The Freak Out, or, A Ghost From the Past

The past few days, I've been a bit stressed due to a combination of some drama going on with my present job and the tension and insecurity of applying for a new job which would mean a drastic pay increase and moving to a nearby city. Also, Mr. Curls and I have been talking a little bit about plans for going out of town in May for the wedding of one of my closest friends. It's a trip, together, and it's still a month out that we're planning for. It's intimidating.

Last night, while we were having yet another marathon phone call, we started talking about some sex things. Most of the details aren't important, so I'll skip all but the few that are. We talked about masturbation and the conversation almost went somewhere I didn't want it to. When I was a little kid, we're talking about three or four, I learned more than I should have about genitals. Someone I trusted, my foster brother, touched me where he shouldn't have. As soon as my parents found out, he was removed from the house. Since I was so young, I really don't remember most of it, though I've spent a long time and a number of conversations with the friend whose wedding we're going to to try and sort out how this thing has affected me. The bottom line: I've dealt with it, but these days I have a hard time drawing the line between things I can trace back to that and things that come from other places. Sorry, I know that's vague, but I'm having a hard time finding the right words.

Talking about masturbation, talking about touching myself, reminds me that someone else touched me first. I've told Mr. Curls about what happened, but I told him it didn't matter. Usually, it doesn't.

The conversation last night then turned to him asking me about preferences about pubic hair. "So, um, what do you like?" He asked.

"I like what you've got going on right now," I said. Then, "Since you bring it up, it's only fair to ask you." As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I regretted them. Since before Mr. Curls, and before my ex, I decided I liked to keep things trimmed up down there. Not bushy, but not shaved. I have it how I like it. Period. I added, "Not to make you answer differently, but I may not be anxious to change it."

"Fair enough. I will say that I do kind of like no hair there. I like what you've got, too. It's kind of tied."

And that is when it happened. I don't know where the reaction came from, and I can't explain exactly how it happened. All I know is that suddenly, my heart fell to my stomach and all I wanted was to hang up on him and keep my phone turned off. Can we say disproportionate reaction? I was blindsided. I mean, what the fuck? All he said was, "I kind of like this one thing," and BAM! I didn't know what was going on, but I knew I needed to change the subject, so I told him and before long we were saying goodnight and hanging up. I sat on my bed after I hung up the phone, trying to figure out what had just happened.

In the course of this relationship, there has been so much else, things that are way more important than pubic hair, that I've learned about that I just took in stride. So, what's different about this? I went to bed last night feeling horrible and insecure and anxious. It sucked. Some of that feeling is lingering this morning, which also sucks. As best I can figure it, the reaction comes from a couple of things.

One: insecurity about sexual experience. Before Mr. Curls, I had exactly one notch on my bed post. Exactly one guy I had (willingly) been intimate with. I haven't asked Mr. Curls about his number, because I'm not at a place where I want to know, but he's been married twice, which means at least two, which isn't a big number by any stretch of the imagination, but it's twice what mine was. If he likes it bare down there, then who was the one who is the reason he likes it? It's an immediate insecurity born of comparison.

Two: what if we don't match? We've talked about bedroom desires and what each of us finds appealing. I've asked him what he likes and, well, the guy's pretty vanilla. The first conversation we had, he said X and Y and I asked him if there was anything else and he couldn't think of anything. Then, a while later, he said he liked Z, too. Again, we're talking disproportionate response, because it wasn't anything that came out of left field or anything like that, it just triggered an irrational, "He's got a foot fetish, I know it!" response in me. The jist is, he's just so much unexplored territory and because he's a different person than my ex was, being with him is different than it was with my ex. I mean, duh. But, part of it ties back to the whole lack of experience thing. There's the part of me that's afraid he's going to want something I won't be okay with - which is silly because knowing him and knowing me, there's a whole lot I am or would be okay with, and I think I might be okay with more than he would. It's more that I've never been much of the lingerie girl, and he likes lacy thongs. Things aren't just all on my terms. Again, it's a "duh" moment. Relationships are all about compromise in all kinds of ways. And, just because I was never really into thongs doesn't mean I minded wearing one the other night. It's not about the thing itself, ultimately, it's about the control. Specifically, it's about me giving some up. As a gal who spent most of the past three years being single and having absolute control, that's a change. Change is scary.

Three: my crotch is, well, intimate. Having sex is one thing because it's about giving myself over to someone, but only for a time. Then I get myself back. Shaving my pubes would be about someone else having control over my lady parts on a more than temporary basis. I'd be walking around all day knowing that my crotch was a certain way because that's how someone else liked it. And, for me, the crotch is the most important part of the whole thing. When I was a kid, someone who shouldn't have had anything to do with my crotch did what he wanted with it, i.e. loss of control. Thus, for so much of the rest of my life, it's been an extra sensitive area for me, no pun intended. I've been somewhat casual about above-the-belt fooling around, but below-the-belt is not in any way casual for me. There has never been an off-hand fingering or such, because I am not okay with that at all, because, I have this thing from my past.

Four: the worst part is that my reaction last night caught me SO off guard. After all this time and talking with someone I trusted about it, I was confident that I'd dealt with what happened. I knew that I'd dealt with it. I knew I was over it. It was a thing that happened, and it was a really ugly thing, but I'd gotten past it. Then, I reacted how I did and it immediately brings up the point that maybe I'm not quite all the way past it.

And then we go back to the insecurity. Mr. Curls tells me I'm wonderful. He tells me he's so lucky to have found me and that he has a hard time seeing why someone so great as me would be interested in someone who's got all this baggage. I tell him I'm far from perfect and point out a thing or two to that effect. He shrugs, "It's no big deal." This, though, this is a big deal and even though I've told him about it, I did everything I could to downplay it and we haven't talked about it since.

I think I need to talk to him about it a little more, but I don't know what purpose it'd serve, and I don't know how to say it or what to say about it. It's something that I've thought about in so many different ways that it's become ambiguous to me. I honestly don't know how much of what I think and feel about it comes from the event itself and how much comes from me thinking about it afterward. The only part that's really vivid is an image in my mind. It was night and I was in my bed in the basement bedroom. I see the stairs leading into my room and him standing at the top of them in his underwear. I remember, faintly, the feeling of him on top of me. I don't remember if there was actual penetration, but I don't think so. I imagine if there had been, I would have remembered discomfort or pain.

With my ex, I told him about it and then it was over. It never was an issue once I talked about it and I was okay. So, why is it different this time? Why am I reacting to something I barely remember? How much of it is the thing itself, and how much of it is bleed-through from other stresses I'm dealing with right now? What does the freak out mean? Does it really mean anything at all? I wish I knew the answers. I hate not knowing exactly what it is I'm feeling or why. I hate this so much. I just wish time would speed up so I could get out through the other side of it right away.