One of the issues that has come up during talks with my psychologist is my hidden desires. We agreed that it was time I explored some of them. As I found myself caught in a wrestler’s sleeper hold a few days later, feeling dizzy but tapping away frantically on the floor, I doubted this was what either of us had in mind.
How did I get into this predicament? Good question. For some reason, I am loath to discuss such issues (sexual experiences), even on an anonymous blog. I don’t know if this means I’m very shy or very prudish or both. Something for me to think about.
Recently in our sessions, we talked about hidden desires and specifically, if I had any that I wanted to explore. Initially I denied that I had any, then admitted that I had some but I wasn’t comfortable with them even though on some level these thoughts and ideas excited me but at the same time they made me feel…bad. I do know that I can be quite harsh on myself and disciplined on the range of experiences I allow myself. But in trying to control these normal feelings which I had begun to classify as “bad” early on (likely during my “prayer warrior” days), I had created a persona of sorts that embodied these feelings, desires. Instead of trying to reconcile this entity to myself as part of me, I’d pushed it away as other/evil/not-me. Naturally my therapist wanted a description which I provided – beautiful, vivacious, hedonistic, muscle-bound, selfish, hyper-sexual, pops MDNA and GHB like multivitamins, lives only for this minute, will probably die at 35. Up until then, I had never thought about what having these ideas meant and confronted with them, I had to think about what I felt about those who engaged (or all) in some of the behaviour above. Whilst talking about this persona, I realised that on some level, I wanted to be him. I was tired of always having to be responsible, tired of holding myself back and aspiring to ideals that no one cares about. I wanted to experience the freedom of living completely in the moment without regrets. But the idea of this lifestyle worries me. I can never not think about the future. And deep down, I know I truly gravitate towards calmness. And though I’m curious about drugs, I know I really don’t want to try them. During the session we both agreed that I was indeed being too hard on myself and she told me that I should let loose sometimes – within controlled limits.
Enter online dating. I was chatted up by a good-looking slightly older man who mentioned he was an amateur wrestler even though he worked in a some city business firm. That sparked my interest. As a teenager, I watched a lot of wrestling matches – the overly dramatic WWE matches, the Greco-Roman ones in athletics competitions and of course, the Senegalese wrestling matches. I still don’t know much about any, since I wasn’t interested in the sport per se. He said he was interesting in practicing a few low-intensity moves and suggested we meet up. We agreed on a date and time. Naturally I sent a message to a friend, telling him of what part of town I was going to and when to start calling the police (yes, I saw the Dahmer movie). He met me at the train station and I was quite surprised. Although he sounded more like a boardroom barracuda than an actual wrestler during our chats (and I’d only seen a face pic), he would have fit in easily in any heavyweight wrestling lineup – this was both pleasing and intimidating. When we got to his place, I realised he had cleared some furniture in his living room and set up a wrestling mat. While I was getting ready, he switched on his TV and turned up the volume so that I could hear the overly perky voice of a news reporter cheerfully reporting on armed conflict somewhere. Apparently this was for the neighbours. I was barely on the mat when I found myself viewing the room from an unusual angle, up in the air and spinning, from where I entered into a suplex and the sleeper hold. When I tried to escape the hold, he tightened his grip and pushed me to the ground. I began to feel dizzy and tap on the mat. I couldn’t shout or even open my mouth. All the while I was listening to the news channel and wondering if next week the newscaster would just as cheerfully report the discovery of an unidentified black male with curious marks on his neck. Or worse. There was nothing remotely sexy about being in these positions trust me. After what seemed like an hour (probably a minute or under in reality) I was given some space to catch my breath. We then did some more moves and proceeded to other things. When I was leaving, I felt like I had gone through the mother of all aerobics sessions – I was that tired. While nothing was permanently damaged, I don’t think I will be going back for an encore performance anytime soon. And I think I have “explored” enough desires for a while.