Being out and going out
Long before we got married, there was one point in the relationship between myself and my wife, in which she expressed to me one of her fears. She was almost in tears, worrying that since she was the first girlfriend I had ever had, that I would want to go and explore other options, relationship-wise. I didn't, of course, having always found the concept of dating to be completely foreign to me. The bodily urges that would normally drive such pursuits were, understandably yet hopelessly, cross-wired.
The fact that she and I had gotten together in the first place was something I tried for so long to understand. I had apparently by pure dumb luck, fulfilled that particular part of the male role foisted upon us by our society and now was expected to, what? Procreate? Have the requisite house in the suburbs with 2.5 children? Have an eventual retirement looking like the investment fund ads where the elderly couple walks barefoot down the beach together, still holding hands?
The latter was something I could not even fathom as a possibility, seeing as I was in my late-twenties and thinking that I probably wouldn't be around much longer.
The former, I could not bear even as a possibility. The thought of creating another young human who would have to grow up in the same hell that I did, just made me shut down entirely on the very idea. At the time, the mental state I was in could be described simply in terms of varying levels of sad and/or angry. There was no place in there for love, whether it be the love for a companion, a pet, or one's child. I could fake all that well enough. By then, I had had plenty of practice, but the more I interacted with people, the more likely the mask would slip.
I can't say I had no feelings of affection back then but they were so mercurial as to seem like they couldn't possibly be real. Still, it was a comfortable place in which to live. Compromises were made. Some separation occurred over the years but we were always drawn back together for that mutual, practically loveless (at least emanating from my side of the relationship), comfort of being.
It was not to last and here I stand, more free than I have ever been in my adult life, and am ready to do some exploring. I may have expressed this before at one time or another, but I'm still unsure as to where my actual, true preferences are going to align. I'm pretty sure I'm not into women (no offense, ladies!), other than as friends and/or part of my tribe. As bland as this may sound, I have a feeling I might end up just being a plain-Jane, heterosexual woman, when all's said and done.
I don't think that's a bad thing, any more than folks who occupy many of the other points along the spectrum. I may not get it, as far as understanding their preferences is concerned, but that's okay. If I'm happy, why can't other folks find their own happiness?
What I don't want to do is just jump right into the first relationship that presents itself and just say, "This is it - this is what I need and I don't have to explore any further." I've done that in so many other aspects of my life that I'm too old to make these choices without some thought and deep introspection. Relationships being the complex things that they are, will be one of my greatest challenges, and a little bit scary.
I think, from an HRT perspective, I can say that I've moved from my "second puberty" into early adulthood. I've been learning how to sort through all of the new, scary, and wondrous emotions and am getting to the point where I can be honest with myself and others without the fear that alternately drove me and held me back over all those years.
