I’m in my 40s.
I’ve done the work.
I’ve unmasked my ADHD.
I’ve owned how ADHD men crave sex differently.
I’ve learned how my brain spirals
how it loops lust with admiration,
curiosity with connection,
and turns tiny moments into full-blown internal fireworks.
And yet, one twenty-second boat video
wrecked me in the most beautiful way.
The same way it did when I was 14.
A creator I’ve followed for months.
She’s brilliant.
Funny. Raw.
ADHD-coded and proudly loud.
She’s talked about burnout, pleasure, chaos, energy.
I felt seen.
Then she posted the clip
walking to the back of a boat,
G-string deep, shoulders back, sun on skin.
Confident as fuck.
A simple caption but a bold confident impression.
And yeah
I got hard instantly.
Not just turned on
moved.
Because it wasn’t just about her body.
It was the totality of her.
Her mind.
Her mess.
Her movement.
Her fuck-you confidence.
I didn’t lose respect
I gained worship.
And what makes it more intense now than it was when I was 14?
Proof.
Because I’ve had lovers.
I’ve had partners tell me about their forbidden firsts.
Their wild years.
Their family-adjacent awakenings.
Their shame that turned into confidence once they were safe enough to say it.
So now when I see it?
Now when I feel it?
I know I’m not broken.
I know I’m not alone.
And I know I don’t need to hide the part of me
that wants to be her cheerleader while also stroking to her strength.
“Am I just sexualizing her?”
“Did I undo all her power by getting off on it?”
“Am I reducing her, or am I celebrating her?”
Because that’s what the world teaches us, right?
That if you get turned on, you’ve objectified her.
That if you want to jerk off after watching a video of someone you admire,
you’ve erased their value.
But the truth for ADHD men like me?
Arousal isn’t a cancellation of respect.
It’s a signal of deep attunement.
We’re empathic. We’re reactive.
We notice everything.
We feel too much and then we feel bad for feeling it.
And it gets loudest in summer.
On the beach.
On boats.
In glimpses and giggles and flashes of skin
that break through every layer of suppression we were taught to carry.
Because there’s this myth
this tired-ass narrative that confident,
powerful women
intimidate men.
And sure, some guys?
Yeah. They’re small.
Fragile. Afraid.
They can’t handle a woman who earns more,
fucks louder,
takes up space,
and doesn’t apologize for any of it.
But not me.
And not the men like me.
Every woman I’ve dated in the last ten years?
Smarter.
More educated.
More talented.
More ambitious.
And that didn’t shrink me
it made me crave them more.
I want the woman who’s had more lovers than I have.
Who’s done wild,
messy,
beautiful things I’ll never fully know about.
Who’s hooked up with strangers,
kissed her best friend,
had blackout nights
and orgasmic mornings.
That has saved all her naughty sexts
That’s not a red flag.
That’s a resume.
I don’t want to tame her.
I want to celebrate her.
Worship her.
Learn from her.
I want to be the man who walks beside her,
carrying her heels,
Watching every head turn
because she’s stepping into her now without erasing her then.
And so yeah
when I saw her in that G-string,
on the boat,
shoulders back,
body glistening,
owning it
I didn’t just want to come.
I wanted to stand up.
Not just physically
emotionally.
Because I know now:
ADHD didn’t make me broken.
It made me attuned.
It made me notice.
It made me feel it all
lust, awe, pride, hunger, love
all at once.
The times are changing. The woman with the wild past, Is who I want to be with forever
But they won’t change fast enough
until men like me start speaking louder.
So let me say it clearly:
We want the women with experiences.
We want the ones who’ve been wild.
Who’s touched themselves with the lights on
and let someone else watch.
We want the women who’ve had more orgasms than regrets,
who’ve made their friends uncomfortable with their confidence,
who’ve posted the video in the bikini
because they felt good that day.
We want the powerful.
The loud.
The wet.
The successful.
The unfiltered.
The praised.
And we don’t want to be praised in return.
We want to be partners.
Supporters.
Witnesses.
Fucking mirrors.
So don’t tone it down.
Don’t shrink.
Don’t soften the story of your past just to make us feel secure.
Because the right ones?
The real men?
We’ll get hard.
And we’ll get proud.
And we’ll get louder
cheering you on from the back of the damn boat.
That’s the change.
And yeah
I’m coming with it.