4.04 - Shame
“The year is 2019 and it may seem strange for people to feel ashamed of their sexual orientation or gender they choose to identify as, but it happens,” the professor begins his lecture. “Sexual shame is something that has never gone away. Even when humanity is shooting off into space and colonizing other planets and moons, it will not go away. At the base, it is shame, it is always shame. People who did not have early environments filled with love and acceptance will always feel shame,” he continues.
Four seats down from me is a man I wouldn’t feel shame about. Tall, and muscular, but not an athletic build. Beautiful brown skin, a beard that actually connects and the perfect bald fade. If Michael B. Jordan had a baby with Kelly Rowland, it wouldn’t be this fine. He’s got long fingers, could really reach the right spot. Wait, what am I doing? This is not who I am. I pull out my notebook and try to focus on the lecture, but I can’t seem to stop glancing over at him. I need to control myself.
1 Corinthians 10:13, I quickly write in my notebook:
No temptation has overtaken you that is not common to man. God is faithful and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability, but with the temptation he will also provide the way of escape that you may be able to endure it.
Colossians 3:5 might be better at a time like this when I’m tempted by desires.
Put to death therefore what is earthly in you: sexual immorality, impunity, passion, evil desire and covetousness, which is idolatry.
Almost as if he feels my stares, he looks down the row of seats towards me in confusion. I give a head nod as if I know him only for him to turn away slowly. I’m an idiot. I don’t know why I would do something like that. I can’t stop my urges, they’re only human but I can try not to fall victim to them. Not in the middle of class. I need to focus, but the professor is talking about sex, and all I can think about is sex. I’m here for an education, not temptation. I need to remove myself from this situation.
I exit the class and head towards the bathroom. I stop outside the door and have a sip of cold water, trying to calm my nerves. Inside the bathroom I take a few deep breaths, another failed attempt at calming my nerves. This is so stupid; I’m acting like I’ve never seen a hot guy before. I live with one, and this guy in class hasn’t even given me the time of day.
I head into one of the stalls behind me and lock the door. I unzip my pants and quickly go to work, faster and harder than I normally would. I spit into my hand and use the saliva to ease the friction. I try to slow down but the time crunch and the taboo of the whole situation excites me more than it should. I use my right hand to lean forward onto the wall and hold myself up as my legs start to shake. His beautiful face, glistening abs, the touch of his thighs. I can see it; I can feel it. Fuck, is all I can say as the sound of my sin hits the water in the toilet bowl in the initial burst and several more before dribbling to an end. I open my eyes and take a deep breath before looking down at the white goo floating on the surface of the water before trying squeeze free any remaining goo. Staring at my hand now covered in saliva and goo, I feel a sense of relief before panic sets in. I use toilet paper to clean myself as well as I can. I can’t believe I just did that. I’m on the verge of crying, embarrassed, even if no one else knows now that the evidence has been flushed. I’ve calmed my nerves but I feel like an animal. I wash my hands quickly and and splash some water on my face. I need to get it together. I dry my face with some cheap and scratchy paper towels, before exiting quickly before anyone can enter and catch me in the act of destroying evidence.
Back inside class I return to my seat, calmer, but feeling sick. Looking down I notice a white spot on my jeans, right by my zipper. I pull my hoody down over the spot, hoping nobody would see it. Even if they’d have to climb under the desk, lift my hoodie and examine my zipper, I can still see it.
“Beyond just shame, all of our sexual problems can be traced back to ourselves. Self-hated is the key to a solution. To repair ourselves, we need to be able to first accept ourselves,” The professor is out of slides and seems to be finishing his lecture. “We are walking around ashamed of ourselves not because we want something bad but because society has predisposed us to believe that we are bad, evil or sick for wanting these things. The shame silences us, forces us to put our feelings into hiding. We have to learn how to see ourselves through love not just the burdens of acceptance. Only then can we view ourselves without shame. Once we’re free of shame, only then can we become who we truly want to be, who we’re supposed to be before corrupted by society.”
Our professor is standing in front of one hundred people, pouring his heart out about sexual shame. Then there’s me, a perverse, sexual deviant who masturbates in public places. I wish I could say that was the first time, but it wasn’t. I can’t even say the word semen to myself, but I can do what I just did. I can feel the lump in my throat right now, the tickling in my nose as I take deep breaths to fight back tears.
I used to ask God why I was born this way and beg to be changed. It was the prayer I prayed more than any other, but it never seemed to be answered. I prayed harder, more often, poured myself into church. I memorized scriptures, songs, and in the end it didn’t work. No matter how much I prayed it didn’t work. Did I just not love God enough?
Internet search after internet search and I was told God didn’t make me this way. I’m just a sinner destined to burn in hell because I can’t overcome my urges my lust for other men. It’s not as if I don’t like women. I fall in love with them too. I pour everything I have into my relationships with them, but there’s always a reason it doesn’t work. My first crushes, my most frequent crushes, all women. But when I have a crush on a man, I crush hard. I didn’t even know bisexuals existed until I was 19. Time and time I’ve stood on the edge of no return only to pull myself away at the last minute. I just can never take that leap, the next step. Internet search after internet search, Bible verse after Bible verse. I was told this is my burden to bear alone, and that I’m not uniquely broken. But that’s just it, I don’t think I’m broken. I don’t think this is burden, just another part of me as much as my favorite color. There’s nothing wrong with me, I’m just ashamed of who I am behind the mask.
Author's Note: They don't think it be like that, but it do.
0 comments :
Post a Comment