Why I Can't Masturbate During The Day

Because of the lack of privacy, my gender-neutral dudes. √⁠(⁠•⁠ˇ⁠_⁠ˇ⁠•⁠)√⁠ 

It’s also a safety issue because I can’t be known for the neighbor who masturbates because I live in a street-level bedroom with my windows open AT ALL TIMES. I see a lot of the same faces walk by my street-leveled window and I can only assume they live nearby. Hell, I’ve had the same Grubhub driver three times now; San Francisco is so small that I have literally seen one of my lovers on a rooftop party when I was in a situationship’s room that overlooked a rooftop. Yes, I called to see if it was actually him and as soon as I saw the pause and revealed his phone, held it up against his ear, I had a big smile on my face because I knew it was him. Back to the topic at hand, it has been a bit over a year since my squirting journey and here is the evolution of my masturbation sessions.

I was a humper, mainly pillows, by bunching up a large ball and placing it between my legs. My family said I would, "hump," the pillows until I was sweating and passed out. They thought I was tiring myself out so I could sleep in the heat when I was in heat! When I reached high school, the sheet was upgraded to a banana, cucumber, and curling iron, mentioned in a previous blog post. I even bought my first sex toy at the sex shop with unreliable hours. Even back then, I always masturbated at night. Then I became disabled with chronic pain and orgasms are now a big part of my life and masturbating before bed relieves so many of my side symptoms.

One major thing I've observed ever since I started chronically playing with my clitoris is the ease of which I fall asleep. I can fall asleep anywhere now; I may or may not have missed my train station during my 6:30am, 1.5-hour commute. I was a very anxious person prior to my mystery brain disability and not on any form of medication. I was horny, but was too busy and stressed to masturbate so there was a hiatus in my masturbation in college. This was also a really stressful time in my life, but the more stress I was experiencing, the more sex I would have. Was it because I was having sex with many people? Probably! I remember avoiding a fellow classmate because he happened to be roommates with someone I shamefully hooked up with (I was really depressed and he did not know what he was doing. To this day, I forget his name…). However, I am my own best lover and the reasoning is very simple: I took my time! (C)Literally 28 years of practice (ultrasounds have shown fetuses masturbating in both males and females)! Changing my outlook on sex changed the game for me! 

I'm pleasure-driven rather than orgasm-driven now. I still partake in edging, and wowee zowee, does it improve my stamina and orgasm control! I also find it helpful to countdown to when I'm about to cum, also makes myself hot and sexy for the other partner(s). This mental shift was life-changing because I gave myself permission to simply feel and focus on my pleasure; what works and what doesn't. I love vaginal fisting, only if one has small hands! I've also switched up my toys (I was mostly clitoral, but now I love deep cervical orgasms 💋) and I have a variety of sex toys, some I haven't even unboxed yet. I have dildos on all spectrums of firmness; I'm like the house Goldilocks burglarized: not too hard, big, small, and juuuust right. Goldilocks is a Filipino bakery chain… fuck!

An Ode to Amrita

Excuse me? Have you heard of the Lord and Savior that is amrita, also known colloquially as squirt? Amrita is considered the nectar of the gods and I couldn't agree more. The mystery behind what makes vaginal squirting is quite simple; squirt is released by the urethrovaginal gland (UVG) also known as the Skene's gland. “Amrita is a very old Sanskrit word designating the secreted substance of the UVG,” according to the Journal of Gynecology & Reproductive Medicine. So by definition, pussy juice is sacred, and it should be, along with periods and ejaculation. Lastly, I wanted to add the following quote, “the sexual satisfaction-orgasm-ejaculation spectrum described here leads to a subtle sexual liberation without revolution or discounting evolution,” and focus your attention to the underlined text. The author's approach isn't to liberate or repress, instead, the author is providing information so we can interpret the results on our own. My conclusion is that squirting is sacred and spiritual. 

Don't get it twisted, I'm not going to dip my fingers in a small bowl of amrita and do the sign of the cross on my body to indicate my respect. That's not my sanitary style. This doesn't mean I won't go down on a vagina that's consensually soaked, in fact, when I use my Unboundbabe's Clutch, a take on the classic rabbit-style vibrator, I gush due to triple stimulation: clitoral, vaginal, and from the G-spot. When I remove the toy, I usually feel a gush of warm fluids spew from my vagina. The best part about amrita is its natural lubrication. There's nothing quite like the sounds of amrita squeaking when having sex. Seriously, try it, even by yourself using your fingers! 

