We are stardust...

Last night was... good.

Met GV8 over at the Hollywood apartment. The plan was that we were going to have dinner, then I was going to go out on a date with this guy I had no interest in. Wanted to get out of it, but I hate when people flake, so I decided to go.

Show up at the apartment, where a three-minute oral session turned into an hour and a half distraction. Realizing the time, we laughed, grabbed food, and talked over dinner.

About where we are, what we want, what is going on, how I am trying to distract myself from him my dating other men, but I'm lacking the inclination to have other partners. And he did admit that he had been turning down others, that he was lacking the interest, for the most part. That he was happy and content with me, at least for now. We talked about my major ex, how I have an invite to his upcoming wedding, and my hesistant feelings about attending, and how the club construction is coming along.

He does want to see how things will progress with us, but he also wants it to go slowly. So do I. I hate how I fling myself into things at times, and I've been trying to train myself out of that behavior. Doing rather well on that front.

He dropped me off at the place where I was meeting my date so I would not have to give up my parking spot on the street, and so I wouldn't be too late.

I did not have time to shower or to reapply my make-up that had been thrust into a pillow, so I showed up smelling of sex and the faintest smears of eyeshadow and mascara around my eyes.

Not too classy of me, I admit.

But part of me takes great joy in knowing that so many men think it's such an alpha move to show up to a date, lover, girlfriend, smelling of another girl's sex. Would I do it again?

Probably.

The only reason it bothers me at all is it seems a bit rude.

Went on my date, having determined that I would have none of this man, I ignored his gestures, his touches, and subtly dodged his hands with that careful art cultivated over years of experience.

When we were done, he dropped me back off at the apartment.

I had requested that, if he could, GV8 to be there when I return. That I would like to sleep next to him. But he's busy, and his primary office is out in the Valley, so it's a bit of an inconvenience for him.

He stayed anyhow.

I walked into that apartment, eyes searching in the dim light for his form on the bed, and he was there, half-asleep.

Quick shower and I joined him, massaging his neck and shoulders while he dozed, as he had tweaked something during the construction and it was causing him pain.

When he left in the morning, he moved my car to the now-vacant side of the street so I could sleep in... street parking laws are an annoyance in Hollywood.

Grabbed coffee on Melrose (once I had convinced myself that I needed to get up), walking by the closed up store fronts, so many of them vacant now, looking at the decorative graffiti all over, the stenciling that I love so much.

He could really hurt me. I know this.

He could be using me for sex, for companionship, with no plans on staying around once/if I start asking for more.

I could fall in love with him and he could break my heart.

Ha, what a phrase: breaking a heart.

But then I look back, I look back at the winding road and the men, the sex, the lies, the destruction, the bruisings, the damage, the use... I listen to songs I loved when I was 16 and 17, embarking on what would become my life, remembering city buses and long sidewalks.

And I know it's okay.

It's only pain.

Nothing broken. Some tears, some bruised ego, but you dust off your knees and move along.