The search for pleasure


I think, if I am honest with myself, I am always searching for pleasure. What kind, I don’t quite know.

Actually, if I am really honest, I’m too afraid to properly think about it.

I find pleasure in lots of things. The sound of rainfall (which I see lots of in London) when I am inside reading a good book. Watching The Warrior and Li being goofy and dancing around the living room. My boss telling me I’m doing a good job. The Warrior telling me she loves me. A stranger doing something nice just because. Chocolate. Cake. A really good salad dressing. Steak… I love food, k?

But the thing that gives me the greatest pleasure is reading. When I was a young girl the Warrior bought me the Harry Potter books. I loved them. I never truly understood the importance of reading until I read them. That is the honest to goodness truth. My imagination was something I revelled in and I still daydream incessantly all the time. I’m even trying to write my own books. I branched out to mysteries, crime, fantasy (love!), adventure and eventually romance. And then came university, where I discovered that I had a strong and inexplicable kinship with LGBT culture. Since then I’ve eaten up most of it, particularly m/m books. 2015 was a glorious reading year for me. I only read m/m books. And I devoured them. Win!

It might be my knowledge, or my seeming lack of prudishness, but not many people would guess that I’ve experienced all kinds of pleasure but one. I will be 26 years old next month and I’m still a virgin. It’s not a bad thing. Not to me at least. Many would look at me in abject horror. Many have. I’m not waiting for marriage because I don’t plan on getting married. I’m not waiting for The One because I don’t believe in that concept. I don’t date. And if a man even looks at me I freak out on the inside.

My reasons are my own. And they are personal. I will tell you that I had a boyfriend as a teenager. He thought my heart was a toy to be played with. I was already so afraid to trust him that I’ve beaten myself up for almost a decade since for ignoring my own instincts. I don’t trust any man with my heart. I don’t trust them with my feelings so I certainly wouldn’t trust them with my body either. I don’t want to feel like I’ve made a mistake.

Still, it’s difficult sometimes. I sometimes feel alone. I sometimes find myself wondering what it would be like to feel that kind of pleasure. Would it be disappointing? Would it be amazing? Will I always be too afraid to take a chance?

I don’t know. For now, the books I read, both old favourites and new, are enough pleasure for me.

I’ll continue to search for pleasure until I find it.

And I’ll find it when I’m ready. I’m sure.

Smurf x


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