Let's focus on this quote now: "the sexual satisfaction-orgasm-ejaculation spectrum described here leads to a subtle sexual liberation without revolution or discounting evolution," as stated in the 1st paragraph, linked, and underlined. I like to think that I practice subtle sexual liberation every day through my work, but also through masturbation. In fact, masturbation aids in my sleep and chronic pain issues; I typically masturbate before bed. By doing so, I get all the yummy post-orgasmic benefits before sleeping; pain alleviation, waking up less to pee, and getting into that sweet sweet REM sleep cycle. Whenever I slept over at a partner's place, I would sometimes ask for pre-sleep sex or at least one orgasm to help me sleep [after I became disabled and learned how to negotiate]!

Now let's dive in deeper into the quote by ending it with my interpretation of, "[without] discounting evolution,” and this resonated with my inner evolutionary biologist. I am an evolutionary biologist bitch, betch! I believe in homologous structures and the clitoris’ only function is for pleasure! This quote also reminded me of what a peer said to me when discussing my fears of unmasking in the Philippines. Ultimately, Dr. Patti said something that upset me because it was too true, "don't be a martyr. If you're dead, you won't be able to spread your knowledge as a sex coach." I ruminated on this statement for at least 48 hours and finally caved. She's right and I hate it because I don't have that excuse of killing myself anymore. I've been living this mindset ever since the onset of my disability and I think it's time to change it. So cheers to Amrita for liberating me and not only for being the nectar of the gods, but for being a part of my being. Same goes to you, clitoris!

An Affinity for Horror as a Trauma Healer and a Queer Womxn

[STRONG TRIGGER WARNING: RAPE/CAR ACCIDENTS/MEDICAL/DISABILITY TRAUMA] 

Fear, as a feeling, can evoke different responses in an individual. When we are in a state of fear, our sympathetic nervous system activates. What does that mean? When we are faced with fear, we have five responses: fight, flight, freeze, flee, and fawn. People are able to make quick decisions and, ultimately, our neanderthal brain instincts kick in. For example, I was in a really bad car accident; my car rolled down a hill and I was adamant about finding help. I still had full movement of my right foot/leg and was still able to climb up the hill so I could shout across a body of water. Luckily, it was still light out and people were in their backyards and they were able to call 911 (additional luck for the gray clouds started to loom in and they seemed to be heading back inside). If you had told me the probability of me surviving that night, I probably would have pulled 28% out of my ass. What saved me was my body's response to fear. And you know what was funny? I CALLED MY EX/FIRST LOVE. I was in such shock and he had hurt me so much, there's a theory about the break-up causing my brain inflammation, but that's for a different blog post. 

After everything that I've gone through in my life, nothing really phases me anymore. I've literally faced death so many times, I'm kind of used to it? [Personally, I don't like making jokes about death though because there are people in my life who have dealt with grief due to death and would like to respect that]. Now, that doesn't mean I'm not afraid, in fact, I am terrified of real life situations instead of masked serial killers or clowns (or serial killer clowns, i.e. Art from Terrifier). I'm terrified of getting physically hurt because of who I am. I've been raped because of my disability. I rewatched I Spit On Your Grave, recently and I was so visibly uncomfortable because of the obvious power dynamic between the main character and a cop with a daughter and pregnant wife. Why did I add those two things? Because he was the main villain in the story, which is quite unfortunate because I tend to love villainous characters; Ursula from The Little Mermaid, Mommy Xenomorph from the Alien franchise, Samantha Carpenter from the recent Scream requel (I want there to be a Scream movie where the lead is Ghostface), Lady Dimitrescu from Resident Evil Village, and down right to literal fate in Final Destination. Incredible writing will make you root for the villain. And how can I forget that Psycho 2 is better than the original. I said it. 

I've noticed that pattern within the queer community and the horror community. There is a Venn diagram and in the middle is where all us, gay people of color. It is true that there aren't that many people of color in horror movies, but I like to think of it as watching white people suffer. Is that so bad? It's all fiction! There is literal harm that is being done to the queer, BIPOC communities currently and it is absolutely atrocious and many of us are living our version of horror. Which is why we delve and immerse ourselves into horror in other forms because we are able to contain it. I also want to point out that George A. Romero's Night Of The Living Dead starred a black man. Good for you, George. I will be referencing an article by Maya Lotus relating queerness to gayness, and I heavily agree with a lot of the aspects of the article. Especially the quote, "LGBTQ+ representation often hides in the shadows alongside the monsters, but as poor evolves, we have seen characters queer people can relate to breaking down the closet door as heroes, vegetable anti-heroes or even relatable villains." I'm not saying that every character in a horror villain is gay, but the scenarios themselves have underlying gay themes. As listed by Maya Lotus's article, some include Jennifer's Body, Frankenstein, Rocky Horror Picture Show, Hellraiser, and The Lost Boys. Anything with vampires is gay, have you seen What We Do In The Shadows? Highly recommend because Guillermo is baby. All of these movies have one thing in common, yearning to be seen, but hiding. Reflectively, we are seeing more and more gay characters and creators in the horror sphere and cannot wait what queer stories we’ll see, whether purposeful or not. From The Haunting of Bly Manor, Fear Street: (insert year here), and Freaky, I love seeing queer characters finally being seen. Also, Psycho was essentially drag???

