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My parents have faux-rented the guest room to a young Navy man who is working security somewhere up the way while waiting to be called back... to duty? I've never been in the military or really dated a military man, so I'm not sure what they call these things. But I hear he's a bit tatted up and attractive, so the next few months could be amusing.

No, not in that way.

Just the standard, "there's a hot man running around in a towel upstairs" way.

It doesn't feel like Friday to me. It feels like it should be Sunday, with how drained I am and how much has gone on since Wednesday.

I've been reading a decent amount of poetry. Derrick Brown and Mindy Nettifee. They're amazing. I saw them perform a few weeks ago alongside another favorite of mine, Buddy Wakefield. So good.

On Wednesday, after we talked, GV8 had to take one of his friends to the airport, which is when I posted about what had been going on, from his computer.

I popped his laundry into the washer and walked up the street until I spotted a sushi place that seemed like it could be decent.

The food was excellent, presentation was amazing, and, apparently, the sushi chef liked how enthused I was about his raw fish artwork that he sent over a special plate of various types of sashimi on the house.

It was... really good. I hadn't really been able to eat earlier that day, I think I had an orange and half a sandwich (which caused nausea), so by the time I was able to sit down to dinner, it was passing 7PM and my body was wrecked by the parade of emotions I was putting it through.

I sat there, eating amazing sushi, a non-rice roll I had never tried before, reading Nettifee's Sleepyhead Assassins... not quite unwinding, but relaxing as much as I could. Her words, her imagery, they're so soothing to me. I'm going to be posting my favorite verses from my favorite poems in here sometime soon.

Walked back to the apartment and moved the laundry into the dryer. He came back just as I was going downstairs to get the dry laundry, I saw the loft was open and lit, so I wandered in.

We talked while I put his laundry away, then he showered, and went to bed still wearing his briefs. There was a no-naked-time rule being enforced. I showered, then slid into my customary tight black wifebeater and black and white striped underwear.

Curled up in bed beside him after massaging his calves and arms for an hour or two, and he pulled me deep into his chest, both arms around me, spooning.

I could have laid that way for hours.

I matched my breathing to his, the unsteady rhythm, just a little off each time, feeling us rise and fall as a unit.

Around 130AM, a noise sounded outside. Fearing someone was trying to break into the loft, he got up quickly, went used the restroom, and dressed. A hoodie. I didn't think about it. I know I should worry somewhat, and I did, but something that that man does very well is take care of himself, no matter what.

False alarm.

We woke early in the morning, Thanksgiving.

I don't remember what we talked about, though I'm sure we cuddled and kissed, but he suddenly rose and told me he had a challenge for me.

A challenge?

He said he was going to take a shower, and when he got out, he wanted me to please him in whatever way I felt possible and necessary, for as long as I felt was necessary, without ever touching his cock. He wanted to see if I could do it, what I would do, without his prompt. He said I was sexually proficient, but he was concerned that I did not know how to please him without sex.

Which... sounds odd, I suppose, without the backstory.

I've had a hard time showing him affection on more than a physical level. Not just sexual, mind you, but also platonic physical contact. I'm comfortable, so comfortable with touching and pleasing. I'm confident in what I do and that the men I sleep with want me to do the things I wish to do. There's no smothering in sex, especially if you're pleasing someone. I worry about smothering. I worry about coming off too clingy, too dependent, too submissive, as I mentioned early.

So I show love, I show care, through my body.

Which meant I never felt really comfortable doing anything special for him that wasn't in the bedroom.

And, really, there's not a good deal of things that are one-on-one that I haven't already done, as long as you toss male submission out, and any of the wilder, less hygenic fetishes.

So there's only so much "special" to be had on a pure activity level.

He felt I wasn't understanding him because of this. Because he's so dominant and wants that person serving him and I, I was so trying to restrain that part of my nature, which meant we entered into this situation where I was only focusing on the sex.

Which most men would enjoy.

But then there's that "more".

He finished his shower, got out, dried, suggested music (which made me feel like a moron because I should've thought of that on my own), so I went out to my car and got my copy of The American Dollar's "A Memory Stream". Fantastic album.

