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Daddy: An Open Letter to my Sexuality

Daddy: An Open Letter to my Sexuality

Nyle Dimarco is the only man you would call daddy. There’s a photo of him on Instagram wearing dark blue jeans that hang dangerously low on his hips, the fly and zipper undone. Black hair protrudes over his lower abdomen. He’s wearing a white shirt that he’s pulling up to reveal his tanned torso and sculpted abs.

You only know him from America’s Next Top Model and Twitter. He seems like the kind of guy who would be patient with you and understanding. He wouldn’t get mad at you for not wanting to give him oral, even though Twitter says he has “big dick energy.”

Nyle is sexy. How on earth could you be sexy? You don’t even like sex. When you were in undergrad, you posed as a nude model for an art class. You wrote an article about it and even got published. You said it helped you gain confidence and that it helped battle your anxiety. But, maybe it was actually a way to be seen as desirable. The first semester you did it, you weighed 220 pounds. You always wore your hair up. It was greasy. You did it again just a few months ago. You had since lost thirty pounds, gotten a tan, and actually washed your hair. You had also just been dumped, so you eyed the people in the class. You felt sexy. [Redacted #1] in ninth grade messaged you on Facebook saying they thought you were hot and sexy. Later on, when they called you and said they were masturbating, you tasted bile and hung up.

You have an hourglass body and pretty green eyes. You wear low necklines and tight tops. You always have your makeup and nails done. You’re blonde now. You feel sexy, you get called sexy, but when you see the men at the club eye you, you question if it’s even right for you to be sexy. Why be sexy if you won’t have sex with them?

[Redacted #2] always gassed you up, but when you got high with them in your apartment - even though it made your roommates hate you - you always ate way too much processed food and drank too much soda. When you told [Redacted #2] you didn’t like giving them oral, you tried to look sexy, so maybe they would still look at you with desire. They never made you orgasm, and you never had an orgasm in return. When you told them you didn’t like performing oral, they said sex was important to them. The next time you went down on [Redacted #2], your hands were shaking.

You never touched yourself until after you got dumped by [Redacted #2]. It’s the only way you can orgasm. You guiltily used to watch porn. You always searched for “sensual” porn and liked the foreplay, whether between a man and a woman or two women. You always skipped the scenes where the woman performed oral.

Sometimes you get onto Whisper and talk dirty with men. They have to be younger than thirty, but older than you. You don’t want them to send you pictures unless they look like Nyle Dimarco. They still do. You like hearing what they would do to you. Sometimes, you stop talking to them because they say things like “I bang the shit out of you” and expect you to get wet just from that. Sometimes they say they’ll tantalize every part of your skin with their lips, will run their fingers between your legs, tie your hands above your head. You like sending them pictures, not because you crave their desire. Actually, you roll your eyes when they call you a goddess or call you baby. You like to send nudes because you like to picture how a future lover would receive your nudes. It gets you off.

You wish you could sext with Nyle Dimarco. Maybe you could DM him on Twitter. He says he’s sexually fluid, but you remember reading an article where he said he would picture himself ending up with a man. You also don’t know sign language.

You went on a date in early May with [Redacted #3]. You met them on Tinder. You swipe ‘no’ on literally every guy but swipe ‘yes’ on every girl, because you know at least you could probably be friends with the girls. They never match with you. Every now and then if a guy is relatively cute and has something non-douchey in his bio you swipe right.

[Redacted #3], on the other hand, was never overly flirty. You felt no aggression from them. The restaurant you went to was two doors down from your apartment. When you sat down, you felt like they were out of your league immediately. You were a nerd in high school, you could tell this person was popular. Still, the conversation was fun. At the table, you saw the ideal body of [Redacted #3]. They were more attractive in person than in their profile. They kind of stuttered over their words, but you thought it was cute. You went on a walk down the street and then back up. When you walked by the door to your apartment, you stopped. You almost invited them in. [Redacted #3] had big lips.

On the second date, you looked hotter and you knew it. You were tanner and your hair was better. You wore shorts and a yellow shirt that made your boobs look bigger, your waist look smaller, and brought out the gold in your chartreuse eyes. Funny enough, you had the shits. You looked hot, but you definitely didn’t feel hot. You went to the bathroom three times, but luckily [Redacted #3] didn’t say anything. You went to the bookstore you always visited in undergrad. You daydreamed about having a date there, about hiding in between the shelves and stealing a kiss between the books. When you were looking at the books, trying to find something in between the pages, [Redacted #3] moved closer to you. You wanted to kiss them, but you turned away.

You should have kissed them. If you had kissed [Redacted #3] on the second date, then maybe they wouldn’t have said it wasn’t going to work out after the third date. You thought things were going great. You started to talk more seriously with them, about their depression in high school and family issues. You could’ve gone to Cedar Point for free with their ass but you hate rollercoasters, not because you’re worried they’ll break, but because you hate not being in control of your own body, the way they fling you about, and the way you can’t breathe on them scares you.

You didn’t go with them to Cedar Point though. They said it was okay, it would’ve been too hot anyway. You instead go to the zoo with them, but none of the animals were there because it was too hot. You didn’t feel as hot though. You wore a black maxi dress that was tight - maybe it was too tight - and your spanx weren’t tight enough. Your tan had faded. You were self-conscious about the scar tissue that looks like a giant red blemish on your shoulder. You kept thinking about kissing [Redacted #3] the whole time you hardly said a word. They didn’t reply as much after that, but later they said they didn’t feel anything with you.

They didn’t feel anything with you. You should have kissed them.

Sometimes, you still think about [Redacted #3]. Writers always think too much about people that they don’t really have feelings for anymore or haven’t even really met, like with Nyle Dimarco. But, [Redacted #3] was a cancer, and cancers are nice. Your mom’s a cancer.

According to some zodiac website, they aren’t that sexually motivated. You had told them you like the way the human body works, and you had considered being a massage therapist, even though you’re too ticklish for massages. They said they tense up during massages, but they said it in a challenging way.

You could’ve invited [Redacted #3] inside your apartment. You could’ve kissed them. They could’ve fucked you with their perfect body. You could’ve gone to Cedar Point. You could’ve done it all. Your hands would’ve been shaking the whole time.

You think about [Redacted #3] sitting in bed with you. You eat in bed sometimes, even though [Redacted #2] told you it was gross. They would be sitting next to you as you write on your laptop. They would be on their phone, comfortably shirtless. You would be in your robe. They would set down their phone and smile at you. You would massage their feet, you would kiss them gently, and when you turned off the light you would be the big spoon. You would hold their torso and kiss their back. Maybe it could’ve been enough for them, because at the end of the day, your biggest fear is not being enough.

But you’ll never call Nyle Dimarco daddy, and no one will ever force you to call them daddy. You’ll never feel ugly again, or feel bad about being confident in your body. You’ll never lose control of your body, even if you decide to face your fears and go on a rollercoaster. You’ll never feel inadequate again, because you will carry your sexuality as a badge of pride. And you will never let your hands shake again.

Yes, I Am Queer. But I Am Also Demisexual.

Yes, I Am Queer. But I Am Also Demisexual.

Lifting the Shroud: A Novice’s Personal Perspective on Coming Out and Pride

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