I'd like to see, see how things turn out...

Slight shift of things again.

Last night was spent in the company of C, who is rapidly becoming closer to me than I ever would have believed. Every so often I'm tempted to take our friendship to a sexual level, because she makes me so happy and comfortable. Sex, for me, has no ties to emotions, other than what is already there. It would be showing appreciation and love to her.

But I won't. I don't want to get that all tangled up. And she's bisexual, perfectly content with loving and being in love with a woman. I'm not. Women don't do it for me. It could get one-sided, easily. I'm fairly sure she has a crush on me as is.

So I won't.

We went for a walk down to the beach, talking about GV8, how he made me feel, how I can never maintain anger, mostly due to Rick's coaching. It's all too easy for me now, to see other people's points of view, or to realize that they have them, even if I can't see them.

And then my anger goes.

It's a two second flash flood.

We hit the beach and walked up it, continuing to talk. This was something I consciously did. I don't really open up with people, as much as they think I do. I've said this before. Engaging in self-disclosure is an easy way to get information from other people. If, like me, you're so comfortable in your sexuality and damage, something that most people never will be, it's easy to get someone to open up about themselves.

But I did open up with her, to a degree.

Partially, because I need to learn how to do this, especially with females.

Partially, because I felt so bad about how GV8 had burned me on Saturday, I knew that if I did not tackle this fear of true, deep rejection soon, it would stay with me and make it that much harder in the future.

Afterwards, we went to a kareoke night at a favored bar, and spent time in the company of some rather convincing crossdressers. They looked good. If I had known them better, I would have asked them to get up on the stripper pole together and pose for a picture for the blog.

During this, GV8 and I had been texting back and forth. He was telling me about a new business deal and how construction was going on the loft, and I was being suitably withdrawn. I had decided that I no longer wished to continue things with someone who thought so little of me, so I planned to talk to him at dinner tonight and call it off.

Unfortunately, business and construction had his schedule full. I figured I would just let things trail off, and then I realized that was a cowardly, immature thing to do. So I texted him to tell him we should probably talk, and to call me when he could.

Which is how I ended up in the parking lot of the bar for over an hour, leaning on the hood of my car, phone against my ear.

GV8 talks more than I do. I talk a lot, given the opportunity.

I told him that the things he said on Saturday hurt me, that it made me feel so young, immature, and stupid, and that was making it hard for me to want to be around him. I told him that I was just going to return his laptop to him, then cut and run, but I wanted to be fair to the both of us and see if we could bring some sort of resolution to the matter.

He told me about how off-putting it was for him for me to not just trust him at his word when he made the offer to me, for me to live at the loft and document it all. He said the fact that I brought up contracts was offensive to him, because his previous lifestyle wrapped around trust and taking people at their words, and he was not used to being doubted.

He told me that, as he got to know me, he realized that I had major self-esteem issues, and that was what put him off so strongly. My tendency to game and do pick-up was just a final blow.

He expressed how surprised and almost neglected he felt when I spent four days hanging out in Downtown LA, but never bothered to call, text, or get together for one of those evenings, since he was so nearby.

These are things I wish I had known.

We talked a lot about the contracts, about how, with all of his stories and skeletons of proof, at the time he made the offer, I had yet to actually meet any of his friends or employees. And that even if I trusted him, I still would have had a contract drawn up, if just to reassure my mother (she's easily worried and stressed, and even though I am in my mid-twenties, I still will do most anything to keep her happy and healthy). I told him of how his tendency to continuously talk over me triggered a lack of trust in me and his regard for me.

He told me that acting so strong and confident when I really was not was a lie of sorts, and this bit conversation was not resolved. Some days I am, some days I am not. And I am not going to go out in public on days I am not and act like a whipped dog because I happen to be tired or PMSing. I am not entirely self-confident, and I am not entirely without self-esteem.

But then I stood up for myself. I told him that I went with my gut, with my instincts, on hesitating on his offer, and for him to continue to tell me that I made a poor choice, that I should have trusted him, to look at all he offered me, was inadvertently undermining my trust in myself, causing me not to only have to "fight" with him about the validity of my decisions, but also with myself, because I respect him and have a high opinion of him.

That, combined with the talking-over discussion, evened us out.

There were no tears, no high emotions, no anger or hurt.

Just two adults, talking about what had happened.

I found it funny, near the beginning of the conversation. He said to me, "I think more like a female. I was raised by my mother with three older sisters. You think like a man, because you spend so much time with them. We just don't mesh, mentally."

And it is true. I hooked up with a man that thinks like I should be thinking, and vice versa.

There's no doubting his masculinity, though.

By the end of conversation, we were laughing and joking with each other, working out schedules. My feelings of negativity had fled, and we had reached a suitable understanding, at least for now.

I did love it though, when, as we were saying good-byes, he said to me, "The Sybian misses you."

I immediately shifted, husky voiced and adoring, "Aww, tell it I miss it too."

"It's just sitting in the corner, waiting for you..."

So we made tenative plans for Saturday.

It was past midnight by the time we wrapped all of that up. Yes, we talked about the game as well, and his perceptions of it, perceptions I will never change. But it did feel as though, when we started talking of it, he had realized that just because the majority of pick-up artists seem to misrepresent themselves and actively manipulate their targets, I do not have the personality for it. Nor am I a pick-up artist. I think that requires a degree of lifestyling that I don't care to engage in.

So I walked back into the bar, noting that two potential strippers were up on stage. Female, or very convincing males, I don't know. But they had nice legs.

I sat down with C and friends for a bit, letting her finish her clove, before we took off. We went back to her place and we talked about GV8 and the conclusion that we had reached, while she massaged my feet (her offer) and ate cherries.

We started talking about my other blog, the one that got so popular so quickly, and how people miss my posts. I told her I didn't know what do to. I can't drain myself in two locations, totally separate, totally unable to cross-post. I can't maintain this level of thought and analysis, not to mention time, and keep my job or social life. The anonymity here, though easily broken if anyone tried (thanks, internet!), allows me to write a bit freer than I did when my face was plastered over everything and I was constantly meeting people (and fans, eesh) in real life, whether I wanted to or not.

I wonder, now, that if I hadn't run away from that attention, how big it could have gotten.

She suggested not writing the introspective stuff that I do, that I should pick a general topic and go with it.

But it's always been sex, with me. Sex, relationships, social-sexual interactions, seduction dynamics. And it feels odd to be writing what would, essentially, turn into a sex/relationships column. I mean, I'm 25. I'm young. I've never been married, never been engaged (though I came close).

I told this all to C, and she said to me, "V, gymnasts compete in the Olympics at extremely young ages because they train themselves so hard. You have the experience behind you, you have put in the time."

I blinked at her and said, "Okay, but you had better help me think up topics." Otherwise I'll just end up rambling.

So I kicked it off today. An actual post, as opposed to a "Hey, I'm not dead" notice. It has been months. Comments and emails, people I have spoken to in way too long, are coming back.

It may flop horribly. I don't know. So far, none of my writing projects have flopped if I've bothered to put the barest amount of effort into them.

Wonder what would happen if I actually tried, threw my soul behind something.

Just gotta figure out what.