I started at the feet. To the calves, to the thighs, to the ass, flip over, the muscle the runs along the side of the shins, top of the thighs, head every so often laying on his stomach, kissing each part as I finished the rub, moving to the hands, the forearms, the biceps, flip over, to the waist, the back, the shoulders, the neck, his entire body coated in oil.

Two and a half, three hours.

My arm is still sore, it hurts to text, and I'm not even going to attempt to pick up any sort of writing implement.

Tongue sliding up from the lowest part of the back to the top of the neck, my body following. Back down, rimming. So many people shy away from it, and I understand, but it is an amazing, amazing, amazing sensation. I won't do it for most people, though, and I won't do it for that long.

Back to the feet, my foot fetishest. He loves it. Nuzzles, licking, suckling, nipping at the smooth calluses. Fingers, palms, ears, lips, rolling hips. Another hour or two, I work over his body with my hands and mouth, making sure to seek out the backsides of joints, the places that so few people touch that are extra-sensitive.

By 1PM, we're both naked, reclining opposite each other. He loves to watch me masturbate. His feet stray near and, for once, I don't shy away. I carefully let my toes stroke his balls, he orgasms twice.

With all of that, there's still the no sex rule.

I think it's a combination of him knowing that we can't keep it "just sex", that it always ends up becoming more, connecting us more, and a sentiment we both expressed at the split, that if we were to attempt to take a few steps back to just having sex occasionally, it would be a massively letdown from the intimate lovemaking we enaged in, that it would feel too wrong, too awkward.

And he doesn't know where we're going.

Later that night, Playboy texted me. Wants to come down next weekend. Then Pseudonym Pending, though I slept through that, then Restaurant Retard (I need to come up with a better nickname than that if he ends up recurring) the next day.

I suppose I should be glad of myself, that I've not had a guy I wanted regularly just one-night me in some time. Even Mr. Brush-off was up for more, and I would've been okay with that if he had not had a "it's complicated" girlfriend pop up.

GV8 has texted me a few times since that morning, talking about scheduling, the dessert I got for him, his hopefully upcoming vasectomy. I'm trying not to worry about it.

Forced myself to go out, grab dinner, see a movie, then meet up with some friends.

I forgot how much I keep to myself, socially. I could go out, and I do, but more often than not, I just keep to myself, hole up with a book in a coffee shop and people watch, not really wanting or needing to interact with anyone.

Wandering around, looking at the Christmas displays in stores, eating on a patio to watch the people bundled up in their California winter-wear walking by, listening to the Christmas carols being pumped into the air.

It's a weird experience, from March to now. March through, at least, May, was a non-stop exercise in awful for me. Out every night. Social obligations through the roof. No alone time. Three months without a night to myself. I'm surprised I did not go insane and flee the country. At least now I get weekends, if I force it.

I'm fairly sure I'm going clubbing tomorrow. I think it will be good for me to get out and move, work more on trying to get into the moment instead of thinking non-stop about everything but what I'm doing. Let go that vaunted control and trust in myself.

We'll see. It's 130 in the morning and I'm hitting that babbling stage. I should hire someone to write a CliffNotes version of every post and put it at the top so people have this mad wave of text flooding their monitor.

Oh well.

Tomorrow will be another day to see what I can do with this life. Let's see what happens.

Breathing in the things around you...

Went out to dinner with a friend last night, to a little ramen place on Olypmic Boulevard.

He's foreign to me. So quiet, so introverted, this I understand. I have my days, an occasional week or two, where the last thing I want is social interaction and I do my best to avoid contact with others, especially contact with friends because I know it's likely that my desire to be as far away from them as possible will bleed through.

My friend rarely leaves his apartment, other than for work and errands. He's a brain, an up and coming programmer. Constantly plugging away at the keyboard, obsessed with designing things bigger and better.

I was trying to convince him to get out more, to go see more of, at least, Los Angeles. He has so little interest in doing so.

And while I was talking, I quickly realized that he knows who he is, what he's doing with his life, what his interests are. He found his nook early on and there's no further need for exploration.

My nook? Gods, do I even have one? Scouring the streets, the internet, diving through books, talking to strangers, trying to find out what I am missing, where the hell are others like me, where do I fit in all of this, why is it so rare for me to be able to relate to someone? (When) will I figure it out?