Movies and television are often escapes from our everyday lives. Queer people often have trauma simply because of who they are. I do believe that horror allows the LGBTQIA+ a form of escape. You cannot guess the amount of YouTube horror reaction channels I've subscribed to within the past 7 months and almost all of them are nasty gays. These channels were also showing me to become, uhm less PC, because I'm FUCKING TIRED OF CANCEL CULTURE.

BUT THAT'S FOR ANOTHER BLOG POST.

HAVE A GREAT WEEKEND! BE SAFE xoxo 

Keeping Up With My Fucked Up Family

I abhor tsismis (commonly spelt as "chismis"). The visually appealing word means "gossip" in Tagalog. Funnily enough, my mother's name was listed as #1 in an online article my brother found and it could not be closer to the truth. The listicle was named something along the lines of, "most common Filipino names who act like Karens." My mother is the matriarch of the family and she doesn't take anyone's shit. She has gone as far as abuse, in my opinion, but to them, I'm being a whiny American victim so let me share with you a little story:

My brother/housemate literally had to bring my brain biopsies to a hospital in Manila (The Philippine's capital); this is what caused the biggest delay to an undiagnosable random onset of my encephalitis. ***Fun fact: I have parts of my brain in my closet*** During a trip to my mother's hometown, it was raining and we were already running late to a church my mother wanted to visit. Her sister, my tita, was also present and as soon as we were walking to the car, they started to chismis on church property. [I secretly think she intentionally whispers loudly so the person she is talking about knows she's talking about them. She loves drama]. The irony was that I paid more attention to a religion that has deeply traumatized me, yet I still respect being around those who believe in it. I respect others' identities and differing views, as long as the respect is reciprocated. My family doesn't know what respect is because they think they are above others.  

I've never heard my mother apologize or admit she was wrong. It scares me how much I am similar to her, but I have to remind myself that I am in control of my emotions and she does not. My mother can be very manipulative, with a victim mentality, and partakes in guilt-tripping. Whenever I confide in her about my depression, or simply try to educate her on anything she wouldn't approve of, I'm automatically wrong. She is very judgemental with hypocritical behavior when it comes to women and conducts in misogynistic behavior ; commenting on other’s behaviors, particularly women, outwardly saying, “she needs to dress her age,” or my favorite, “she wears too much/not enough makeup.” For example, she loves to control my body, especially my vagina. Why?! I'm a grown woman; I'm almost 30 and you still think you have control of me? Lastly, your sons have sexually and physically abused women, are predators, neglects their children, and you still hate me, your daughter? Yes, she's that much of a character. 

I am a cryer and so is everyone in my immediate biological family; we cry when we're sad, scared, angry, happy, really any heightened emotion can trigger tears to start swelling. My mother found out I was sexually active during a doctor's visit and the words, "birth control pills," fatefully spilled from the mouth of a negligent neurologist, as if in slow motion. She was so dramatic and mentally ill that she started acting like a child (e.g. ignoring my explanations and apologies, crying in the MRI waiting room, and just generally making me feel like I'm in the wrong. She was immature about the situation because I was already 21). Sex is natural. I wouldn't be here if she didn't have sex. Whenever I speak about a career milestone, she tries to redirect me to a different profession. Then, I tried to explain to her how disabled people do not have as much privilege as able-bodied people. She will then proceed to scold me on my incessant disability justice and continues to ignore the institutional and governmental issues that are hindering my success in a country in which she idolizes. Additionally, she does not want to accept that her almost 30-year-old daughter is sexually active and is in a career that does not affect her. If anything, I’m succeeding, so is she angry that I am no longer 100% relying on her for my survival? I will never know!

