Within the gay community, slut-shaming can be downright malicious and traumatizing.

So how do you learn to embrace your own sexuality when it seems to be the number one topic on everyone else’s mind?

Tobias doesn’t have it all figured out, but there’s one thing he yearns for more than anything: to practice his love.

The funny thing is I’m not the one who has the problem with my sexuality. I have a problem with everyone else’s problem with it. They aren’t getting to know me to understand how I feel or what my perspective is because most people don’t think, they know. They don’t want clarity; they want to think what they think.

I’ve always been comfortable when it came to sex. My dad wasn’t afraid to tell me what it was. I knew what all the terms were and meant by 2nd grade. But the drawback is that I knew too much for my own good, and I wasn’t that interested in doing it.

Eventually, I became strong enough to rise above the rumors and slut-shaming because I never wanted to be confused about who I am… I realized there’s more to me than just my sexual orientation.

In college, I wasn’t shy about doing or saying certain things in a joking manner. In subtle ways, I began to explore my sexuality more. But being new to everything, I was naive. In certain circles, some people got praised and worshipped for their sexual encounters. But when I would share what I’d done, it didn’t measure up to what others assumed I’d done.  And for whatever reason, when people found out who I might have messed with, they held those very actions against me.

That kind of traumatized me, and I eventually stopped embracing my sexual self because I was judged so harshly for it. I became ashamed of myself in terms of sexual acts and focused more on getting over how others saw me and how I could keep my sexual business private. I eventually started to steer away from sexual interaction  when I felt people would use my experiences against me in the midst of me figuring myself out. It was very hard, though.

The escapades that I have undergone haven’t always had the luxury of being kept private, so speculation and vicious rumors have been common.  And  once those impressions were put on me, it seemed like it was  hard to walk away from that. And eventually, I became strong enough to rise above the rumors and slut-shaming because I never wanted to be confused about who I am. At the same time, I realized there more to me than just my sexual orientation.

I want to know that someone cares about me and knows that I care about him too. Put simply: I want to practice my love.

At this point in my life, I’m interested in more than just sex—I want intimacy. I want to have more of those cute nights when you’re on the phone talking into the wee hours of the night about the random things. I want those moments where you can really just let your guard down, and talk without sexual expectations or judgement.

I find sex in “this world” is a priority.  The bigger, the better.  Many want an experienced lover and don’t have the time or patience to teach, which is complicated because I’ve never been sexually penetrated. Yes, I’m interested in making up for lost time, but I’d rather keep the remnants of sexual mystery I have left, until I’m in a partnership where we have a mutual, unwavering desire to commit to one another in all areas of our life. At 30, commitment is what is hot to me, not instant gratification.

I believe intimacy is a meeting of the minds where you get to know another person’s true self without the lust—where secrets are told and you’re the most vulnerable, open, and honest. I want that. I want to know that someone cares about me and knows that I care about him, too. Put simply: I want to practice my love. When two people become one like that, nothing can stop what they are capable of.