Wednesday, September 2, 2009

Sometimes I'm weak.

Weaker than I should be, anyway.

My clubbing friend, someone who I really need to think up a pseudonym for... yeah.

Texts me nearly every day.
Wants to spend more time together.
For our birthdays, right next to each other in October, he wants to go on a daytrip, or maybe a weekend vacation, just the two of us.

This man, I do like him. I like spending time with him, like talking with him. I think he's good people, and he holds a good, balanced conversation, which is something I appreciate. My willingness to listen usually causes most conversations to be onesided, so it's rare to find someone who is willing to listen back.

He's a fixture in the scene. Being with him, rather, being seen with him, with our obvious comfort-level, does good things for me, socially. Things that I do not usually do for myself, as I would rather be on the dance floor than socializing, would rather be cooling off in a corner by myself outside than huddling together, talking, smoking cigarettes.

And he can guest-list me. Not a necessary thing, but something I enjoy, being able to walk into a club... park my own car, wave my way past the bouncers, and slide past the doorman. It's nice. It saves hassle. It looks good.

I keep to myself, for the most part. A select few, I socialize with.

And if you're not on the dancefloor, you're worthless.

And even if you are, it's a high likelihood that I don't even like the way you move.

I'm an elitist, I know. It's been commented on time and time again.

But I like to think it's earned.

Back to him, though, my club-friend, back to him and my weakness.

I got off work yesterday, started that near 50-mile commute to campus. Called my mother, called C, called C's lover.

My mother was down, dealing with the funeral arrangements, worrying about my father.
C's basically getting evicted in three months, through absolutely no fault of her own, rather mismanagement by the property owner, and is undergoing significant health problems that I will not talk about here.
C's lover is allowing himself to get stuck in a crappy situation and he's withdrawing further and further from the world, from me, which is unusual because we're close.

It got to me.

It all got to me.

And the freeway was not free enough to let me zen. Stop-and-go traffic frustrates me, and the heat we've been experiencing means I have to run the A/C to prevent myself from sweating in a metal box on wheels.

Windows up, crawling along, smoke in the air.

I wanted to be blasting down the freeway at 90 miles an hour, windows down, music filling the space around me.

So I called him.

I knew I should not.

I know what this does. I know what it would do.

But I didn't stop myself.

When a man like him is interested, when a man like him sees a woman upset, he wants to protect. Disclosure, revealing of vunerability, just makes him more attached and I knew it. I knew it so quickly once I started talking to him.

But I did not want to be stuck in traffic, stuck in a mood.

So I called. I called and told him how upset I was, about everything that was going on.

Brainless and selfish.

He just ends up wanting me more.

And this is after I have told him repeatedly, directly, that I'm not interested. That I will not be interested. That I'm not attracted to him.

The latter actually isn't 100% true. He is an experienced dom, and I value both experience and sexual domination. But I'll never let him know that.

He's enrapt with me because we have so many similiarities. He's fascinated because I'm not like the other girls at the clubs. He's intimidated and desirous because he knows that I'm possibly the only person he's ever met that is more perverted and kinky than he is, or at least the only one open about it. My vunerability, my honesty, brings out his masculinity. We have incredibly similiar backgrounds, similiar histories. We've both accepted that we're people who are more likely to be alone for the rest of our lives than find another that suits us. Except now he's angling for me.

I don't want to lose his friendship.

I don't want this to turn awkward.

I don't want this to blow up in my face.

I don't want him to nice-guy me because he's better than that and I know he is.

I wish I wasn't so concerned about his feelings. I wish I did not feel guilty when he told me that if he couldn't guest-list me for a special event, he'd pay for my cover.

I don't like it when people buy me things.

It makes me uncomfortable. Especially when it's a male who has interest in me that I don't return.

Even with GV8, I find him buying me things makes me uncomfortable. We went shopping on Melrose, possibly our first or second date, and I saw this amazing coat that I had to try on but had no intention of buying. It was... spectacular. I walked by the window and jawdropped because it was so perfect.

He saw this and bought it for me. $400. This was after buying me a pair of $120 boots. I was thrilled, but at the same time... disconcerted.

He tells me that I need to get used to him buying me things. That when he feels like buying something for someone he does, and not to argue. It took repeated dinners and other dates for me to stop reaching for my wallet whenever it came time to pay, and it did seem to slightly annoy him that I would do this.

I don't find sleeping with someone at all equating to them owing me something. The whole sugardaddy set-up, I can't do. It feels wrong to have a man pay for anything for me simply because I'm sleeping with him, especially because I'd be sleeping with him whether or not he spent money on me.

I've done nothing to earn it. Sex isn't work. Sex isn't uncomfortable.

When I sleep with someone, I expect honesty and communication. I expect to be treated as a good friend or a lover, depending on our social situation. I expect social precedence in most cases, over their average friends, though never over their work or close friends or family. I expect social physical contact and some sort of acknowledgement of our closeness.

But not items. Not money.

I need to figure out how I want to handle this thing with my clubbing friend. Directly telling him my lack of interest hasn't worked. I'm going to see him Sunday at the club, so I'll probably have to corner him and let him know my concerns.

Better to nip it now than to put it off due to a cowardly need to avoid minor discomfort.

... ... ...

Thinking on the money "thing", I wonder if some women do get into such arrangement because it makes being "easy" and engaging in sexually-"adventurous" behaviors... excusable. That those base desires that we all experience, and women are taught are masculine and undesirable in women, can be swept under the rug because one is being paid to do act in that manner.

I'm quite sure this correct isn't even a majority of those of us who get into these relationships, but I wonder for how many it might be.

I mean, it's one way of working around the sexual standards reining in women.

Money makes a would-be slut into a successful whore.

And she's even thinking towards her future.

Or I could be totally wrong.

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