One Three Eight: Fears

I'll put this out to you, wherever you are. If you're reading this, take a moment and leave a comment with your answer.

I'm interested--- I really am.

Tell me what you're afraid of.

No--- not spiders or clowns or mysterious robot insects writhing under your skin.

Not those things at all.

I've been writing here for the last few years about things sexual--- sex itself, sex as a concept, sex as a battleground in the gender wars, sex as aesthetics. But always about sex and its derivatives and social grounding. So that much should be obvious. Tell me about sex--- sex and what you're afraid of.

I'm a gentleman of a certain age. I do define myself as an aging roué.  My own fears begin with those things. I'll certainly admit that. Age and entropy and decay. I live with all the fears of anyone male of a certain age. Hair falling out, eyes and teeth going bad,  my body--- my companion in so many campaigns ---turning on me. It's not all about performance failure, though that is a key fear.  I'm afraid of my body these days--- not just of performance failure, but afraid of being inside it, and certainly afraid of letting anyone see it or be near it. Sometimes it is hard to see even a glimpse of myself in a mirror. Sometimes I think I smell of death, or of something worse. I'm afraid these days of what a young companion would discover if she touched my flesh with fingers or lips.

Those are my fears these days.

Tell me about yours. What terrifies you more--- death or the mirror? What leaves you more paralyzed with shame and fear---- what you might see in a potential lover's eyes or what you might see if you examined your body all on your own? What fears do you have when you think of love and romance or of being next to someone else in bed?

Tell me what goes through your mind on nights like this.