If they only knew the you that we do...

Quick notes to self, jotting this down as I have spent the last four hours sorting through the hundreds of emails that accumulated the day I was off of work+holiday and I still haven't finished. Caffiene will be acquired soon, which will not make the world right, but at least better.

I'm bothered by my one-night guy from the con.

Of course, I'm extremely tired and a bit sick, so that makes me more prone to negative emotions. So once I get enough rest, I might get completely over it.

I knew, when we started talking, that if I slept with him that night, I would never see him again, but if I played it out, stretched it into him pursuing me, I could probably have a few to several nights with him, and potentially wrap him around my finger for a time.

But I didn't feel like playing. I did not feel like turning it into a contest of who would "win". Because, really, there is no winning, other than the temporary emotional/psychological satisfaction of making someone intensely focused on having you.

Knowing this, knowing my options, I still slept with him. It was enjoyable. The foreplay was better than the actual sex, but we were in cramped quarters (more on that at a later date). If we had had a bed, or at least room to play, it could have been good, possibly better than good.

For me, sex changes nothing between two people. If I sleep with someone, it does not generate more emotions than were already present, or already had the potential to exist. Friendships, for me, are not altered. Apathy towards knowing someone on a deeper level goes unchanged. So when someone shifts their behaviors or attitudes after intercourse, it always surprises me. It happens so rarely for me because I'm so casual, it allows most men to relax and realize that I'm not going to chase them down, that nothing has changed.

However, things with this guy almost immediately changed, became slightly awkward. I tried to break through to him, tried to illustrate that nothing had changed, through words and actions, but he still withdrew and I was left feeling frustrated, annoyed, and mildly confused.

I expressed this to one of my best friends, Darker. He told me, in response, that sex with me is probably the best sex that guy has ever had and, I believe, that if I was unable to convey to him, if there was a disconnect, of what type of girl I am, if he didn't believe me, and dimissed any potential friendship or future encounters, that was his own fault.

Which is true.

There's a few things that are bothering me, though.

1. Did I not communicate thoroughly? I've been through this (quite contentedly) so many times, and I do know that sometimes you can't get through to a guy. I still hold it to be a failure on my parts. Words and touch are my medium. If I speak to him, if I love him with my body, and there is still miscommunication, it feels like a poor reflection on me.

2. Did I show weakness? The next day, when he ran into me, and looked surprised, not happy, not disappointed, but surprised, and when I offered my platonic company for the morning, the look of mild alarm on his face, left me wondering if he had a girlfriend who was around or if he truly thought that I was emotionally needy. Did he see something on my face? I was tired, I was glad to see him, and it would have been nice to talk to him further. I did genuinely like him, even if he wasn't the best listener, even if he was young, even if I've seen his type before. I was tired, I know, and that makes me, while not clingy, more prone to emotions. Did it show something? Am I not as good as masking as I thought I was? The expression of hurt that crossed my face when he dismissed me, I know, was visible. I wasn't looking to run around holding his hand, but chat and make jokes. It was like he was dismissing me as a potential friend. I know guys do that, but it is still annoying and hurtful.

3. Was I hoping again? Was I hoping that he'd prove different? That he wouldn't fail my shit-test? Probably. It'd be so nice to have more than one in four guys (I pulled that number out of my ass just now) not fail it. To not be so stuck in social standards.

Really, it's not that hard. Contrary to popular belief, there are not 20 reallllllly slutty chicks running around Los Angeles, sleeping with all the men which is where we get all those wild sex stories. I keep trying to dispell this rumor, but it continues to surface in the minds of young men.

Just that hope beyond hope that one day I'll find an attractive, intelligent, actually dateable man in my age range that does not have a madonna-whore complex like so many do. It's disappointing.

I'd just like to be able to relax. I do enjoy my lovers, enjoy my friendships with them, the time spent. It's just that there's usually a disconnect between my reality, my damage, this predatory nature combined with Disney-induced ethics, and their reality. GV8 is great, SFPlayboy is good, Hardwood Floors was a whole other level of understanding, the rest... myeh. They're awesome guys, but I still... I really don't know.

I'm worried. I don't like my emotions when it comes to new male stimuli. I know if I hadn't been so tired from running myself so ragged I would've been calm and collected. And I mostly was. As soon as he turned slightly to talk to one of his friends, I measured the situation, and walked past him, touching his bicep and saying, "See you later." While it doesn't happen often, I know when I'm being dismissed. It wasn't embarassing, just hurtful. I'm not used to it.

I wanted to stop and turn around and tell him, "Hey, you don't need to be a dick. I didn't want anything from you but friendliness, and it hurts that you think you need to put on this cold front for whatever purpose you hope to achieve. I'm a good person to know, a good person to be friends with, and you just publicly threw that away. I'm disappointed that in all the time we spent talking, you couldn't have been honest with me like I was honest with you. I hope you enjoy the rest of your weekend, and good luck with life."

But I didn't. Why? Because there was no point. The only thing I could achieve would be to potentially make myself feel better by speaking up, by forcing him to acknowledge me. And that would be incredibly self-serving. The issue is in my own head, and it is something I have to mull over, deal with, and get to the root of things.

Maybe I'm upset because he tarnished the memory for me. If I hadn't seen him, hadn't seen his reaction, I wouldn't be thinking less of him and of myself. I would have just had a good memory of a night spend talking, discussing pick-up and seduction with a like-minded male, ending in mutual pleasure, never to see each other again. Instead I accidentally run into him and have him shut me down like I'm less than he is. Depressing. Thanks for killing that wonderful night by being a dick.

Also, there's that insecurity. What? Now I'm worthless to spend time with, platonic or otherwise, because we had sex and you've gotten your rocks off? Thanks for that compliment. I might be a lowly female but I'm pretty damned cool. Yes, I just overstepped the bounds of modesty, and I'm going to continue to do so. I have tons of friends, I know amazing people, I'm pretty goddamn good in bed, fantastic with the oral. I check out chicks with the guys I'm with, pointing out the hotties if they miss them. I wing for my guyfriends, even my lovers, if they spot someone they want. I support them emotionally when they need it, cheer for them as they achieve their goals, help them how I can. My network of friends is farspread, I'm pretty well-rounded in that respect. I can get along with almost anyone. I easily balance between being the dirty slut in your bed, begging for you, to the girl you can bring home to mother. I'm intelligent and well-read, I make an excellent partner. I'm witty and dry-humored, and nearly all of your guy friends will want me because I'm fun to be around. I communicate well and honestly, I respect boundaries and limits without questioning them or bothering you about them. I don't do drugs, I don't drink, I don't smoke. I take care of myself. I'm always polite, always concerned for the well-being of others, more often than not, at the detriment of myself (which I'm trying to stop doing). I'm rare, and while I know it, I don't parade it around, and I don't always enjoy it. I'm educated, and I'm actually doing something with my life. I'm game for almost anything you throw at me, always up for learning or doing something new. I'm aware of myself, aware of my needs and issues. I actually know what I want, and can communicate it. I'm not afraid of my sexuality, nor am I owned by it. I have goals, goals that I put effort towards almost every day.

And that was entirely too long. Whoo for tired rambles. This was supposed to be quick. Should've known better. I rarely speak so positively about myself because I find it to be self-serving, self-focused. But it felt good to actually voice it for once. I should do it more often.

Let's end this almost incoherent rambling and get some coffee, yes?