Sex is a question of [[betrayal->hub1]].Will my [[own body]] betray me? Will I panic? Will [[they]] betray me? Will they know what to do with me? Do they know [[what I am]]? [[Maybe nothing will happen at all.->hub2]]More than not, it's a matter of willing myself back into the moment. Will it help if I make more [[noise]]? What if I [[touch]] myself? Anything to [[reconnect]] my body to what is happening to it... ... and to what I'm [[doing with it|hub3]].I don't dissociate, I distance. I become disinterested. I make lists. Think about what else I could be doing. Not because I necessarily want to be doing anything else. This happens whether I'm enjoying myself or [[not|hub2]].When I was first learning how to be a good masochist, I struggled against being a black hole of energy, sucking in pain without giving anything back. In learning to be more responsive, I learned to make noise. I don't fake anything. I just learned to amplify instead of [[soften|hub2]].It's generally best to not think about how my methods mimic childhood self formation. They both consist of mentally bridging the gap between internal and external experience. This is my body. Something happens on the outside and I feel it [[inside|hub2]].Recognizing that I'm a trans woman helped on this front, in the way that putting a name to something helps. Though it never eradicates the problem. I just know what's going on now. You can develop countermeasures, strategies to push through it. But you know it's always coming. The panic over anatomy, the impossible desires. God, sometimes I just wanna get fucked but don't wanna have butt sex, [[you know->hub1]]?I don't trust anybody, anymore. Everybody starts in the negatives. Each successful encounter is tallied, but the only thing that goes down is how big a fuck up I'm going to get hit with. Recently the only people I've been involved with were those I'd invited in. It's odd, having an identity formed around mistrust, to meet somebody and know that they're trustworthy. Doesn't stop me from expecting something I don't actually believe will come, though. I still don't know [[how that fits->hub1]]. I'm masochist, first and foremost. Most people don't know what to do with an actual masochist. A kick me and cane me until I'm bruised all over masochist. It's not a spice, it's the dish. It's been a long road from understanding to acceptance to just plain loving what I am. I wouldn't give this up. I don't care that it's one more nearly impossible box to tick, when everything falls into place it's magic. And I [[love being magic|hub1]].Despite all of this, through a combination of getting older, raising my standards, and, most drastically, transitioning, [[I haven't had bad sex in years]].I've had sex that was interrupted by my crying. I've had sex that made me want to hack myself to pieces. I've had sex I spent with subroutines of critical analysis running in the background. I've had sex that was spent wishing I could be [[enjoying myself]].I've hated myself and [[loved myself]]. [[I've felt like a saint and I've felt perfect]].[[I've got hope for a future I never thought was for me]].I've got hope someday I'll [[shed my tactics and fears and defenses and past]].It won't always be easy, but maybe it won't be work.