My mother says she admires me, how I go out and explore, how I am constantly trying new things and, even when afraid, forcing myself into new situations. Pushing my boundaries, making myself uncomfortable, driven on by the idea that just over that next ridge I'll find what it is I'm looking for.

That those places or people I find that resonate in me, the doorways I step through and know that I've found another piece of something I should know, that one day I'll crest that hill and know I need to go no further.

After dinner, we took a walk.

The big Krav Maga studio, fists swinging into bags, the abbreviated shouts and slam of flesh into canvas, echoing through the glass into the street. I wanted to watch, wanted to see the sweat flying off their bodies, their brutal drive towards whatever goals they've set themselves.

... ... ...

This coming year... my birthday is in about three weeks. SFPlayboy is coming down, both he and GV8 have agreed to my request for DP.

Actually, what Playboy said was, "Fuck yeah, birthday girl!"

They're such givers. So self-sacrificing and noble.

... ... ...

Class is proving to be an interesting place. Returning to college, though I never really left it since I came back, because of work.

Surrounded by, mostly, two types of people.

The kids in their late teens, early twenties, pushing for that diploma so they can launch themselves into the world, and those who got married and started families much too early, and are now returning to school to address their neglected (and usually abandoned) education.

It leaves me feeling old.

And I shouldn't be. It seems silly.

What am I supposed to say, though?

Reading The Awakening, discussing women's rights, sexuality, search for identity, questioning of self, adultery... so many of these kids... it goes right over their heads. Am I supposed to mention what it feels like to be the one pursued by a friend's roving husband? Should I mention rolling around in bed with two men while popping pills? Or the nameless sex searching for a sense of self-destruction? Of what it feels like when you're coming out of a dream of life? Swing clubs and pawing men, straddling someone so much stronger than you, knowing that you are more than they could ever be, and that, as the years pass, this feeling will continue to grow?

Then to Into the Wild. What am I supposed to say? I mean, really. I've hung out with those kids. Trainhoppers, bums, hitchhikers, those who have been on the road for years, living in forests, living off the kindness of others or their own intelligence. Alaska? I've been there. I was caught in a storm while kayaking about fifty miles out from civilization and was nearly smashed on the black rocks of some island in the middle of nowhere. Paddling through iceflows, watching glaciers fall, sliding over sheets of ice.

They go home to their families, to their roommates, their boyfriends, their husbands and children.

I go to my couch for the evening, or a sleeping bag on the floor, or a lover's house and spend the night in exhausted sex. I wake in the morning, get coffee, and go into the office, knowing that the next day will bring something different, a new place, new faces, and I get to watch the world and see what it will bring by my door.

So much has changed.

I'm feeling restless.

That might be the caffeine. Might not.

Examining, briefly, relationships.

GV8, it bothers me that he no longer wants me in a serious relationship capacity. Not that I want him in a serious relationship capacity... I think I could learn a lot from him, experience a lot with him, but I can do that whether or not we're dating. And I do like him. But, in a serious thing, he's not for me. Where we are right now, it's good. It does bother me when he sleeps with others, but his sex drive is high, higher than mine. And he's used to a lot of sex with a lot of people. It does worry me, on an STD level, but he's been swinging and partying his entire life, gets tested regularly, is very cautious, so I'm going to trust him until I can't. There's also my monogamous nature coming through. I've never had a lover not satisfied by just me. I've never had a man sleeping with other women, even when I was sleeping with other men. I mean, Playboy does, but he's a couple hundred miles away from me and we certainly don't have the relationship that GV8 and I do. There's that twinge of jealousy, maybe more than a twinge, but it comes from insecurity on my end. I need to get over that before it drives me insane.

The man with the sad eyes on Friday... damaged. So beyond damaged, with a significant flair for dramatics. I don't... really have interest in knowing more. He's wallowing, and while his headspace is interesting, I don't have interest in dramatics and people without motivation towards improvement. There's a lot going on there, and I'm too busy to concern myself with it.

Sleeve, he got in my head for a few days. His face and his confidence, his experience and social control. I wanted to know more. I have his email, his phone number... and I'm not going to use them. Because that's going to go one of three ways, and two of them are just no good, and the one that could be good isn't even worth it.

I want to go out. I want to start dating again and I don't have the time.

