If the person you’re with doesn’t see why you’re special - and everyone is special, even if it takes some digging to figure out the specifics - don’t fuck them. If you only do yourself one favor a weekend, a month, or a year, make it that one. Don’t fuck people who don’t care what makes you you.
If you know how many dogs they had growing up and they don’t know how to spell your first name, don’t fuck them. If you know all about their profession and they haven’t asked about yours, don’t fuck them. If you can share appetizers and you take turns holding the door for each other, go ahead - fuck them. It’s not a gender thing or an age thing or a religion thing. Those are just labels we tack on to cover up bigger potholes. And we can still fall in. So kindness counts.
Sex is political, mechanical, curious, hard, careful, and dangerous. So if you can’t laugh at yourself, if you can’t laugh together, if you can’t be honest about your fears and your fantasies, you’re in the wrong place. Likewise, if you’ve never felt more at home in your own skin, stay put. Leave your clothes on the floor, let that hand hold yours - no one’s looking.
But most of us jump around, fraternal twins at too high a frequency, shirts at the ready, doors wide open. We don’t hold hands because hands get clammy. Clothes wrinkle, smiles crease and fade. Everything fails, or seems to, because failure moves you forward. It takes practice to get good, better - or at least not bad - at your own life. There’s nothing wrong with that. Even time takes time.