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.
Showing posts with label sleeve. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sleeve. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Thursday, I saw GV8. Sex, dinner, sex. He always starts dominant then moves to sensual. He took us to the Cat & Fiddle on Sunset. I'd never been. The food was... decent. Nothing really to remark on.
Friday afternoon I went to get my arms waxed and took my mother to lunch.
We talked, mostly about my sister and her boyfriend. Near the end of lunch, she says to me, "I was talking to Aunt Val on the phone earlier this week. I was telling her that I miss you, even though you're living with us again I never see you. I told her that you're my rock. She asked if I had told you that and I didn't think I had. But you are my rock. You're the person I call when I need to talk, the person I want to see when I'm upset, the person I can tell anything to."
She is mine.
I don't think I've ever told her that.
She's the thing that holds me to earth. She's one of my closest friends, even though I can't tell her too much about my life, as it would hurt her. I love spending time with her, calling her when I'm able, just to chat, coming home and doing housework for her while she's gone to help her free up some time to, at the very least, get other things done, if not relax. I take her to meet my friends, invite her when we go out, let her know if she ever wants to go clubbing with me, she's more than welcome, though I doubt she ever will be.
She's 54.
I think I will lose it entirely when she dies.
... ... ...
Friday afternoon, after lunch, I drove over to the Anaheim Convention Center.
BlizzCon.
That's right: World of Warcraft. Diablo. Starcraft. Nerd central and I love it.
Entry, for me, is free. $120 is waived, and I park in a lot that I use each time something happens at the convention center, so I can avoid the park fiasco that occurs way too often.
I hunt my friends down, different groups of people. They all play WoW. I haven't touched it in at least a year. No time.
I watch the males parade around their girlfriends, the select few of them, all tarted up for the convention, looking young and unsure of themselves, but their boyfriends are so proud to have them on their arm.
I slide through crowds. Strangers occasionally come up to talk to me, to tell me how pretty or striking I am, one telling me, "I did not know Baroness had a hot sister!" and taking a photo with me to prove to his friends that he actually had the balls to come up and talk to me. I love nerds. I love how friendly they are, how outrageous they can be, how passionate and angry they are about their games, the awkward shyness around women, and how they each deal with their discomfort.
I'm no better, really. My mood varies from confident and social to quiet and anxious, depending on the setting and how tired I am.
It's hard at bars. Hanging at the bar in the Hilton lobby, packed to the gills, mostly with industry people. I don't drink. Drinking is a social activity, and to be there with a glass of water or soda in hand is declaring seperation. It makes me uncomfortable, a feeling of distance. Men stop and talk to me, touch my hand or shoulder so I say hello, and I am polite to each. As the night wears on, I draw more and more into myself.
One of my friends walked me into the demo area for WoW: Catacylsm. I tried out the Worgen race, werewolves in a -very- slightly steampunk environment. The time, normally 15 to 20 minutes, was extended for us, playing until we were done.
Fox introduced me to his friends, guildmates and others he'd known for some time that I had yet to meet. A particularly beta male latched onto me, flirting desperately, even though I flat out rejected his advances each time, finally stopping him and saying, "I'm not interested. I have a specific type and an odd outlook and if you don't start treating me like one of the boys like everyone else, I'm going to get uncomfortable or annoyed and send you away, so please stop."
And he did.
Friday night I found another friend talking to the man with the sad eyes, which is how I met him. Attractive, more than most, but it was the edge of desolation that colored his vision that made me want to know him.
Saturday night was a different social circle where I met Sleeve. Web developer, content manager, COO for a gaming news site. I'm feeling better about that. I spoke with another friend afterwards, and he pointed out that if Sleeve was going to cheat on his girlfriend, it would have been with anyone (though, honestly, I knew and read the signs and could have stopped it) and it was lucky to have been with me, because I would not have taken it past kissing and light groping. And maybe this incident, if discussed, will allow him to either fix or end his relationship.
Maybe not. But I'm not going to feel guilty about this anymore. I'm not going to do that again, I am going to learn from this.
Saturday night was also the Ozzy concert, one I hadn't been planning on attending until I walked into the Exhibition Hall and saw that it was going on. One of the mini-barricades was open for a short period of time, letting people out, so I slid in and threaded through the crowds, finally wandering into the press section unmolested. Fifth row at an Ozzy concert, pit in front and to the left, singing along with Crazy Train as Ozzy blasted the pit with a fire extinguisher hose.
