly’s little sister. I think we called it “playing doctor,” but I can’t think of why. Maybe because doctors perform physical examinations, I don’t know? We took turns undressing and examining and touching and tickling and noticing our differences and musing over our differences. It was fun and it gave me butterflies. It only happened once.

Later, I noticed how my naked body looked different than my father’s and different than my mother’s. I remember going to a public restroom, the women’s room. I was too young to go to the bathroom by myself, so of course, I went with my mom. That’s when I asked, “whats that?” and I think I pointed with my finger. In her response, I heard “vachina.” And I immediately thought about that country or continent or place that my elementary-school-teacher-mom mentioned something about in an at-home geography tutorial. I was like, “that’s weird? And whats with the hair?” I didn’t really understand the anatomy but I didn’t ask any more questions. Whenever I was in the men’s dressing rooms with my dad… like at a pool or something… I thought “why are all of these adult males so much BIGGER than me and is mine ever going to look like that?” the only thing I new about penises was that “pee pee” came out.

Okay, so now I want to skip ahead about ten years to the middle-schoolish-pubescent age. I went to a really strange middle school where my adult peers encouraged liberalism and the idea of feeling “free.” I had a lot of friends who were girls. Most of them were really raunchy and perverted and boy-crazy, except they weren’t crazy about me, which kind of made me self-conscious, or embarrassed. I thought I was the ugliest, most childish-looking boy compared to all the other boys in my grade. Pubic hair grossed me out, probably because I never had any of my own. For me puberty didn’t commence until I was like, sixteen. That was the first time I remember masterbating. I was in my bed, with a hard-on that never seemed to soften up… so I kind of gently humped my bed until I came all over the place. This was so fun and interesting to me because now, I finally understood a little bit about the feeling of sexual intercourse and orgasm… but I kind of wanted to keep it a secret. I started masterbating all the time but never told anyone about it. Actually, I kinda felt guilty about the habit.

More recently, the experiences that give me butterflies are like, way too intense and overwhelming for me to handle, so they don’t get very far. Participation makes me embarrassed because I sense that I might do everything wrong (or right?) But I would'nt want to do anything "right." To me, sex seems so... binding... or, like there are too many "strings attached," or too few.