“THE AGE OF SEXLESSNESS” : WHETHER GAY, STRAIGHT, MALE, FEMALE, MARRIED OR SINGLE

An Original Collection of Provocative and Powerful Essay's by R. B. STUART. Her Work Begins and Ends at the Crux of Truth, Sorrow and Humor---Capable of Slicing Through Your Psyche and Piercing Your Heart.

By R. B. STUART

Part Thirty-One

Experiencing sexlessness has happened to me several times throughout my life at different intervals---and it wasn’t by choice. But I hadn’t realized that sexlessness is also a bone of contention [no pun intended] in the long term relationships of my gay friend’s.  
 

It seems to be the norm, no matter what your sexual preference is, that after a certain amount of time; 10, 20 or 30 years in a relationship---it’s more about turning over to get a good night sleep then turning over to splay your legs. Sexlessness erodes the relationship in silence, week after week, month after month, then year after year. It chips away at the self-esteem of one or both partners. I say “one” because usually the other is content with the platonic relationship, and maybe having sex is what made them feel uncomfortable or anxious, whereas not having sex for the other, is what makes him or her feel inadequate to say the least. It may fester for decades, until the partner feeling rejected, unlovable and empty finally throws in the dried and disintegrated box of Trojans, and wants out.   

In other circumstances one could vow off sex after a painful relationship, a toxic relationship, being in love with a gay man, having an unrequited fantasy relationship, an abusive relationship, fearing STD’s, the scare of an unwanted pregnancy, or the ongoing angst of being involved with an emotionally retarded man---which run rampant like rats through the streets of New York.   

How have you been transformed by sexlessness, a dry spell, A sexuality, or abstinence?  

 

And how does it change the core of who you are whether gay, straight, male, female, married or single?
 

In my 20’s, 30’s, 40’s and now, the solitary years have lengthened, from one year to two, to five then seven and ten. One year was an erotic challenge, at two years a cold breeze erecting my nipples could result in a quivering, five years; the reality of AIDS, or a pregnancy outweighed the joys of having sex, seven years; I could still feel the ache in my loins, any old cucumber will do (hold the wax please), ten years; Tampons no longer fit as I observe my beautiful, limber hands, “My…where have you been my whole life?”

 

The need for a masculine, hairy body, was replaced by a furry dog satisfying my need to nurture and love. Ironically, he in turn attempted to quench his animal instincts with my leg. Now even George Clooney can’t stimulate my desire to fornicate.  
 

Unlike animal’s, why do humans gravitate to a life of sexlessness either in a relationship or without?  
 

The convulsions of an orgasm appears to lose its shudder as we age. Ecstasy is so muted now, that the same sensation can be felt as I create new prose for an essay or a chapter in a book.  
 

Does that mean as we get older we are capable of creating an orgasmic life….so in tune with the Divine that you are overwhelmed with the feeling of all is well and I am One with God.   
 

Does ecstasy begin to resemble the vibration one experiences as part of Godhead?  
 

We strengthen that direct channel of ecstasy to the Divine through being creative, meditation, daily prayer, affirmations and mantras---equating spiritual development. Once the sexual longings are removed from the human equation the Divine can flourish. And if procreation is no longer viable, then maybe the final season of our lives are meant to be at one with the Divine essence.  
 

As our time on the earthly plane shifts gears into self-examination and self-reflection we question, “why am I here on earth” and, “what does my life mean.” That introspection is no longer clouded by the ecstasy in between our legs, but in between our ears and in our minds with our pineal gland, considered the “seat of the soul.”  It’s responsible for sexual development, and  ironically similarly named after a man’s organ.  
 

When we uncover the Divine connection to creativity and ecstasy; the ultimate state of Godhead, our ability to live in the moment returns, as does self-awareness as we awaken our creativity and imagination and all that is good. And only when you spend time without having sexual encounters does that mystery unfold.  
 

When we’re no longer distracted by sexual stimulation, fornication or ejaculation and the need to physically trespass the boundaries of another persons body, we have the opportunity to strengthen that direct channel of Divine ecstasy. And that map of sexual exploration appears to be replaced by a transformation of spiritual exploration.  
 

Does the removal of sex from our lives automatically generate a simpler connection to the Divine or make us more creative?   
 

Not to diminish Dr. Ruth Westheimer’s, work, but one day honey you’re gonna’ have to throw down that dildo and venture into with the source of that addictive, orgasmic sensation, that shoots from our loins, our heart, our skin, our brain----all within seconds. That pin ball sexual trigger in the center of our wishbone was created by the Master of the Universe, and there has to be a reason why he added that euphoric feature to our bodies. That electric chair sensation thrusts us out of our heads and into the moment, eradicating the imprisonment of our to-do list that we review, change, and check off as soon as we’re in the horizontal position.  

 

We are born with a higher vibration of the Divine and Godhead. That purity is unmarred by the world of darkness, empty voids and self-persecution that opens up to us once we shed our innocence and co-mingle our body and emotions with another. That portal to our innate perfection has been chipped away since birth. Higher Consciousness is lost and love becomes murky due to our need for acceptance and validation, as who we thought we were is changed by another’s viewpoint of us, and our ideology of self-perfection begins to evaporate. 
 

After the lower frequency, ego driven, internal fears and self-judgment of unattractiveness, unworthiness, unloveability and loneliness have been slophed away, and systematically worked through, you are at the beginning of your sexless journey.

