Can't believe it's almost Thursday. I've been so tired, sick, and already overwhelmed with schoolwork that I've neglected posting here.

There isn't a lot to say at the moment. I'm hitting that odd sort of contentment that comes with a comfortable relationship. Not quite stirring myself up like I do, anxiety fades a bit, I end up mellowly moving through, still watching people, but not with that constant alarm at the back of my brain telling me analyze their every move, every sentence, flick of an eyelash.

PD and I had an enjoyable trip up to San Francisco, drove up the 5 on Friday morning, me behind the wheel. Found our hotel with minimal effort, dropped our bags, and wandered over to the Orpheum, where we found some hole in the wall Mexican joint and grabbed a bite to eat before the show.

Wicked continues to be my favorite live show, and this cast was absolutely delightful. Since it was near the end of the run, they were improving constantly, trying to make each other mess up- just slightly. PD and I were delighted to find ourselves sitting next to another inter-generational couple... but only because it was so very clear that it was a hooker and her john. I was leaning over, whispering into PD's ear, "Ohmygod, it's the couple from outside the theater! We're sitting next to her! This is so cool! She's so gorgeous! Eek!"

They didn't come back after intermission.

No, not because of my excited whisperings, but, you know... *cue porn music*.

PD was also amazing enough to get us front and center seats. Fourth row. Fourth freaking row. I squealed like a little girl. Totally did.

After the show let out, we wandered around a fairly empty section of the city, looking for a late night dessert place. Ended up finding a donut shop still open, serving cheese cake (for him) and carrot cake (for me). So we took our carby goodies and walked back to the hotel, curled up in bed and ate cake.

And we finally had anal sex.

It was... bizarre.

I mean, yes, I've had anal sex before. I wouldn't say I'm the most experienced in it, but I've probably had... oh, somewhere around seven or ten guys in my ass.

...that sounded odd.

Anyhow, I've had regular anal sex, then rape scene anal sex, then bondage anal sex, and then just freaking violent anal sex, and the DP, of course.

But it's not, you know, my thing. It's totally PD's thing, though.

He's been having me stretch my muscles out over the last several weeks, with metal plugs, and he's been fucking my ass with them when we have regular sex, so it's no longer a struggle to get two fingers in, but I'm certainly not a four-finger girl. I hadn't quite made the connection before, which I suppose was silly of me, that the sphincter muscles stretch like any other muscles. The more often you stretch, the easier it becomes, the further you can go. It's not like a rubberband, once you overstretch it, it's not done. If you don't do it for a bit, it goes back to the original condition.

Which is nice.

So by the time we actually got around to having anal sex, I was mostly fine. It was simply a matter of not clenching up on him, which hurt. I'd gotten so used to the solid, cold hardness of the plugs, that having something soft (texture) and warm was... almost a relief. Looking back at it and going, "I was frightened of this???"

Saturday morning, we roused ourselves and I walked us over to a tea shop. PD loves his tea (I hate tea, much like I hate coffee). We sat outside on a patio in Yerba Gardens, eating a healthy gourmet breakfast, watching the birds, the wind in the trees, listening to the church bells ring. It was so gorgeous out.

Back to the hotel, we grabbed my car and headed over the the Walt Disney Family Museum, which is a rather large collection of memorabilia brought together by the Disney family. Stuff you don't get to see anywhere else. Handwritten notes, employee manuals, family home videos, character design sheets and sculptures, Walt's original train that he used to sit and ride around on (the one in the photo with Salvador Dali), family accounts, one of the original cars from Autopia. Both PD and I have a love for Disneyland, rather, it's history and theme. The idea made real.

We spent most of the day there, then drove around until we found some food. And parking. I forget how shitty parking is in SF. Ended up at a burger joint just south of Golden Gate Park, BurgerMeister. Fabulous. We sat across from each other at a bar, poking fun, laughing, making faces, people watching. Just enjoying a meal, the company, the environment, no rush, no place to be, purely in the moment. We likely could have been there until closing time, content.

We caught a late showing of Toy Story 3 at a theater near the hotel, then came back and (eventually) passed out.

The morning was what got me.

We had planned to be on the road first thing, hit Winchester on the way down, along with Gilroy, be back in Los Angeles around 8 or so.

But I did my usual: I sat and sassed and teased him and we ended up wrestling on the bed, him tickling me, spanking me, me squirming and jerking, telling him that we really needed to go, then just sassing again or crawling back on top of him. Two hours later, we were both exhausted and, well, late.

