Sunday, April 19, 2009


We're cleaning up the dishes.

I lean over the counter, sponge in hand, wiping up the parmesan cheese scattered across the marble surface.

He's behind me.

"These jeans could have been painted on," he murmurs into my ear.

His hands run up my ass, following the curve to the base of my spine before slipping over to the front. He pulls me against him, using my hipbones as handles, and slowly grinds against me.

... ... ... ...

"Forget the party, we should go down to the beach."

He's sitting in my passenger seat.

I glance over, "I can't. I told them I'd be there at five-thirty and I'm already late."

"Take me to Sunken City."

"Another time. I really need to get going."

"We should go out to dinner soon."

I realize I've shown him too much affection. He translates my care for him and his well-being as love. As he tries to convince me to abandon my previous plans, I sit and kick myself for not being colder. I should have known better. He's at my feet like a puppy, waiting for me to feed him treats.

He interrupts my thoughts, "After the party, you should call me. We can go out."

"I'm already exhausted from clubbing last night and being up so early this morning for this event. I doubt I'll have the energy to go out after this."

"Drink some coffee."

"I've got another date tomorrow morning," I try to gently remind him of my lifestyle choice, the choice I made when I decided that he could not have a permanent place in my life, "I can't be up with you all night and then spend tomorrow with this guy all exhausted. That's rude."

"Well, think about it. Let me know."

"I will, but it's doubtful. Please don't get your hopes up." That last part is almost a laugh. It's too late. His hopes are up. His hopes are up for more than I'm willing to give. I know I'm going to have to cut him loose soon and I know that this may cost me his friendship.

We present a good picture.

Lounging down at the house in Long Beach, we socially intertwine. The girls are intimidated by him, by his height, his dress, his attitude. The men are intimidated by me, by my attitude and man-eating reputation. They see him fall for me and it's another feather in my cap. If this man curls up at my feet so easily, what chance do they have?

I'm always outside the group.

... ... ...

One of the girls mentions that they're talking about me down in south Orange County. Apparently, my writing is spreading. Me, a topic of conversation. Who knew?

When I was in San Francisco, the man I was visiting took me to three of his cross-fit classes. I did not understand why, during the classes, he kept looking at me and grinning. It was the oddest smile. I kept asking him what was so amusing, and finally he told me that he couldn't believe that I, of this particular section of internet fame, was doing these classes with him.

Like I wasn't a regular person.

That shocked me.

He was the first to do that.

Last weekend, a similiar situation happened.

Another man wanted me for the same reason. Because of the writing. Because of the stories. Because of the growing fan club. Like me sleeping with him would somehow make him special, like he would somehow become part of the stories.

I've put so little effort into that site, it's only been a few months.

I'm not sure what to think of it.

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