'But… Why does that bother me so much?'
That thought occupied my mind the entire way back to Winterfell.
I was distracted all through dinner. Ned, in a jovial mood, was laughing and drinking with Ser Rodrik and Benjen. Having had a few cups of mead, Ned was rather loudly praising my workshop and trying to explain my ideas regarding agriculture.
I was only barely paying attention to it. Instead, all I could think about was that damn kiss. It was one thing to have my body involuntarily react to an attractive man, even if that arousal was way, way different from what I was used to. It was another thing entirely to be caught off guard by an unwanted and unexpected kiss… and realize that your body had liked it .
'Was it really unwanted, though?' A traitorous part of my mind whispered. 'Look at what it did to you! Your knees went weak, for god's sake!'
I managed to push the voice aside, but the memory wouldn't leave me alone.
'Ok, calm down,' I told myself. 'You're a rational, logical person. You are capable of overcoming your base emotions and animalistic instincts. Use your brain and think!'
This body, I think it was safe to assume, was attracted to men. Ok, not unusual; most people are attracted to the opposite gender. I think the issue was that in my mind, I was still a man. I was used to being a man and used to being attracted solely to women. So this new sensation, this physical reaction to men, was a logical consequence of being in a female body. Aside from my mental identity, this was normal. I only thought it was abnormal, because I was so new to being a woman.
My memories of early puberty weren't exactly the clearest, but those new sensations had been strange and confusing, too. So, in a sense, what I was going through was a bit like a second puberty; strange and confusing new sensations. This was normal.
If I was being completely honest, though, I knew what my major hangup was. I didn't like thinking about it, since that brought up too many bad memories, but… I was going to have to.
'This is all my dad's fault,' I admitted to myself.
My father, in my old life, had been abusive. Not physically, thankfully, but verbally and emotionally. Always critical, always derisive, always willing to tear anyone and everyone down in order to make himself look better, especially in front of a crowd. He was a narcissist and a bully; he always had to be the most important person in the room. If he was ever required to actually do anything for myself or my siblings, he would never shut up about it; he either carried on about how much hassle we were causing him, or he would brag about how kind and compassionate he was being and how lucky we were to have him.
I hated him. After years of dealing with him, of being driven to the point of downing antidepressants and paying for therapy I couldn't really afford, I finally had enough and went no contact with him. And, wonder of wonders, my mental and emotional state began improving immediately. He was a toxic person, and loved being able to hold something over someone's head.
'I can only imagine how bad it would have been if I'd actually had to grow up under his care,' I thought.
My mom divorced him when I was young, and I was extremely thankful for that. I was too young to remember the circumstances of their divorce, but I learned more of the details later in life. On top of being verbally and emotionally abusive to her, she came home early one day and caught my dad in bed with another man. She filed for divorce, packed up her things, stuffed my siblings and I in the car, and drove us halfway across the country to stay with her parents, my grandparents.
My dad's toxicity had nothing to do with his apparent sexual orientation, and I'm not particularly homophobic. However, I think where my hangups were coming from was that I didn't want to be anything like him. Like, at all.
'If I was with another man, I'd be similar to him in at least one way,' I thought.
This was not a rational position. I knew it wasn't. And yet… I felt this way. Even in the body of a woman, I felt that if I was romantically and sexually involved with a man, I would have to admit that I was like my father in at least one way. And… if I was like him in one way, then… maybe I was like him in other ways, too, and I just couldn't (or wouldn't) admit it.
'And despite all of that,' I morosely thought in the privacy of my own mind, 'my damn body wants it. Badly.'
I suppose part of that was my own fault. I still regarded this body as belonging to someone else. As such, I… well, I didn't explore it , so to speak, and it was… well, rather pent up.
And so, I brooded my way through dinner, doing my best not to look like I was brooding, barely paying attention to what I was eating as I desperately tried to rationalize my way out of this emotional quagmire I'd found myself in. I speculatively eyed the flagon of wine that was sitting nearby.
'If I drink enough, will I forget all about that damn kiss?' I wondered.
I'd never been much of a drinker, since I didn't really enjoy being drunk. Oh, I was aware of the dangers of drinking untreated water in a medieval society, so I watered my wine and drank sparingly. Or, as I'd come to prefer, I drank a variety of herbal teas that were widely available in the North. But I hated feeling like I wasn't in control of myself. The few times I'd gotten drunk in the past had been marked by impulsive actions that I could usually control when I was sober. Thankfully, none of them had carried permanent consequences in my previous life. But given my current emotional state… I wondered if I should risk it?
'... fuck it,' I cursed and reached for the flagon. 'Oblivion, here I come.'