No, not dating dating. That would just be silly. Where I am right now, it's not a healthy place for dating and I'm not going to expose a man to that. At the very least, it's incredibly selfish on my part.

But that loose dating, where you're going out and men are paying attention to you and fawning and flirting and hanging onto every word you say and you end up feeling so desired.

And I think I want that simply because the thing with GV8, my insecurity shining through.

That happens every so often. After rejection, after a week of feeling down, I'll just want to go out and have someone lavish attention on me, prove to me that I am wanted, that I am desirable.

Most of the time, I don't need it. Most of the time, I'm fine on my own.

But then something happens and I slip up and I'm eyeing myself going, "Christ, not again. Get over it."

Sometimes I do. I just put my head down and power through it until the insecurity and self-doubt fades away.

Sometimes I don't. Sometimes I hunt for that not-too-hard-to-find male attention. Not necessarily sex, mind you. Just positive attention.

People, in life, are always surprised when they find out that I'm not a constant fount of self-confidence. And then I feel as though I'm letting them down, especially those younger girls, usually late teens to early twenties, that seem to find me such an object of fascination and intimidation.

So I'm at that point again. Feeling a little unsettled by GV8 and his sex life that does not always include me, wanting to validate or, at least, confirm my desirability.

Which means I'm going to sit and stew. Which means I'm going to deal with this and continue to work on myself to get myself to an acceptable point, a point where I feel desirable on my own. I know that no one ever feels desirable 100% of the time, and that my occasional moments of extreme self-doubt concerning my desirability are, honestly, probably every two or three months, I think I can be better, more secure. And if I cannot provide this for myself, then I shouldn't be expecting it from an outside source.

Shame, such a shame...

George Saunders should have taken a page from Nabokov and called his Civilwarland in Bad Decline, Despair: A Collection of Short Stories.

Because, really Nabokov's Despair has nothing on this book in terms of everything being doomed, and he truly captures the mood of old theme parks going downhill, almost perfectly. Reading the title work made me feel like going to FairyLand Caverns at Rock City on the Georgia/Tennessee border. I love that place, walking underground, looking at these blacklit scupltures of children and fairytale creatures with that scary background music of children singing nursery rhymes.

Gives me the heebie jeebies and I adore the place for that.

I spoke with Playboy last night. He's probably not coming down this weekend and becoming my sex toy. Too broke. But, apparently, his sarging is going well. This probably means that, eventually, I'll run into him in the online PUA community and then this blog won't be so anonymous anymore.

I updated him on things with GV8, things in life. I believe his comment was, "Damn, your life is turning into a regular party." I just laughed.

Also spoke with a man I will refer to as Mr. Wolf. He's my long-time friend who has been doing the club-promoter schtick lately. His club this Saturday is a go, and I'm looking very forward to it. We started talking about our platonic history, and how he's given up on trying to get in my pants, since he missed his opportunity to do so some years ago.

He's convinced that I went over to his place about six years ago. I still don't remember this, but I don't remember a lot, so it isn't saying much. Our conversation went as follows:

"I totally blew it with you when you came over that night."
"I still think you're making things up."
"No. You came over. You were going to spend the night and you ended up going home instead."
"I don't remember this at all. Tell me something I did, something that I would know meant that you aren't remembering another chick."
"You gave me a massage..."
"Ah. That sounds like me. Why the hell didn't you hit that back then?? I was giving you a massage. That was like, open access for you."

We got into a debate about his fears of women, about how he still hasn't gotten over his general fear, but likens going after a woman to sky-diving for the adrenaline it gives him.

I tell him to get The Game and read up about how to handle females and he, of course, informs me that only socially below average men read The Game and he wants a girlfriend, not a piece of ass, and to read and follow the ideas in The Game would be deviating from his personality which means any female he did land would not be the one for him because the girl would not be attracted to him for himself.

I counter-pointed him by letting him know that, for me, I want a man who is either a natural or has had the experience and practice in his life to successfully manipulate the people around him, to present himself as desirable, and have the high partner count and sexual experience that goes along with that, and then, that guy finally falls under boyfriend material to me because other guys just don't cut it so he should stop thinking that it's all one way for people and don't-make-me-come-over-there-and-smack-you.

I won.