Sunday, I woke up at noon. Having gone to bed after 4AM, plus wandering around all Friday and Saturday, I was fairly displeased.
I went to Fox's barbeque, bacon-themed. Bacon burgers, bacon cookies (I have pictures of this in the album at the bottom of this post), bacon-wrapped jalepenos, bacon-wrapped bacon... I don't even want to know what else they did with it.
Stopped and talked with one of my friends, a man I had been particularly close to a few years ago, consider him close to a brother with how comfortable we are together. Talked about the incident with Sleeve, about my "street cred" with the girlfriends in the group, and how we should not bring up the incident around them because it would probably make them nervous. I've never slipped before, but it's enough.
It was funny. I was harassing him for not inviting me to Fox's wedding last year, and he told me he wasn't incharge of wedding invites, only the bachelor party. And then he looked at me and said, "Goddamn, I should have invited you."
"Well, yeah."
"I mean, you have tits and all..."
"But it's only a technicality."
I am one of the boys. Masculine dandy to an extreme. I am one of the only girls in the group that does not have a nickname, because most of the girls come in and start sleeping with one of the guys and no one expects them to stick around, so they're given nicknames in order to identify them. Sexual or physical in nature, usually. I had "IDSN" for about a month (a nerdy joke, owing to the fact that my lower lip is rather full, but my upper lip is normal, so I only have half-DSL), but that faded quickly.
We talked about that for a little, and then we talked about his impending proposal to his girlfriend of six years, a cute little redheaded engineer, and how I will be invited to his bachelor party, assuming the two of them work out their issues regarding how he wants kids and she really, really doesn't.
It was an interesting weekend. I'm probably forgetting so many things, odd conversations, interesting men, bizarre incidents and side comments.
But I had fun.
They're trying to get me to start playing Warcraft with them, harassing me to reactivate my account and join their guild, but I just don't have the time. I do miss them, and I did enjoy the game, and I do know that if I started playing with them I would be more aware of all the parties and barbeques... but right now, sacrificing the time... I don't think I can.
Maybe one day.
This week, in pictures:
Bacon cookies, Ozzie concert, BlizzCon photos, Beware of Safety concert, and a dog in socks!
Friday afternoon I went to get my arms waxed and took my mother to lunch.
We talked, mostly about my sister and her boyfriend. Near the end of lunch, she says to me, "I was talking to Aunt Val on the phone earlier this week. I was telling her that I miss you, even though you're living with us again I never see you. I told her that you're my rock. She asked if I had told you that and I didn't think I had. But you are my rock. You're the person I call when I need to talk, the person I want to see when I'm upset, the person I can tell anything to."
She is mine.
I don't think I've ever told her that.
She's the thing that holds me to earth. She's one of my closest friends, even though I can't tell her too much about my life, as it would hurt her. I love spending time with her, calling her when I'm able, just to chat, coming home and doing housework for her while she's gone to help her free up some time to, at the very least, get other things done, if not relax. I take her to meet my friends, invite her when we go out, let her know if she ever wants to go clubbing with me, she's more than welcome, though I doubt she ever will be.
She's 54.
I think I will lose it entirely when she dies.
... ... ...
Friday afternoon, after lunch, I drove over to the Anaheim Convention Center.
BlizzCon.
That's right: World of Warcraft. Diablo. Starcraft. Nerd central and I love it.
Entry, for me, is free. $120 is waived, and I park in a lot that I use each time something happens at the convention center, so I can avoid the park fiasco that occurs way too often.
I hunt my friends down, different groups of people. They all play WoW. I haven't touched it in at least a year. No time.
I watch the males parade around their girlfriends, the select few of them, all tarted up for the convention, looking young and unsure of themselves, but their boyfriends are so proud to have them on their arm.
I slide through crowds. Strangers occasionally come up to talk to me, to tell me how pretty or striking I am, one telling me, "I did not know Baroness had a hot sister!" and taking a photo with me to prove to his friends that he actually had the balls to come up and talk to me. I love nerds. I love how friendly they are, how outrageous they can be, how passionate and angry they are about their games, the awkward shyness around women, and how they each deal with their discomfort.
I'm no better, really. My mood varies from confident and social to quiet and anxious, depending on the setting and how tired I am.
