Reminiscing On My Situationships

The first time I reacted in a pleasurable way, was when I was five years old. When I became aware of my sexuality, I was about eight. The babysitter’s younger daughter was at least a couple of years older than me and was the one who showed me what sex was about. As my visits to the babysitter happened more frequently, so did the sexual experiences I had with the daughter.

When she came home from school, she would bring me to her room and play doctor or act out a scene of a movie that she made up in her head. No matter what the activity was, it was always sexual. My first kiss was with the babysitter’s younger daughter. She taught me how to gently kiss her lips. She also taught me how to put my hand on the back of her neck and pull her in for a passionate kiss. Of course, what really was a ‘passionate kiss’ back then? It was probably a mimic of what she saw in a movie, passed over to me.

Every day before being called to dinner, she would take me to the guest den and bring me to the back of a row of couches right in front of some windows. It was always dimmed there and her parents would never think that we were engaged in naughty things. It was there, that she showed me how to have sex. Mind you, we never had intercourse. If she wore a dress, she would lift her dress up and pull her panties down, then beckon me to rub my exposed penis against her vagina until I climaxed. Though I doubt I was able to ejaculate just yet considering my age.

Other times, if my parents had to work later than usual, she would be tasked to help get my brother and I ready for a bath. My brother was still considered a baby back then, so her mom would bathe him, but for me, she would do it personally. On the surface, she would look nonchalant, as she prepared the water in the tub and got my clothes ready. Then she would assure her mom that she will see to it I’m taken care of. When the mom goes back downstairs to watch her television, the daughter would embrace me and bathe me sensually.

Thinking back on this, I liked the fact I was able to embrace my sexuality at such a young age. At least I figured out what I liked and how to go about pleasuring myself when puberty hit me. As I got older, I often thought back on those experiences. How many people can say they had their first sexually charged kiss at the age of eight and had a sex buddy from then to about age nine with a slightly older girl?

As I moved beyond my teenage years, I had a range of experiences, primarily with women of Chinese descent, with one notable encounter with a Vietnamese girl named Lisa. After high school, I met a captivating Chinese woman named Virginia R – beautiful, vibrant, with a radiant personality. She was caring, loving, and full of life, yet despite her clear affection for me, I allowed my own insecurities to tear us apart. I pushed her away repeatedly, and with each instance, I felt the weight of my own brokenness. When we finally parted ways, it left a deep wound in my heart. I mourned the loss for years, unable to erase the memory of her, even as I moved on with other relationships. It wasn’t until later that I realized she was younger than I thought – only 17 at the time, while I was 21. We had always seemed to be at the same life stage, so neither of us ever questioned our ages.

Months later, another woman entered my life – June, an older woman from Hong Kong, here to study English for a few months. We quickly grew close, and within two weeks, we were intimately involved. Our first kiss remains vivid in my memory – soft, charged with an unspoken connection. Yet, despite the memorable moments, our intimacy lacked the depth I had hoped for.

I shifted my focus toward my studies and work, but along the way, I encountered a few others. One particular experience, however, taught me a crucial lesson about accountability. I briefly became involved with a woman named K. Initially, we shared a flirtatious, friendly rapport, which later led to one evening where she came over for some wine and conversation. We shared lighthearted exchanges, playful touches, and, as the night progressed, flirtation turned into something more intimate. I offered to give her a massage, and as I kneaded her shoulders and arms, the atmosphere grew more charged. When she playfully teased about my attempt to avoid noticing her cleavage, I admitted, somewhat sheepishly, that I had noticed. Her smirk in response was telling, though we continued on in good humor.

At one point, I found myself hugging her from behind, my hand tracing over her body, moving from her stomach to her waist, and eventually under her shirt. I paused, asking if she was comfortable with this, and she assured me it was fine. Encouraged by her response, I continued, touching her more intimately. Our interaction grew more physical, and we eventually ended up in my bed, sharing passionate kisses and exploration. While nothing beyond that occurred, the night was charged with physical closeness, ending with her leaving after a couple of hours.

A few days later, I reached out via email, but K preferred to speak on the phone. During our brief 15-minute conversation, I was taken aback by her sudden shift in tone. Gone was the playful, flirtatious person I had come to know. Instead, she became self-righteous, stating that our encounter had been a mistake and that she would never consider pursuing anything further. I remained calm, telling her that I was perfectly fine with whatever direction she chose, and that if she didn’t want to continue our friendship, I would respect her decision. She didn’t seem to hear me, and instead, insisted on emphasizing that she was already seeing someone and that there was no chance of us ever being anything more. I thanked her, wished her well, and ended the conversation.

It wasn’t until years later that I learned from Laura, her cousin, that K had told a different story – that I had taken advantage of her while she was drunk. This revelation sparked immediate anger within me. I confronted Laura, but she was uncertain whether to believe me or K. That uncertainty, and Laura’s reluctance to take a firm stance, left me feeling deeply disappointed. I realized then that I would not waste my energy trying to convince anyone of my side of the story. If they didn’t believe me, so be it. It was a painful reminder of how K had distorted the truth to shield her own image, but more than that, Laura simply didn’t believe me, knowing but discarding my character, focusing only on the aspect that I am a sexual person – as if being a sexual person, automatically makes me a predator.

Years later, Laura shared another experience she had with K, where K had accused another individual of taking advantage of her sexually. As Laura reflected on that, she revisited the story with me and came to the conclusion that K had a pattern of deflecting responsibility. Her inability to take ownership of her actions became evident in multiple instances, not just involving me. Laura’s insights confirmed what I had suspected all along – K had a history of twisting narratives to protect her own self-image. This realization deepened my wariness of those who refuse to acknowledge their own mistakes, as it became clear that such people will go to great lengths to manipulate the truth to their advantage.

In the years following, my relationships ranged from fleeting one-night encounters to deeper but non-committed connections, like my situationship with Pepper. After a breakup in 2006 with Cindy, my perspective broadened, and I found myself attracted to women from different backgrounds and ethnicities: Caucasian, mixed-race, Thai, Vietnamese, and others. It was a period of exploration and self-discovery.

By 2010, I was involved with Amber, but the distance between us and the constant friction in our relationship made me long for a gentler connection – someone who truly understood me on a deeper emotional level.

Life is full of contrasts, and those opposing forces shape us in unexpected ways. Though the feelings of longing still surface from time to time, they’ve become part of my personal growth. No matter how fulfilling my love life has been, that quiet sense of loss lingers, a reminder of the complexities of human connection.