Hypocrisy and lying about her own sexual history is one of my mother's specialties. She claims that my father was her sexual debut, adding to the lies about her past sexual behavior because she has slipped with her lies when discussing my eldest brother's birth and my parents wedding [THE MATH ISN'T MATHING]. In fact, I attempted to get the facts from my brother/housemate by asking what year our parents got married and following with when my brother was born and he told me he didn't know. I KNOW YOU KNOW BECAUSE YOUR MOTHER'S BESTIE! My favorite brother/housemate is the stereotypically neglected middle child and he and our mother talk almost every day. He is more facts-oriented and did not take a side when I revealed brother who molested me because he does not know all the facts and we are both his siblings. He is biased, yet fair and continues to make my life as easy as possible, and I am forever grateful. My mother, however, I guarantee you that 1 lie from me is equivalent to 10 lies for her; a 1:10 ratio. She will omit facts from the “opposing side” to make her look good.

I no longer have to mask around my family because I'm so exhausted from acting all the time. Yes, I still live with my best brother/housemate, not because either one of us wants to, but because we have to. I'm still living with him because I am disabled and that makes me incredulously vulnerable. I have escaped death so many times in my almost 29 years on this earth and I don't intend on holding back in terms of living my life. Life is the longest thing a human can experience, yet death can happen at any time. Life should be experienced with pleasure, not fear. That's what my mother needs; an orgasm.

They Say to Never Meet Your Idols

Before entering college in 2012, I went to Vidcon, a convention for content creators primarily on YouTube. Even back then, I cringed at the thought of yelling across the street to simply say hello to two big British twins who were big on YouTube at the time; and yes, I actually did that. I never really viewed my "idols" as above me because they are just human beings doing their jobs. They have a whole PR team who tell them what and what not to say. Your biggest idols hired a social media assistant because they are too busy to look or even care about their Instagrams. I would not consider myself someone who has had experience with parasocial relationships because I know how it would feel if someone treated me like that, and they have.

Meeting Janelle Monáe was an incredible experience. Not only did I get to spend hours with one of my favorite friends, Daizy, a fellow sex worker who can charm her way into your life, but I also got to experience San Francisco all to myself. Haight-Ashbury, known as the hippie district, is a colorful row of (expensive) vintage shops and boutiques. Along with the eclectic bars and restaurants, it's a vibrant place at night where the hipsters go to hidden shows hosted by the people who live there. I thought SF was the perfect place to meet Janelle. It’s a sex-positive city with a high amount of sex workers and queer folx! I sincerely hope Janelle Monáe took advantage of this historically queer city and paid homage to the colonized Ohlone land.

I didn't want to make Janelle Monáe uncomfortable because I know celebrities deal with a lot. Despite their fame, we shouldn't put them on a pedestal. I'm also not going to lie to you all and say I wasn't nervous because I was. I've been a fan of Janelle Monáe since her 2003 release of Lettin' Go. It was around high school when I discovered Janelle and resonated with her lyrics and themes. Their last album, Dirty Computer, really changed my life; I want a specific lyric tattooed somewhere on my body. I love my "idols," but will respect them at all times.

My Very First Booth!

On Sunday, May 28, 2023, I successfully handled my own booth at a sex worker's only event in Oakland, CA called Whores Bath. Massages, nail technicians, saunas, body regulation, and food, all free to sex workers and I offered to volunteer to get some practice and feedback. I got some feedback, alright, and most of them were good, but there were 2 that stood out.

My hours were from 2:45-4:45pm, but I am notorious for going to events. I am notorious for showing up at least 2 hours early because I want to know the accessibility and general layout of the event space. I drove myself and a fellow sex worker friend to Oakland, got lost, got to the venue and ate some food. I even managed to get free Plan B, or Levonorgestrel (the morning after pill that approximately costs $40-$50), which was already worth the trip for me and an indicator of the community care present. Unfortunately and fortunately, I was fully booked and did not get a chance to seek other volunteers' services.

I set up my booth and had a packed schedule. Some finished early, allowing passersby to take a peek and give them a welcoming smile. Many approached, which added to the additional hour, thus my volunteering ended around 5:30pm. My last session was my favorite because they ended up crying and it felt like a breakthrough for each of us; they came to the conclusion that they needed to end things with a partner they no longer had feelings for. I asked if they wanted me to hold their hand because it was a difficult topic and I literally felt touched and connected with this client.

