Don't forget to take your meds...

I'm finally able to put up one of my favorite quotes. It's taken long enough.

"I sometimes need to write things which I cannot completely control but which therefore prove that what is in me is stronger than I am." ~ Albert Camus

In other news...

The wedding was awkward. I know, I know, it's a wedding! It should be hunting grounds for me, finding the men that like to game the girls who come and sigh over the romance of the lovebirds.

And it normally would be.

Except it was the wedding of my boss. Work behavior. We had customers there. So I had to sit and... eh. Do nothing.

What was also disconcerting for me was that I was one of, what, maybe eight white people there? Not including the waitstaff. Possibly more like six. Yes, I know a little Chinese, at least enough to understand the flow of conversations, but I can't pick up guys in Mandarin. That language is so very tonal and I'm so poor in trying to speak it. So not only was there this language barrier, but, in heels, I was a giantess at 5'11", a rampaging Godzilla who departed Japan in a westerly direction.

I just wasn't feeling it.

So I left early.

Admittedly, I was having fun. I was sitting with the rest of my coworkers, and the husbands of two of our girls are just these amazingly self-confident, awesome guys who were causing havock and running around, dancing like crazy and pulling pranks, messing with the DJ. So that was cool.

But I felt huge. I don't understand why I did not get my sister's bird-like bone structure so I would look like the rest of the family. When I'm surrounded by tiny, modelesque Chinese girls that, even in their heels, only reach my chin, or maybe my collarbones, I get self-conscious.

Hell, and I went shopping before the wedding, looking for a blouse to match a particular skirt, and I could not find a single freaking top that fit my chest and my waist. I just wanted a button-up, I hunted down ones with darts for the leeway my chest needs, and even with that, the buttons were bulging open. If I went up a size, the chest fit, but the waist was like a tent. I went to several different stores and finally just gave up.

So, after that experience, surrounded by lithe little Asians in tiny dresses and their A- or maybe B-cups, I was like, "Uggggggh".

See also: "Wai God, Oh Wai??"

Sorry, was channeling "Choke" for a second.

Fortunately, I had GV8 to get to.

Oh, it was so nice seeing him again. So freaking wonderful. We haven't seen each other since the semi-break-up, so I thought maybe it would be awkward. I'm pretty good at diffusing awkward situations with people I've had sex with, but not always.

But it was perfect and fine. More comfortable than the last two times I saw him.

He showed me the construction on the loft... heh, he's not turning it into a nightclub anymore but an "adult" club. And, oh my god, is this is going to be fun.

Check this out:
-Three glass paneled rooms along the bar for sex. Two will fit two mattresses, the third will fit four.
-Mirrored ceilings (the ceiling is angled)
-Mirrored stripper stage+poles
-Sybian platform, for what sounds like multiple Sybians
-Lockers for clothing and various other items
-Couch/chill area, which may be dubbed something along the lines of "The Blow Zone" or whatever. I'll be hanging out there a lot, if GV8 and I aren't fucking in one of the glass rooms. Something about huge plush couches makes me happy.
-Two additional bathrooms are going up
-The kiddie pool. Heheh, the loft bit upstairs, for those who want to come check out the party, but don't want to participate. You can see everything but the bar from up there. There's also a balconey, which I am hoping to talk GV8 into using for "Sybian Races" to get several girls going up there, see who can grind out the most orgasms in a set time, or just who can do it first. He seemed to be interested in that, which means I'll have to get one of those black and white checkered racing flags.

They're going to be soundproofing the whole building to make sure the neighbors aren't disturbed, which looks like it might be a challenge, but if anyone can do it, it's GV8. Construction is theorized to be done in two to three weeks, so I'm guessing it'll actually be done in four to five weeks, minimum. He already has most of the furniture due to previous clubs and parties he used to have, so that just has to be moved over.

It'll be fun.

Anyhow, we went out to dinner once I got there, sometime around 1130. Unimpressive, but that's what happens at late-night diners in Hollywood.

And something rare happened: I actually orgasmed first. Crazy. I was going down on him when he flipped me around into the usual 69 position, which normally I don't like because the angle that puts you at means that your tongue cannot be on the underside of the shaft, which is where it should be, but... eh. I also don't like the distraction. I'm more of a "Let me work" girl.

But he was good. Much too soon I had dropped his penis from my mouth and laid my head along his right thigh, just moaning. It was a freaking good one, too. Go team.

More sex, more oral, we finally passed out up in the Kiddie Pool around 130-2AM.

But then, it's him. And he must always wake me up at 7AM for more sex. It's like he's got this internal alarm that demands sex at 7. As always, I laid there, feigning sleep, hoping that it wasn't 7AM, but more like 10AM and it was cloudy out which is why the light coming from the skylights was so dim.

Right?

No. It was 7.

Goddammit.

But he's so good, so smooth and wonderful. We shifted through positions near rapidfire, me dumping grapeseed oil on my torso, rubbing it into his chest, sliding on him, sucking earlobes and neck, kissing his jaw, biting his shoulder, riding him.

Oral shifted into handjob, shifted into us masturbating, watching each other until I came again and more oral, more sex. He went for the anal, but it has been so long since I've had anal sex... it was really a no go for me. If he had been more dominant, it would've been fine. But we were relaxed (though I was, obviously, not relaxed enough) and mellow.

