Now that I look at it, it seems such a tiny thing. Without the broader context, the other straws on the camel’s back, it wouldn’t even be noticeable. It almost still wasn’t noticeable.
And yet…and yet there’s that word. “Stimulating”. Sex ought to be stimulating.
It’s a reminder of everything I hate about the kind of sex-positive sex-ed that’s standard in this subculture. I feel bad about hating it. I shouldn’t hate it. It’s the greatest good for the greatest number.
And yet.
And yet I’m sick of being excluded at every turn. I resent the way the kind of sex-ed epitomised by (though by no means exclusive to) Scarleteen stunted my sexual self-understanding, fed me information and advice consisting mostly of stuff that didn’t apply to me (sometimes the exact opposite of which applied to me) and told me it applied to everyone. I hate knowing that they didn’t even do anything wrong, because I’m such a fucking snowflake that I don’t deserve to expect anyone to ever acknowledge my existence.
(It isn’t my sexuality itself that I have a problem with. I like who I am. It’s the way it interacts with who everyone else is that gets to me.)
(Sexual pleasure is not a stimulant. It is a sedative. If I find a sexual act stimulating, that’s a sure sign that something has gone wrong and I need to change course.)
Tags:
#sexuality and lack thereof #rants #TMI
Brinens and Things 
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