Unspoken#1: Sexuality & Genderification

Only one person, aside from myself, knows my "true" sexual history -- and even he is not privy to all of it. Some things are not to be said. There are days when I think of lovers from my past and moments -- instantaneous images projected across my body -- instantaneous physical reactions in response to the mere memory of seduction. And within these moments, I revel. I enjoy the blood engorging my sexual organs, the chills that pass down my spine, and momentarily, I am re-living the experience... the shortness of my breath, the brisk electricity that surges through from my neck to my fingertips, the smell of my lover -- sweat and sex mingling with sweet body oils, the penetration, the taste, the sounds of deep voices engaged in nothing other than one another. A memory. These are nothing but memories. There is no betrayal in memory, or is there?

In these moments that I am filled with passion -- the kind once shared with an old lover -- I can not share with my current lover. I will not subject him to the hurt, dejection and jealousy that would accompany such knowledge. What use would that be? But in this withholding of information, there is secrecy -- and this is something heavy to hold. Even heavier is the accumulation of such experiences that come at the rate of about once every week.

And gender. It would be nice if I could keep people guessing. But I can't. You look at me and you know right away -- I'm a woman. Rather, I'm female. Tits and a cunt. But how often do I feel like a woman? Rarely. More often, I feel like a prepubescent girl -- halfway to boyhood, halfway to womanhood. I sometimes fantasize about having a cock, and the motions my body would go through in order to fuck as a man. Sometimes when I'm on top of my husband I imagine he's a hot little lady and I'm drilling away at him with my huge fat dick. Do I tell him these things? No, despite knowing that he would dig it, really enjoy it. I don't tell him, so that I may keep some fantasies as mine alone. The reel spins along and plays itself solely for me. This is a secret that I don't mind holding. Yet it is a secret nonetheless. I would not tell my coworker, my sister or my friend -- it may just lose all its appeal and then where would I be?