He orgasmed a couple more times, and we headed out to Aroma Cafe for breakfast after showering downstairs.

It was so good, feeling the weight of his chest, massaging his thighs, calves, and feet, feeling that body that I thought I may never touch again. I missed that contact, missed his brand of touch, his brand of kiss. The reminder that I always, always kiss with my tongue. Not a french kiss, but I always slide the tip in and caress the lower or upper lip before going for the full kiss and I had never noticed that until he pointed it out to me.

I missed him.

But I did not feel that romantic attachment. I did not feel that need.

I shoved it away. Which is good.

And I wonder if the excitement and happiness from seeing him again, from being with him again, is because I'm just happy for his friendship, or if it's more of a "he still wants me, so I'm still desirable" type deal. Or a blend.

Or, maybe, it's that a guy actually kept true to what he said.

So often, I find men that say they want to hang out again, that they'll call, that we need to go do x-activity together, and I'll smile and say sure. All this is without prompting on my part. And this happens whether or not we sleep together, whether or not I even touch them. Whether or not there's any interest on either of our parts besides friendship.

This is Los Angeles, city of flakes.

I know this, which is why I smile and say sure, and do not expect to hear from them ever again.

So when one that I care for said he'd behave a certain way, and he actually does, it's a... almost relief. It's refreshing and honest. Surprising, even.

He kept marking me, too. My back is a maze of scratches, my shoulders and upper arms bitten, my hips squeezed hard enough to bruise (when he did that, he reminded me of the night we met, how he bruised me on the same side because my tattoo had been too fresh). Ass spanked to mild bruising, of course.

When we first met up that night, once I had stepped upstairs to lie down on the bed (on my stomach), heels kicked up behind me, he dropped down beside me, ran his hand over my ass, then grabbed me by the crotch and lifted my ass up, just started laying into it, pulling me upwards by fingers wrapped over my pelvic bone, stroking me, digging his thumb into me. Whenever he went to leave the bed, I would start to get up and he'd shove me over. If I was on my knees, he'd knock me onto my side. If I just started pushing myself up, he'd shove me over and down again.

Displays of dominance, of ownership.

I let him. I would have let him anyhow, but this was more reassuring to him. Basically saying, "I'm here, I'm yours, I trust you in this, all I wish to do is please you."

Over dinner, he started telling me stories of his wild youth in Hollywood, the crazy parties, tales of picking girls up straight off the street (not prostitutes, just your normal club/party girl) and getting them to come back to the yacht, the Malibu beachhouse, the mansion his friend had access to, and the craziness that occured. How he used to go to Chippendales with two of his guy friends, before it became popular, in order to pick up the drunk bachelorette party attendees once the show was over and they were aroused and wanting sex.

He told me of pick up, he was finding common ground and showing he understood me, or at least wanted to show that he understood more of what I did. He asked me questions about my habits, where I did pick up, why I did it, how often... it was unexpected. And, for some reason, he thought that I did it at clubs. Eesh, no.

That was most of dinnner, him sharing stories and adventures, tales of debauchery and his own days of pick up.

I'm not sure what his intentions are, I'm not sure if he himself knows.

And that's okay.

We had breakfast, as I said, checking out the people on Sunset Boulevard as they walked by, checking out the waitresses, making fun of bizarre fashions as they came our way. Not that I should talk, I suppose. It's not as though I attempt for fashionable attire.

But I don't own a pair of dark orange sherbert high heels, so I suppose that says something in my favor. I hope.

We parted ways around 1PM, making out in front of a collection of people attending an acting workshop. It was... amusing.

I hit Amoeba, looking for two particular CDs that I was, sadly, unable to locate.

And now I'm sitting in Groundwork Cafe, at what looks like a lunch bench, surrounded by people with laptops, writing who knows what as we plug away at the keys. I've been here, writing, for coming up on three and a half hours, after walking through a Farmer's Market on Ivar that I did not even know existed. I have a "let's plan our sex life" date with Ev at 430PM, then a birthday party at some steak place down by USC at 8PM.

Oh, and my father lost his temper last night at my sister's boyfriend, and that rage held over to this morning, where he sat her down without pre-informing my mother (who was asleep at the time) and told her that her boyfriend had to move out ASAP. And when she started crying and saying she was too upset to go to work, he told her that she was going to work because she had to support herself so get going.

...sigh.

I really wish he'd get a handle on it. I know he's stressed, but this lack of control has go to go. He also disrespected his wife's wishes, which, wow, so would not fly with me in the realm of "okay behaviors" if I was her.

So the fallout will start commencing soon.

I called my sister and left a message, telling her that I heard drama commenced this morning and I wanted to make sure she was okay. I'll see her tonight, unless she does what I did and moves out in a rage.

Doubt she will.

Anyhow, I'm sure that I won't be going to sleep at any reasonable hour tonight.

Again.

Suck.

I think I'd prefer staying up for lots of sex rather than staying up for family drama.

But, who knows, maybe she'll put on a sock-puppet show of what happened this morning, and I'll be thoroughly entertained, five stars, great cast, great dialogue, a must see for this season.