I sass. I will sit and harass for hours. It's how I flirt. At the initial stage of a relationship, or when I first meet someone, it's a way of shit-testing them. I want to make sure they can keep up. I want to make sure they're smart. I want to make sure they're socially competent. Banter is an easy way to do this. Once we pass that stage, I'll still do it. It's like poking at a sleeping bear, waiting for him to wake up and smack you. I don't need him to prove anything, I'm just playful.

And PD, PD continues to own me. He's so quick, so funny. And he's stronger than I am. I really am, like every cute cat video you've ever seen, a little kitten batting at a dozing dog, waiting for a reaction.

We wandered around, looking for breakfast, finally settled on a coffee shop called "Celtic" or something along those lines. I couldn't see the point in the name, really. I decided to have a vacation diet and had PD get me two cookies and some milk, so I was sitting in a booth, grinning at him, dipping my chocolate chip cookies in milk and enjoying every bite, when he looks at me and says, "I've never felt as old as I do now. I'm here with my juice and muffin and you're sitting there eating milk and cookies."

It was pretty great.

Winchester Mystery House was good, as always. PD had never been, I just enjoy the architecture, so we wandered around on one of the tours. Makes me wish there were more really good haunted house movies out there. We've got "The Haunting" and "The Haunting of Hill House" and the more recent version of "House on Haunted Hill" (seeing a name trend, are we?) was good (even though that was a sanatorium, not a house)... but that's all I can think of. I need a good haunted house movie based in a old bayou mansion. I suppose they just aren't popular anymore.

Gilroy, garlic capital of something (the state, the country, the world??), was a podunk disappointment. Breezed through there once we realized that most everything was closed and what was open was unappealing.

Ended up back in LA a little past 11PM. Tired as hell. His cats desperate for attention that I willingly showered on them until bedtime when one of them made a bid for sleeping on my face.

Things are... kinda weird.

I'm getting used to some aspects of dating him. Walking into the warehouse, the dungeon, the sounds of porn as he edits (or films). His huge scope of sex knowledge... I mean, he knows so much and I'm just blown away by it. His job is to produce arousal through designing scenes, stories, sound. There's so much going on and so many different things to keep track of.

But he's got it down.

On the other hand, it's still a little weird. When I tell my friends that I'm dating a porn director, they are never surprised. It's not as though most of my friends are anywhere near as experienced, active, or alternative as I am. This isn't exactly common. But they expect it of me, it seems. I asked one if it surprised him and he said, "No. It makes perfect sense."

Never really thought that way.

For all my experience and activities, I don't define myself by my sexuality or the sex I've had. It isn't a big part of my life. What is a big part is what I've learned from it about people, about myself, and how comfortable I am with many things that most girls aren't. If someone was to tell me I would spend the rest of my life having sex with only one man, as long as he was open to exploring sex, learning, growing, and I loved him, I'd be perfectly fine.

On the other hand, if someone said I'd be having bad sex with one man for the rest of my life, we'd have a serious discussion.

So... a porn director?

I don't really view him as "a porn director". He's PD. He's this amazing, intelligent, funny man who really kinda *gets* me. Who I can be silly with. Who I can sit around with having serious, reality/history/ideal discussions, then later find myself being faux-raped over the back of some black leather-clad piece of furniture, then be made breakfast, who will sit and stroke my back and laugh at me when I wiggle in his arms because I'm just happy to be there. We can sit around watching cartoons, eating cake in bed, or get dressed up and hit an art show, or wander around the city, getting lost, happy.

I feel... so much more myself. A happy self.

I know it's not good that I did not achieve this happiness while single, but I did not give myself the chance to do so, between GV8 and PD and all the madness that happened this year before I even met PD. I got to ground myself a little, but each time I did, GV8 would sweep me off my feet again.

I wonder, if/when PD and I break up, how I'll land. If I'll be able to stay single for a longer period of time. I've always had months between relationships, grounding time, but I'm more than aware that it has almost never been enough time. And I think that grounding time is very needed in order to establish a sense of happy-while-single-ness. And okay-while-single.

Whenever I get close to that, I meet someone.

And I am okay-while-single. But, at the same time, I think I could be more-okay-while-single. More me. More like shifting gears than shifting a life. Not being defined in my head as a partner, not having that impact on my schedule.

I remember, once I moved into this apartment, after GV8 and I broke up, how awkward the weekends were for me. I did not know what to do. I was lost. My weekends had been full of him. I would wander and clean and watch movies, but... it was so weird, having no one but myself to take into account, and I had to figure out what life was like when it was just me.

Now I'm back in the position where life is no longer just me and I wonder how long it will be, how old I will be, when it is just me again. Or if it will ever be just me again. I don't mind not being just me ever again, but it's likely that eventually PD and I will part ways, life does things like that.

Makes me wonder how I'll land... on my feet, or on my ass?