What the fuck is intimacy anyways?

I've gotten a little tired of writing about sex these past few days. I've still been writing, no worries there. I have almost six pages of an orgy from the end of May, but writing it has bored me a little the further I go into it.

It's too mechanical. It's just sex. It's nothing more than some masturbatory material for some perv on the UES. ;-) (Yes, you! Lol)

It sure doesn't feel fucking intimate. Not from the writing point of view, and looking back, it didn't feel overly intimate. Not with the lovers at least. Though I felt as if I was sharing something with Jefferson through it.

But then again, what the hell is intimacy? Merriam-Webster says its something of personal or private nature; the state of being intimate (belonging to or characterizing one's deepest nature).

Huh?

Is group sex something in my deepest nature then?

Wikipedia says it's complicated since it's mercurial, varying from relationship to relationship. Gee, that's a lot of help. But it also says it can be sexual or just emotional. But it's about feelings and it goes hand in hand with healthy relationships.

Great.

It pains me to examine the intimacy in my relationships since starting this blog. It pains me to examine the intimacy in most of my relationships actually.

Jefferson being the major case to examine, it's clear the level of our sexual intimacy is sky high. I've gone to levels with him I never imagined I'd feel comfortable going to. But our emotional intimacy? It's quite abysmal. There's so much of the real me I guard from him. Sure I chat his ear off with stories and such, but that's nothing. My thoughts, thought processes, insecurities, doubts, worries, fears, scars, even my dreams and ambitions I keep hidden under lock and key. Not to mention, I still know very, very little about him.

Why?

Well, why is it necessary? We just fuck. And that stuff isn't sexy. It isn't beautiful. I don't want it to mar his perception of me. I mean, is it even required for me to expose all my demons to have real intimacy?

But I'm afraid of what Gabriel's perception is of me.

He said to me, "I just have this clear image of you doing it."
Exactly what I'm out to avoid.

And I feel fear I've let too much slip with Mitzi as well. We've only just met and started being friends but I worry I'm already coming across as needy and insecure. And it scares the beegeezus outta me. That that's how she might see me, and that also that I would be letting her see me like that.

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I started this post late last night in the middle of an emotional break-down, and have since lost where I was going with it. It's easier to ramble about my lack and fear of true intimacy with tear stained cheeks and tired eyes, than after a long sleep and fresher perspective.

But a fresh perspective doesn't change the reality of the situation. I can count on one hand the amount of men I've slept with that have know something about me or cared a damn about me. But I've lost track of the number of men whose penises I've let inside me. And I haven't lost count because I'm a slut. I'm actually quite selective who I allow in my pants. An overwhelming majority was from escorting and I could probably then count my actual lovers outside that. But that still doesn't mean they knew anything about me.

But I suppose my fear of intimacy is what gave me the ability to so easily become an escort, and I then suppose my recent confrontation of the fear is what made going back so difficult (well, that and the Good Angel on my right shoulder telling me not to do it. AKA: Mitzi)

Mitzi asked me why escorting had to be the answer to getting out of debt. Trying to sound all progressive and liberal, I immediately answer with a why not. But after some thought, I came up with a more accurate answer. I pondered what it is I think about every time I have to look for a job...what can I do? What is I'm good at and qualified for?

Well at 20 years old with no degree, and not even a start at a specialized one, I'm left with the options of folding clothes, cashiering, serving food, filing papers, or dealing with whiny brats.

Somebody kill me, please.

So my next best answer? "Because it's the only thing I'm good at."
"That's nonsense Avah! You're 20- just a baby! There's so much you can do! That's like saying sex is the only thing your good for..."

Um, well, yeah, I think that too.

Maybe it's because of my own doing, but I've come to the conclusion that I'm "do-able, not date-able." I guess there's just something about my sweet smile, soft curls, and quirky jokes that makes a guy think he can't take me home to mom. Go figure.

I always figured my ability to make a killer lasanga and not ask dumb questions during sport games would be an appealing girlfriend quality.

But one advantage to not dating much is minimal heartache.

Woohoo.

But is the lack of intimacy worth the lack of heartache?

My heart says no.

So I'll keep writing about sex, and I'll keep searching for what intimacy means for me. And if I can achieve it. But I'll always make sure to take care of my heart first.

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