We don’t try to grasp that feeling of completion and perfection again until we are in our third season of life, where we scratch, dig and finally dive into our roots and foundation of the Self, discovering that perfection, non-judgment, self-acceptance, self-awareness and Higher consciousness still exists inside of us, but like archeologists we must carefully pull that mud-soaked version of ourselves up from deep down in the darkened bog…piece by piece. A painstakingly, incremental expedition that can take years before your whole Self finally reaches the surface. And once you’ve achieved that feat, the work of chiseling, scraping, dusting and washing away the pain, suffering, and negativity that’s adhered to you like tar---needs to be evacuated before your reach that highly polished, vibrant, strong, smooth surface of Divine purity that begins to appear like Michelangelo’s David---as you erect the masterpiece you were born to be…..      

 

COPYRIGHT 2014, R. B. STUART. All Rights Reserved. No Reproduction of this Blog in any form.  

 

 

"OBSESSION (and I don't mean the perfume)"

A WOMAN'S DISCOVERY OF SCHIZOID FANTASY
BY R. B. STUART
Part Two

Over the years I took my idealistic notions of love and romance to such a degree, I'd literally carry on a romantic conversation and fantasy sexual encounters with my latest conquest, in my own mind. In time, the disinterest and endless rejection from my object of affection, would eventually slap me back to reality. That is after I realized my lovely wasn't able to wake-up and smell the obsession. The hope of my desires being returned would ultimately go unfulfilled and the heartwrenching discovery became apparent that once again I latched onto unrequited love.

It wasn't until I was able to detach from my constant longings and talk freely and humorously about them, did I finally perceive that it wasn't normal. That was the day I plucked the Merck Manual (a Physician’s Reference) from my bookshelf and stumbled across a medical term for my neurosis: Schizoid Fantasy. In black and white I read that my symptoms were of a psychological illness. In horror and amusement, I deemed myself mentally ill. The description of this neurotic disorder was: "One who imagines and creates fantasy relationships in order to avoid loneliness." Loneliness? I never considered myself as lonely. I'd always perceived myself as an extrovert since I am extremely social, optimistic and carry an organic sense of humor and joy in my heart.

Seven months later and still in denial, feeling locked in extreme sadness and depression. A friend sensed in my voice that something was wrong. Over the telephone I shared with him my lowly thoughts. He replied, "Darling, you're lonely." I am? I thought as a dam of tears burst forth. We hung-up. While laying in the hammock of my loneliness I cried uncontrollably for quiet some time. I reached for my journal to write what I was uncovering. I wrote about the empty loneliness I felt.

It was then I observed my own mind, it wasn't cluttered with the obsessive thoughts of a man. The fantasy obsessions were for many years a distraction for the lack of a man ----the void of love in my life. Without the daily pining over a man, whom didn't want me I was finally alone with the emptiness of my own heart and mind. Strung along with it was my dejected spirit and negative feelings of self-worth and unattractiveness. The more I scribed and reflected, I began to put the pieces of my emotional and psychological puzzle together.

I had many fictional relationships begin and end in my mind. Each ending was as traumatic as in real life. Aware of my regrets and my mistakes, with each termination I learned more about myself. I'd joke with my siblings that I was the only person to have relationships in my mind, causing infliction upon myself and learning from it without ever touching or involving the other person. Saving myself from a partner with unsuspecting sexual dysfunction's or diseases, pregnancy or the dreaded, awkward confrontation of clearing out your clothes or his, and asking for the return of apartment keys. My way was less messy. There was only one hurt partner. One side of the story. And after I woke from my hypnotic obsession, I'd wonder what I ever saw in him anyway.

It wasn't until 2000 while writing my memoirs did the emotional eruption clear the dead wood hanging around the attic of my heart and mind. It had been gaining momentum with each memory unleashed and relived. In order to write about it I had to re-experience it. During a moment of being stuck in a deep fog of emotional pain from the past. I came to realize while walking through the fire---that somewhere along the way I stopped needing people. The endings of important relationships, the loss, the deaths stacked upon one another until I closed my heart and stopped needing and loving others. In the interim it was safer to fantasize relationships. Ending a fictional relationship was still hurtful for my young heart, but less permanent. The obsession was created as a need to not feel any more pain or loss, I was already filled to capacity and needed to empty.

The vessel I searched my lifetime for, to pour my love and adoration into, wasn't a man after all. I mislead my heart in a continual quest for "the one" who could handle such powerful love and devotion. The prose tumbled around my heart while I waited for him. I had so much to share with this creature, where is he?

The years of suppressed emotions saddled with the inability to communicate laid dormant no longer. As I hovered over my laptop rewriting the past, the sorrow and pain surfaced. A cluster of tears dripped from my eyes and through them I found my way clearly---the vessel I searched lifetimes for was written in the pages of my life. The paper was my vessel. I poured all the love, sorrow, regrets and heartache into my memoirs; it was strong enough to handle the abundance of painful words. In its silence, effortlessly absorbing the overflow of what I could no longer contain. Unconditionally accepting everything I offered.

The stream of consciousness no matter how light or dark---the paper remained unfettered. Bending backwards and sideways for me as my body contorted with memories. All the while maintaining an un-bias stance of my prose. Watching my pen tickle across the lines of the page---never changing its form or color. This vessel is the holder of my passions. And what I poured out, in its own way pours back into the Self in the form of self-expression, self-awareness, acceptance, understanding, accomplishment and unconditional love for who I am; a vessel for my Soul.
(My new obsession is writing.)

Originally written in 2001.

Copyright 2001 R. B. STUART, All rights reserved. No reproduction of this blog in any form.