In terms of attachment, I'm wildly disorganized. Even within a "relationship" I can move from pre-occupied to dismissive. From the borderlands of secure to fearful/avoidant easily. Relationship is in quotes, as I've never had a really close or deep one.

I'm in therapy. Childhood trauma comeing home to roost.

This came home to me last week. I now watch TV drama in terms of not just plot (former viewpoint) but to try to understand human relationships. TV is simpler than real life, and as a rural farmer, I don't see many real live relationships.

Anyway side arc in a cop show (Rizzoli & Isles) Jane Rizzoli is clearly distraught when Casey, her boyfriend, who was disabled by an IED in Afghanistan is contemplating surgery that may allow the spinal injury to heal, but is likely to leave him fully paraplegic, or perhaps dead.

Her distress was alien to me. Clearly she cares deeply for Casey. But I don't seem to be wired that way. When my wife broke her hip last fall, I picked up the slack. Helped her to the bathroom, drove her to her medical appointments. Did all the cooking, shopping, errands. In short: Did my duty. Duty out of my respect for her.

But I knew at the outset that this was short term. Within 3 weeks she was showering on her own. Within 6 she was using a cane instead of a walker. At 2 months she was driving again, and forgetting to take her cane.

If it had been forever would I have stuck? Turned my whole life upside down for her forever? I don't think so. This is what Rizzoli offered Casey, "I don't care that you are disabled"

I see myself as an emotional cripple, unable to feel deeply for others.

Our own sex life evaporated some 15 years ago when my wife hit menopause, and chose to not do HRT. I agreed, both because I felt that I wasn't engaging with her for the right reasons, and because I'm basically a people pleaser (common trauma outcome).

One of our first dates, I invited her to my shack where I lived in a lake community. Roast chicken dinner, a bottle of wine. A fire in the wood stove, as the evening was chill. Some making out on the couch. I stood up. "This isn't right" She latter said I looked stricken. We said our goodbyes and I escorted her to her car.

Trauma surfacing. Mind you, even a date was new. I was 45 at the time. She was my first date.

During our years of being sexually active, sometimes it was a true union. Often it was not. Even then, I would have fantasies of other partners, twinks, or violent BDSM with young men, either as dom or as sub. At the time, I thought, 'anything to keep me going enough to please her. And from her sounds, I think I did. I didn't admit I was gay. I saw myself as 'sicko' 'deviant'. I was very good at the self loathing. More trauma skills.

I suspect that my past trauma was surfacing then. I recognized a strong supporter in my wife, or rather some internal protector did. Maybe. Too many damn maybes.

A couple years ago I admitted out loud to myself, "I am gay" Therapy was rekindling interest in sex.

I negotiated an open relationship with my wife. She was not interested herself. She's never had a high libido, and since menopause, her interest in sex vanished. We still cuddle.

Her acceptance of me as I am, her going to bat for me when my stepson bad mouths me, our better communications -- that each of us is better about talking to the other about things that are uncomfortable. These are all contributing to a more secure attachment. I feel our bond is deeper.

Stages of the normal sexual response include

1. Interest
2. Attraction
3. Desire (libido)
4. Arousal
5. coitus/organsm/release
6. Afterglow. Winding down

Some lists use different wording, or omit or combine the first two. Some split stage definitions differently, but all run more or less the same script.

I've done a few coffee dates, and a couple of hookup dates.

I can get to desire, start into arousal but I can get half hard, and the desire leaves me. If my partner gives me oral, I go completely limp in a minute. I can get him off with my fingers, enough that he asks me for another date.

Meanwhile, I feel dirty, manipulative, emotionally cold.

I have her permission. I don't have MY permission.

What am feeling? Self contempt. Incompetent at something guys are supposed to be good at. Shame at not living up to societal expectations/stereotypes of men.

Somatically feel sad/down. Shoulders are slouched forward. Very still. Arms frozen enough I have trouble typing. I want to dissociated, freeze, run away.

Some little part is still deep in shame.

"Hey, Little One. I hear you. I'm here for you. Come, sit on my lap. Let me hug and hold you. Let me give you good contact. You were so confused. Someone did things to you. Maybe they felt good, but you were told to keep things secret. That you would be sent away, traded in for a new kid, that you wouldn’t be wanted anymore.

At that same time, when you cried, Mom didn’t pick you up. You fed from a bottle. I wonder if you learned that touch was shameful. Or were you/we born this way, that touch had to be on your/our terms? I’m so curious about you Little One.

So here you were: One kind of touch that you were told was secret and bad. And another that you were denied. Little wonder than you are confused. Sit with me. Lean against me. Relax. I’m here.

As I wrote this, my eyes filled.