During this, I found out everything I needed to know about the club (and then some), and guest-listed myself+1, though he offered more. It pays to be a decent dancer.

Then my friends arrived. I was sitting on C's couch on her backporch, enjoying the perfect weather and fading sunlight.

C... she was not in a good mood. And she brought one of her guy friends with her, a potential lover who she turned down, who I will refer to as Jay. He's beyond beta. He was raised in an abusive household as the oldest of many, many siblings, and he's a complete pleaser and total push-over.

So I watched her berate him as he tried to help her, listened to these horrible tones in her voice, finally inquiring as to why she was so uptight. She explained her personal drama, calmed down for a bit, then started going off on Jay again.

"C!"
"What?!"

Eye-contact. Smile. Raise hands palm up at chest level, breath deeply, relax arms to my sides.

She looks at me, "Sorry, sorry."

She snapped at me once the entire evening, even though I was also with Jay, helping her cook dinner and clean up the kitchen. She snapped at him at least once a minute, and he took it.

I then realized that I had, without meaning to, become the dominant one in our friendship. Typical, but unexpected. C's a firecracker, but she's also a sub. I'm submissive, but most people can't tell because of how I interact with others socially. The amount of sexually submissive men that profess interest in me makes me think I should become a pro-domme... if only the idea of spanking or otherwise punishing a male didn't make my stomach roll.

Anyhow, C and Jay went out after dinner. I decided to help her out by doing the dishes, hoped to ease some of that tension off her. Drama drama drama. Poor girl is entirely too empathetic.

... ... ...

I had an interesting conversation last Friday, with my guy friend who I went out to a little rocker bar with. As I mentioned, this guy and I used to work together, and I used to find him very attractive because he was so alpha-male on the job... but once we stopped working together and started hanging out socially, he totally beta'd out. Can't do that. All attraction was lost.

But we're still friends, I still enjoy his company.

He was walking me back to my car and he said:

"I can't be ashamed around you."
"Huh?"
"I can't be ashamed around you. You don't let me. I can't ever feel sorry about something I've said or thought. Because you'll just get pissed off.
"Yup."

He used to make comments, or text me, with random sexual snippets. One day he saw a girl that looked like me and texted something along the lines of, "I just saw your twin drive by. I was tempted to hunt her down so we could have a threesome because that'd be hot."

I was working, didn't answer it, so he kept texting me, asking me if he had offended me and he was so sorry, etc etc.

I finally check and I look at the phone, laugh at his initial message, and then text back, "What the hell, B? You know you can't offend me in any way, shape, or form. Stop apologizing."

But it kept happening, and he kept wigging out and apologizing for expressing desire or general sexuality.

Finally I beat it into his brain that if he did not stop apologizing for being a guy, I would stop talking to him. That was a few months ago. I did not realize it had such an effect on him.

Also, at dinner.

"Ever since you took me to that club, I've been hooked on the music."
"Oh, that's cool."
"No, I mean, really hooked. Like, I want to go back. I listen to only that kind of music now."
"Well, go back."
"Things keep getting in the way. And, besides, I want to go with you."
"Why?"
"You're entertaining and you can dance."
"Entertaining??"
"You rip people to shreds. You were just laying people low."
"What? I couldn't have been that bad."
"You're weren't bad, just amusing to listen to."

The more and more people I talk to who I take clubbing with me, or who I meet at clubs, tell me that I'm intimidating when I'm out. It's certainly interesting to watch one of my friends start talking to a regular, and then I walk up to talk to my friend... and it's just, odd reactions. Like they didn't expect me to be friendly. And once they find out that I am...

Strange.

I usually just rip people apart in my head. It's not an aggressive, needing to put them down, ripping, but more of an analytical "what are they doing wrong?" ripping. If a friend wants to learn how to dance a particular style, I travel the dancefloors until I find someone suitable, someone who matches their body type, and then I compare that dancer to those around them in a humorous way, so they can learn what to do and what not to do. Then you go over a quick history of dance styles and the wardrobes and bands that go along with the styles, picking pieces off of people who walk by in order to educate someone.

I had not realized I was doing it in such a condescending and aggressive manner. I had been trying to do it in an entertainingly humorous, yet upbeat and supportive way.

Oh well.