It's hard at bars. Hanging at the bar in the Hilton lobby, packed to the gills, mostly with industry people. I don't drink. Drinking is a social activity, and to be there with a glass of water or soda in hand is declaring seperation. It makes me uncomfortable, a feeling of distance. Men stop and talk to me, touch my hand or shoulder so I say hello, and I am polite to each. As the night wears on, I draw more and more into myself.
One of my friends walked me into the demo area for WoW: Catacylsm. I tried out the Worgen race, werewolves in a -very- slightly steampunk environment. The time, normally 15 to 20 minutes, was extended for us, playing until we were done.
Fox introduced me to his friends, guildmates and others he'd known for some time that I had yet to meet. A particularly beta male latched onto me, flirting desperately, even though I flat out rejected his advances each time, finally stopping him and saying, "I'm not interested. I have a specific type and an odd outlook and if you don't start treating me like one of the boys like everyone else, I'm going to get uncomfortable or annoyed and send you away, so please stop."
And he did.
Friday night I found another friend talking to the man with the sad eyes, which is how I met him. Attractive, more than most, but it was the edge of desolation that colored his vision that made me want to know him.
Saturday night was a different social circle where I met Sleeve. Web developer, content manager, COO for a gaming news site. I'm feeling better about that. I spoke with another friend afterwards, and he pointed out that if Sleeve was going to cheat on his girlfriend, it would have been with anyone (though, honestly, I knew and read the signs and could have stopped it) and it was lucky to have been with me, because I would not have taken it past kissing and light groping. And maybe this incident, if discussed, will allow him to either fix or end his relationship.
Maybe not. But I'm not going to feel guilty about this anymore. I'm not going to do that again, I am going to learn from this.
Saturday night was also the Ozzy concert, one I hadn't been planning on attending until I walked into the Exhibition Hall and saw that it was going on. One of the mini-barricades was open for a short period of time, letting people out, so I slid in and threaded through the crowds, finally wandering into the press section unmolested. Fifth row at an Ozzy concert, pit in front and to the left, singing along with Crazy Train as Ozzy blasted the pit with a fire extinguisher hose.
Sunday, I woke up at noon. Having gone to bed after 4AM, plus wandering around all Friday and Saturday, I was fairly displeased.
I went to Fox's barbeque, bacon-themed. Bacon burgers, bacon cookies (I have pictures of this in the album at the bottom of this post), bacon-wrapped jalepenos, bacon-wrapped bacon... I don't even want to know what else they did with it.
Stopped and talked with one of my friends, a man I had been particularly close to a few years ago, consider him close to a brother with how comfortable we are together. Talked about the incident with Sleeve, about my "street cred" with the girlfriends in the group, and how we should not bring up the incident around them because it would probably make them nervous. I've never slipped before, but it's enough.
It was funny. I was harassing him for not inviting me to Fox's wedding last year, and he told me he wasn't incharge of wedding invites, only the bachelor party. And then he looked at me and said, "Goddamn, I should have invited you."
"Well, yeah."
"I mean, you have tits and all..."
"But it's only a technicality."
I am one of the boys. Masculine dandy to an extreme. I am one of the only girls in the group that does not have a nickname, because most of the girls come in and start sleeping with one of the guys and no one expects them to stick around, so they're given nicknames in order to identify them. Sexual or physical in nature, usually. I had "IDSN" for about a month (a nerdy joke, owing to the fact that my lower lip is rather full, but my upper lip is normal, so I only have half-DSL), but that faded quickly.
We talked about that for a little, and then we talked about his impending proposal to his girlfriend of six years, a cute little redheaded engineer, and how I will be invited to his bachelor party, assuming the two of them work out their issues regarding how he wants kids and she really, really doesn't.
It was an interesting weekend. I'm probably forgetting so many things, odd conversations, interesting men, bizarre incidents and side comments.
But I had fun.
They're trying to get me to start playing Warcraft with them, harassing me to reactivate my account and join their guild, but I just don't have the time. I do miss them, and I did enjoy the game, and I do know that if I started playing with them I would be more aware of all the parties and barbeques... but right now, sacrificing the time... I don't think I can.
Maybe one day.
This week, in pictures:
Bacon cookies, Ozzie concert, BlizzCon photos, Beware of Safety concert, and a dog in socks!
 |
| August 22nd, 2009 |
Well, now I'm not falling asleep in my chair.
