You gave up all the golden factories...

Odd weekend.

They're always odd, technically. Hijinks and all.

My life is turning into this strange beast, and I'm looking down the corridor that I've traveled up and realizing that everything I have done in the past, all of those experiences, pushed me towards this, unmistakably, unstoppably towards this lifestyle, towards these people, these ideas, being who I am becoming.

That isn't said with a trace of glory, with exulting in this future, with putting myself as on-high, but more of a curious, introspective glance.

Going to bed with GV8 last night, both of us exhausted in body, not mind, him telling me stories of time spent in prison, crooning me to sleep with his adventures, his lips moving behind my ear as I latch onto his stories and sink quietly into unconsciousness.

What would have happened, if I had not taken the steps I had? If I had not tried to burn love out of my skin, my mind, my self-concept? What would have I been like if I had not thrown my body at any man who looked my way? If I hadn't gotten kicked out of college? If I had graduated with the rest of my class, instead of going early, submerging myself in a world of, to me, adults, when I was so young and inexperienced.

What would have happened if I had (ever) found my own kind, instead of wandering the edges of social groups, never bonding, staring in at them?

I wandered into his arms on Saturday, pressing my body against his, feeling his heat, his strength, the unwavering self-confidence that emmanates from him, from his yellow-green sunset eyes.

Slow sex, horizontal across his bed, our fingers wrapped together above my head, lips touching, brushing, dancing, hips rolling, ankles locked, moving so soft, so gentle. Possibly the nearest I've come to making love in quite some time, though I don't believe I ever truly have.

Sex and love... don't go together for me. It's not something I do.

He's buying me gifts, calling me at a perfect rhythm, nearly doting on me, but not in such a way that would be desperate or fawning.

He would not want me if I was inexperienced. He's glad of the life I have lived, he's glad of my passions and lusts, my technique, my enjoyment of sex. We've been sleeping together since May, I realized, and I've yet to grow bored of sex with him.

I don't think that has ever happened for this length of time.

Usually by now, I'm already onto something new, or having sex with my partner that has become so very passe.

But I'm not bored. We're not a perfect sexual match, but our combined experience, our dynamic, leads to something new, something fun. I'm constantly experimenting with my oral technique with him. He's allowed me to grow so fast with that, so far beyond what I used to be. My ever-loathed handjobs are now something of a delight, to the point where I'm working in my left hand so I can become ambidextrous, at least in that, to a good, capable point.

And he lets me. He encourages me, he gives me tips, and from a man who has received as much head and sex in his life as he has, he's an invaluable source of information.

We're getting closer and closer, quite rapidly. That short push away, perhaps it caused some sort of slingshot...

The loft is coming along quickly. All the glass walls are up, and he's going to be installing the bar this week, along with other work. Hardwood, carpeting, lighting... looking around, watching it come together, hardly daring to imagine what will happen once it opens.

My life... I don't know. Who thought this would happen? I'm just a strange girl meeting strangers and seeing what comes of it. Skin to skin, lips to lips, mind to mind. Making something.

And I'm changing. Slowly, but I can feel it. I can feel parts of me reaching out, stretching for their potential, filling those empty places inside of me.

Becoming everything I could have dreamed, or something else entirely?