For the first 6 months that I was sexually active, I slept around. And was not particularly safe about it. This must strike you as too much information. We've all done very private and very stupid things in our lives.
I reflect on this period (no pun intended) because back then, when I had a pregnancy scare (and I've had several) it didn't even occur to me to involve the potential father in the situation. There was a bitterness in me that wanted to be left alone with the consequences. Because I couldn't run away from it. And men, no matter how sensitive, supportive, or fair can always choose to walk out the door.
It sometimes felt that a pregnancy would be evidence rather than life. Fingerprints lifted from the crime scene, or a mark on the forehead...
Maybe I figured that it was my fault.
I have discovered recently that sex is a mutual act. Does this sound obvious to you? For a long time it was like looking in a mirror for me; the better it was, the more I liked what I saw.
I guess I used all those imaginary embryos like weapons, proof of someone else's selfishness.
Man, I was a fucked up kid.
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