A little tired from the events of the weekend, but not verging on passing out.
But... yeah.
I still feel horrible. My Disney-like morals coming to surface.
He had some alcohol in him, I did not.
I was the responsible, aware, and controlled party. When he asked if he could kiss me, I should not have even asked about his girlfriend, but instead just ignored the question or told him no.
And I knew what was happening. We were escalating for a good hour at the least. I just assumed that he would not do anything. I don't know what keys in his personality caused this impression, but there was definitely something that made me think that he would not act on any desire.
Maybe he would not have, if he had been 100% sober.
Not that he was drunk. Just buzzed.
The shouting as his friend walked over to us... yeah, as he walked over and told Sleeve that he was in big trouble and no offense to me, but they had to go. And he apologized and said it was nothing personal, and that he thought I was really cool, but they really had to go.
I felt like a freaking poacher caught in the act.
His friend was looking at me and I knew that he remembered he had told me Sleeve was taken. And I was one of those girls. Yes, one of those girls. Not one of the guys, not someone to be respected and trusted, just a freaking poacher like the lot of them.
I can't believe I did that.
I can't believe I violated nine year streak of living true to my morals when it comes to men in relationships. I can't believe I let a line of how they weren't working out, happy together, whatever it was, "convince" me that it would be okay to touch him. I've heard that line so many times and never acted on it, even lectured the line-giver more often than not.
On the plus side, I think this has slapped me hard enough that it won't happen again.
On the plus side, we were only kissing.
I just... the look on his friend's face. I have to go see that man in a few hours. And I wonder exactly how far that event has spread, if at all. No one would ever expect that behavior from me. I'm safe. I'm always safe. Leave your boyfriends with me, girls, because I'm not going to touch them and I'll watch-dog them.
Except for, apparently, that one.
A little tired from the events of the weekend, but not verging on passing out.
But... yeah.
I still feel horrible. My Disney-like morals coming to surface.
He had some alcohol in him, I did not.
I was the responsible, aware, and controlled party. When he asked if he could kiss me, I should not have even asked about his girlfriend, but instead just ignored the question or told him no.
And I knew what was happening. We were escalating for a good hour at the least. I just assumed that he would not do anything. I don't know what keys in his personality caused this impression, but there was definitely something that made me think that he would not act on any desire.
Maybe he would not have, if he had been 100% sober.
Not that he was drunk. Just buzzed.
The shouting as his friend walked over to us... yeah, as he walked over and told Sleeve that he was in big trouble and no offense to me, but they had to go. And he apologized and said it was nothing personal, and that he thought I was really cool, but they really had to go.
I felt like a freaking poacher caught in the act.
His friend was looking at me and I knew that he remembered he had told me Sleeve was taken. And I was one of those girls. Yes, one of those girls. Not one of the guys, not someone to be respected and trusted, just a freaking poacher like the lot of them.
I can't believe I did that.
I can't believe I violated nine year streak of living true to my morals when it comes to men in relationships. I can't believe I let a line of how they weren't working out, happy together, whatever it was, "convince" me that it would be okay to touch him. I've heard that line so many times and never acted on it, even lectured the line-giver more often than not.
On the plus side, I think this has slapped me hard enough that it won't happen again.
On the plus side, we were only kissing.
I just... the look on his friend's face. I have to go see that man in a few hours. And I wonder exactly how far that event has spread, if at all. No one would ever expect that behavior from me. I'm safe. I'm always safe. Leave your boyfriends with me, girls, because I'm not going to touch them and I'll watch-dog them.
Except for, apparently, that one.
Why do we fall?
He caught my attention at the bar in the Hilton. It wasn't his looks, but his presence. The full-covered sleeve running up his left arm and the ease and confidence he took control of his surroundings.
I walked up to my friend at the bar and hugged him, throwing my body over his huge frame, not realizing that he was there with others.
Introductions are made, three new faces lined up at the bar for me to remember, but the only one I'm interested in is him.
I notice him stealing glances at me, but I do not return them. I talk with my friend, talk with the new faces, and I leave, my shoe catching on a piece of tile as I walk off, undignified stumble, but I catch myself.
I go up to the hotel room, I change into my swimsuit, and head down to the pool area. I make friends with a Ukranian and we wander the hotel, checking out men and women, laughing as our types are so different.
