I posted this in an otherwise meaningless and pretty pointless thread titled How Old Were You When You Became A Man?. The title sounded like an interesting exploration of issues of masculinity and maturity, but the OP...
...made me think I'd waste my effort in even attempting a thoughtful and provocative response, though to the credit of Vince, Sbat and several other more thoughtful contributors, they called out the stupidity and semi-bigoted OP's insinuation that "becoming a man" involved nothing but engaging in vaginal penetration, so I skipped it and moved on.
About twenty minutes later, I revisited the thread and posted this, beginning with a quote from Sbat:
That was actually how I took this thread title before actually opening it and reading the OP. Since I've had sex with a woman (two different women, actually), I'll add that in at the appropriate time and answer the thread according to my original expectations.
I matured physically very young: by the time I was 11 my voice was cracking, by the time I was 12 I had a full bush of pubic hair and hair under my arms. I was physically capable of reproduction but was completely still a boy.
I purposefully waited until I could meet someone who was "right", though I wasn't even really aware of what "right" meant. I was the last of my group of friends to have sex at the age of 17, though it wasn't with a woman/girl, it was with a man in his 40s and I chose him essentially by default.
When I was 18 I became completely financially independent from my family and have remained so ever since. I do not consider either my financial independence nor my having lost my virginity as having "become a man", though they were small steps on the way.
I had my first penetrative sex with a woman when I was 20; it was a caprice on each of our parts done more out of mutual curiosity than love or even lust. She had a regular boyfriend and we never had a repeat. I was still very much not a man yet: boyish and irresponsible, not manly.
I stumbled through three other relationships with men in my 20s and had one other encounter with a woman when I was 24; by that time, I had made some serious inroads in building a career, traveled around three continents, spoke two languages and had an excellent comprehension of two others, but I bored easily, was very fickle and still had no idea what I needed in a partner or what I wanted to do with my life except wake up the next day and start all over again.
I gave up using all illicit drugs when I was 23 due to career pressures and a desire to "grow up", but that didn't make me a man. On my 30th birthday I went to the poshest and most expensive French restaurant in Boston with an ex and his best friend, spending hundreds of dollars in wines alone, but that hardly made me a man in fact, I was as boyish in my outlook then as I'd been ten years previously, just as frivolous, just as hedonistic, just as shallow and materialistic.
Later that Spring, I took an extended (three-week) vacation in Spain, fell in love on a beach and six weeks later was on a plane to Paris to live with someone I thought I’d love forever. It wasn’t until his health started failing that I learned that my capacity for love transcended anything else, and I devoted the last six months of his life to his care, emotionally, spiritually and, to a degree physically as there was no one else to bathe him or feed him. I had a chance to escape all that and run back home to Boston twice, and each time I declined knowing that the future would only bring agony, suffering and despair not just for him, but for me as well.
Those six months were a turning point in my life, and I finally started becoming a man, but it wasn’t until two years after he’d died, returned to Boston and decided to renew my career, gaining back my life from years of grief that I became a man. I was 34.
y6ezxy;2855763 said:
...made me think I'd waste my effort in even attempting a thoughtful and provocative response, though to the credit of Vince, Sbat and several other more thoughtful contributors, they called out the stupidity and semi-bigoted OP's insinuation that "becoming a man" involved nothing but engaging in vaginal penetration, so I skipped it and moved on.
About twenty minutes later, I revisited the thread and posted this, beginning with a quote from Sbat:
sbat;2858340 said:
That was actually how I took this thread title before actually opening it and reading the OP. Since I've had sex with a woman (two different women, actually), I'll add that in at the appropriate time and answer the thread according to my original expectations.
I matured physically very young: by the time I was 11 my voice was cracking, by the time I was 12 I had a full bush of pubic hair and hair under my arms. I was physically capable of reproduction but was completely still a boy.
I purposefully waited until I could meet someone who was "right", though I wasn't even really aware of what "right" meant. I was the last of my group of friends to have sex at the age of 17, though it wasn't with a woman/girl, it was with a man in his 40s and I chose him essentially by default.
When I was 18 I became completely financially independent from my family and have remained so ever since. I do not consider either my financial independence nor my having lost my virginity as having "become a man", though they were small steps on the way.
I had my first penetrative sex with a woman when I was 20; it was a caprice on each of our parts done more out of mutual curiosity than love or even lust. She had a regular boyfriend and we never had a repeat. I was still very much not a man yet: boyish and irresponsible, not manly.
I stumbled through three other relationships with men in my 20s and had one other encounter with a woman when I was 24; by that time, I had made some serious inroads in building a career, traveled around three continents, spoke two languages and had an excellent comprehension of two others, but I bored easily, was very fickle and still had no idea what I needed in a partner or what I wanted to do with my life except wake up the next day and start all over again.
I gave up using all illicit drugs when I was 23 due to career pressures and a desire to "grow up", but that didn't make me a man. On my 30th birthday I went to the poshest and most expensive French restaurant in Boston with an ex and his best friend, spending hundreds of dollars in wines alone, but that hardly made me a man in fact, I was as boyish in my outlook then as I'd been ten years previously, just as frivolous, just as hedonistic, just as shallow and materialistic.
Later that Spring, I took an extended (three-week) vacation in Spain, fell in love on a beach and six weeks later was on a plane to Paris to live with someone I thought I’d love forever. It wasn’t until his health started failing that I learned that my capacity for love transcended anything else, and I devoted the last six months of his life to his care, emotionally, spiritually and, to a degree physically as there was no one else to bathe him or feed him. I had a chance to escape all that and run back home to Boston twice, and each time I declined knowing that the future would only bring agony, suffering and despair not just for him, but for me as well.
Those six months were a turning point in my life, and I finally started becoming a man, but it wasn’t until two years after he’d died, returned to Boston and decided to renew my career, gaining back my life from years of grief that I became a man. I was 34.