This event made me realize that I cannot help everybody and that's okay. It was my second to last client (keep in mind that I was not expecting to have 2 additional clients) and reflecting back on it now, they needed therapy, not coaching. At my booth, I had a QR code which goes to a survey/questionnaire on identities, demographics, and feedback, along with my social media accounts right next to an "about me" section. I received some pretty gnarly feedback through email and responded hours later after processing. They told me I was "whoring" myself out because I had my donation links taped down on a table, along with an about me and my services. I'm very direct with my clients and they seemed to be under some substance(s) because their demeanor was very slow, closed eyes, and slurring. I knew that people were using substances because it's part of the sex work culture; almost everyone was knowledgeable about Narcan and harm reduction. I did not point it out, but they did apologize for using the word "whore." I responded, apologized and said that we weren't a good match for each other and that's okay! This was the first time I said, "okay, I cannot help everybody." Additionally, another client, potentially a client I started because a session was cut short, told me I was, "the last sound 16 and lacks maturity for this work. Also she sounds square and unworldly." I giggled because my 16-year-gap older brother gets mistaken for my age, 28, very often; people often think we're a couple when we're out together. I know that the square and unworldly comments are untrue because I try my best to be better everyday. If that makes me a square, then so be it. I cannot change the minds of others and I can only improve from here. I have many plans this upcoming pride month and I cannot wait to share my adventures!

My Personal Journey To Squirting

Everyone with a Skene's and Bartholin's gland can squirt! I never thought I personally could, but it started out with a little bit of amrita, or the nectar of the gods. Squirt isn't pee and I'm going to tell you my journey throughout the years of my experience; doing 50 kegels everyday for 30 days. Sounds easy, but I'm on day 7 and I'm already seeing big changes. To do a proper kegel, one must activate their abdominal muscles and "lift" their bladder and cervix, upward. You're not doing a proper kegel unless you feel it in your abs! I'm determined to have strong kegels so I can learn how to control my squirting.

The first time I was aware I squirted was late 2021. I thought I'd piss myself, but no, it was amrita. I never really pursued squirting before because I tend to be adverse to liquids on my bed. I've bought disposable medical pads to prevent getting amrita on my bed. I've tried squirting in the shower, but standing up while accessing my G-spot was too difficult and I am a fall risk when I'm in the shower (especially when my legs shake). I haven't slipped in the shower and I have no intentions of doing so in the future.

From the image, you can actually see the G-spot externally, or from the outside. Patience is necessary for squirting because it's like an Olympic sport. The G-spot, or Grafenberg spot (just say G-spot, we don't need to associate our vaginas to these outdated white men's names) is a sponge-like texture which can be stimulated externally or internally. Most of the time it is stimulated internally during sex, however, mastering squirting through solo play will make it easier to squirt with a partner.

Vibrate, not penetrate! Penis owners shouldn't ram their cocks in a pussy and expect them to squirt right away. It takes time and a technique that requires a bit more finesse for beginners. Instead of doing this, vibrate, even with your penis. First, ask them where around the G-spot, or explore together, where it is most sensitive. If they find the spot, stay there and simulate either with fingers, an insertable [preferably curved glass or medical grade steel] dildo, or a penis. This is why being pleasure-oriented is better than orgasm-oriented. Orgasm isn't the goal of sex, but pleasure is.

Remember, every body is different and one must know their own pleasure points first before tackling a squirting orgasm. Be sure to communicate with your partner about your body and what you like. If you have tried all of this and still no squirt, perhaps speak to a doctor. Cysts can occur in the Skene's and Bartholin's gland and should be referred to a professional. Amrita is literally a gift from whatever God you believe in. Embrace pleasure.

Happy squirting and masturbation month!

Why Don't We See Pregnant Disabled People?

I hope you all realize how passionate I am about disabled representation. Have you ever seen a pregnant person in a wheelchair? Maybe a birth results in a permanent disability, do we neglect the person who gave birth with these new disabilities? Did you know that maternal mortality is very common in populated and underserved communities? "Among these [pregnancy-related deaths], 84% were determined to be preventable." Eighty-four percent. If those are deaths, how many are left disabled and alone? I will focus on physical disability because the topic involves the most naturally taxing experience on the human body.

According to current research, "disability does not necessarily have a negative effect on parenting." The fact that people think that there aren't successful parents with physical disabilities is so disheartening. I went on TikTok and searched, "disabled parents," and I was sadly seeing this as their top post. The first two posts are two different white teens complaining about being more the parent than the child. Out of the first 5 posts, only one was educational and portrayed gadgets that assisted them in the kitchen. The rest were either complaining about having disabled parents or inspiration porn. This post by TikToker, @reidsrumour, is the only post I felt seen and heard.

