I'm sat here the past few minutes thinking up an opening for this blog but I guess there is no real way to start it and it may be best to just let it flow.I've never deemed sex or intimacy as an enjoyable or exciting experience in fact it doesn't sway me at all.In turn I think I put this down to something that happened to me at a young age something I think is best kept under wraps but the best way to explain it is in simplest terms someone who loves you shouldn't cause you harm,right?

I never thought much of my personal experience it was something I forgot about pushed back to the very corner of my mind concealed in cobwebs I never thought it was a wrong doing,as I got older and sexual relationships occurred it came to a head if I touched myself I'd lay there after I climaxed and think "What was the point of that?"If a boy touched me in an inappropriate place I felt uncomfortable almost ill.I never get crushes I'm never physically attracted to someone like your average love-lorn teenage girl I get this strange magnetic feeling towards the opposite sex a feeling I cant explain but I know its their pull thugging on the strings that bind my heart.This time last year I told someone for the first time my ordeal I felt comfort in him I'd lay on his chest and his scent felt like home "Where as a child I'd hide and pray for the thunder and the rain to quietly pass me by".I felt love for him I mean every fibre of my being craved him.I'd close my eyes and every inch of him I saw perfectly his forlorn eyes parted mouth coarse beard.He was the only boy to have ever seen my body stripped bare nothing but my pride to cover my embarrassment.He betray my trust loved me wrong hurt me to the point I'm inconsolable due to his loss.I mean why would someone sleep with another when they have someone who gives them their heart and soul,did he have a longing for someone else did I not satisfy him.The first time I found out our relationship was still somewhat stable still loving I forgave him although my stomach was in ropes every time I thought of him with her my eyes welled up we got on with things it was forgotten but it never felt the same anymore he grew distant sometimes late at night he would hold me and rub the bridge of my nose I sometimes saw the boy I adored but he was never fully there I missed him the most when we were closest.And it’s not “clever lonely” like Morrissey or “interesting Lonely” like Radiohead it’s “lonely, lonely,” like the way it feels when you’re being hugged by someone and it somehow makes you sadder.Art and love are the same thing: It’s the process of seeing yourself in things that are not you.