I’ll hang out here and read as long as you’re here. I’ve been blogging since about 2001, and blogs come and go, and some even get deleted, and all have been and remain anonymous. With the rest of the world, I am face to face, or written on paper, or out in public for all to see. Perhaps you, like me, need a place that is private from your friends and neighbors, but public to the world.
Perhaps by writing out our longing in this “place” we connect with people we might otherwise never meet. What we hide to the world around us gets exposed in a special way to special people who seek us, or find us among others of like ilk, and suddenly we’re more real to a few special people for whom we would not otherwise exist, and they for us.
We are all like this, out among our daily grind, and one day we cease, blog or not, journal or not, friends or not, family or not. What a melancholy thought: your blog may die, and you may remain, whereas you will die, and the blog will remain. This, I think, is why we write, and why we write in these places, and in these ways.
I am not trustworthy.
A trustworthy person doesn’t have a secret sex blog. A trustworthy person doesn’t share elicit photographs of your body on the internet without your knowledge. A trustworthy person doesn’t worry about being discovered and her life ruined.
Therefore, I am not trustworthy.
I live in a world of cognitive dissonance, supported by excuses and denial. This is my outlet, I say, I need it. I shrivel up without it.
I speak of things which I ordinarily keep hidden: my fears, my feelings, my lusts. Here, as an anonymous voice, I am vocal about who I really am, not shy of my body’s quirky, leaky features and proud of my desires and the many words I choose to describe them.
This is my secret sex blog. The sex blog of which I am at once wholly proud and deeply ashamed. Who am I anymore if…
View original post 1,513 more words