Pregnant people are actively becoming disabled every day. I will not talk about post-partum because that's a completely different experience than becoming physically disabled. It'll be for another blog some other day. Birthers are still actively dying in this country because of their lack of resources, especially if you're not in a location where birthing services are offered. I have seen a shift in hiring more birth doulas for at-home births, including post-partum care. When you're giving birth at the hospital, the doctors primarily focus on the infant once removed from the womb. FACT: my healthiest brother was an at-home birth. The "team" should be skilled at the signs of the birther’s stress. The saying, "it takes a village," is taken way more seriously when giving birth. I may be biased because I've seen a lot of successful births for queer, POC parents and they have often used a doula. I am also friends with doulas and expect myself to eventually refer to them to clients one day.

For the best country in the world, we're neglecting a big portion of our population, but isn't that the most American thing? Abandonment, biases, struggle, stress, hustle culture, and independent living. This entire country is disabled because the whole country is neglectful! Even the white, rich, and privileged are taken a step down because, if you're pregnant, you can go to the best doctors and still end up disabled. Disability and pregnancy are not mutually exclusive terms; they are related and intertwined. I want to make it my job as a sex coach to help this population as much as I can.

Disabling Depression

I've been disabled longer than I thought because mental health disabilities exist as invisible disabilities. I take meds for depression, anxiety, and PMDD. I am never not in pain and I live in a very expensive city, in which I don't ever intend to leave. When I first became disabled, my "friends" stopped inviting me to things, outdoor events, and if they did invite me, they didn't think about my disabilities. This was mostly people I talked to in college and have completely cut them out of my life. I do have my disability to thank for showing me who my true family is. Now if only others were the same. 

I've been publicly called a cripple, and even almost getting hit by a car on my own fucking street. "Move faster," *insert car honks of all variety,* and my personal favorite, "what's wrong with you?!" What's wrong with you that you're literally yelling at a stranger trying to cross her own street because the Lyft driver arrived at my one-way street house? It's also 2am on a Thursday! What happened to you? There will always be people out there who are and will always have the container for toxicity. I know what happened to me, my disability, my traumas and I chose to be a better person because of it. And I'm still fucking here; being myself as loud as I can. 

I've tried to work a 40-hour work week while disabled, but couldn't do it. I've also tried a 30-hour work week, but it was so much more physically taxing that I had to quit. Additionally, navigating employment while disabled is truly an Amerikkkan nightmare. The marginalized suffer while the government and money control our class and are meant to divide us. I know many people who have lost family because of Covid. Disabled people are dying and no one cares, even before Covid. 

I'm almost 30 and I see the lives of my able-bodied peers and think, "what's the point of all this if I can't even get a job? Not even my dream job, just a job where I can make money and use that money for leisure and assisting others?" Then the suicidal ideations builds and the more exacerbated my imposter syndrome becomes. Is it still imposter syndrome or are there too many barriers to living a happy, healthy life? I know life can be so devastating and as I age, this world ages with me in polluted time. The constant stress of survival is getting too much.

My Past Fears of Being Touched

I love to be touched and often forget how much I feared it when I was younger. My aversion to human touch, whether it be family or strangers, my body would tense up and freeze. A slow income away from the touch feeling, in hindsight, gave me chills and made my blood run cold. I never realized how much I've grown and healed from physical touch and the lack of mother's milk is a definite testament to our relationship. My mother was 46 when she had me. Her milk ducts were no longer producing milk, perhaps a lack of prolactin production due to age, the bitch was dry, okay? I theorize that this, including my continued failed relationship with my mother, repressed sexual trauma and desires, and a lack of socializing all led me to be adverse to touch; they're all connected too! 

I was so averse to touch that I would sit very still in my house, afraid that I would get "dirty." My kid brain associated touch with germs. I would literally dodge hugs when I was a preteen and I was so closed off. I never realized the issue until my brain could fully understand the situation. So I did my best to fix it. After my disability, I knew I wasn't going to live forever and after many visits to various hospitals, a place I feared the most because of germs, I got over it. It literally took me becoming disabled to get over my hurdles of fear. Day after day of being admitted to a new hospital after almost 2 years, once even in a different country, I literally became desensitized to "germs." 

My relationship to touch is so much better now and I have to thank the BDSM community for it. I like to be spanked, manhandled (all genders included), spat on, and my fear of being touched eventually went away. Of course, consent is still a big factor for me, but my life has been filled with both bad and good touches that I truly do not care anymore. Life is too short to not touch or to be touched.