We head to the pool and, once more, the man with the sleeve done in such beautiful work is there with my friend. He steps away to get a drink and I comment that he's attractive.
He's in a relationship, I'm told.
I miss a beat, nothing noticable. I'm used to news like this. It's disappointing, but there are many men in easy distance, and some might actually be desirable to me.
I make a loop, threading through the crowds, dodging drinks, waving at strangers who smile at me and try to call me over.
Nothing. Not a single one. There are plenty of attractive men, but none I want. None that have that presence I desire. Some come close, but... it doesn't quite line up.
I return to the group after being sent on a beer run, four cold cans in my hands, I saunter up, mentioning to a friend about my new tattoo.
This gets the man with the sleeve's attention. He wants to see my tattoos. The chaos star that decorates the inner curve of my left hipbone and the "visceris" running down my side.
I show him, and we start talking ink.
A few minutes later, we're interruped and I decide to make another loop.
Nothing.
The pool closes down, the patio follows suit, security herding us out like drunken cattle. I follow my friend, my hands on his shoulders, and suddenly Sleeve's hands are on mine, and a mini-conga line starts as more people hop on the evacuation train.
We go to the sixth floor to visit a room. Ten minutes in and I'm ready to go. I bid everyone goodbye, tell them I'm going to hit the lobby and jet, but suddenly I have three men following me and a group of us head downstairs.
Drinks are obtained after a good twenty minutes. Sleeve trying to work the bar system when it's so understaffed and overcrowded. But he does make it, brings back drinks, a water for me. We toast to nicknames.
Shortly after, security shuts down the bar.
We change hotels. The three of them have a hotel room across the way, so we walk over. Sleeve mentions his back is killing him, so I have him lie down and straddle his waist, rubbing the tension out of his back while the four of us talk and laugh.
He wants a cigarette, so the two of us go back downstairs and he smokes and rubs my neck.
I think nothing of it, at first.
I earlier, I had thought that with the three of them following me, with him insisting that I should go back to their room with them, that he was trying to set me up with one of the other two, live vicariously through them. Such was not quite the case.
Facing forward, I pretend not to notice the quiet sound of him inhaling through his nose, nearly touching my neck with his lips, brushing my hair aside with his hands. He slowly pulls me closer to him, and I do not encourage him.
His nose continues to travel bare inches from my neck, and I can tell how much control it is taking him not to bury his face in that curve.
I talk. I do anything not to acknowledge what he is doing, not to show that I know we would have great chemistry and it's such a freaking waste that he has a girlfriend because we could do some damage.
A whispered, "Can I kiss you?" and I stop, I turn my head so my lips are near his ear.
"Don't you have a girlfriend?"
"Sorta."
"Open relationship?"
"No. We shouldn't be together."
"Easier to stay?"
"No. Harder."
"Frightened?"
"Maybe."
I kiss the upper curve of his ear, and soon the stubble on his upper lip is rubbing my lips raw as we nip, stroke, and suck.
Five minutes in, we hear yelling. I assume it's security, not liking how we are sitting in front of their hotel, his hands straying over my chest.
But it's not.
It's one of his friends. One of his friends came out to make a cigarette run and saw the two of us going at it and yelled at us to stop and yanked him away, apologizing to me, saying it was nothing personal, but Sleeve was in big trouble and have a good night.
...that is the first time since I was sixteen that I have ever knowingly touched a man who belonged to someone else.
I slipped.
My control, my morals, the things that make women feel safe to leave their boyfriends around me, men that are my friends that I do not touch, thrown aside for some damn chemistry.
Guilt flooded me as I walked back to my car, as I drove back home, passing them on their cigarette run, sitting at a red light as Sleeve's friend shouted and gestured at him across the street.
I wounded another person tonight with my selfish actions, with my lack of consideration, with my rationalizing and looking for a reason that it would be okay to kiss him.
And I know it's just kissing. Kissing, to me, is so incredibly minor, it's like shaking someone's hand.
But it can hurt someone else.
I did that. She may never know, but I do. Self-absorption. I let my own desires control me in a way that I do not normally do.
I was supposed to email him later, to talk about writing for his website. He needs more article writers.
Now I'm not so sure.
I walked up to my friend at the bar and hugged him, throwing my body over his huge frame, not realizing that he was there with others.
Introductions are made, three new faces lined up at the bar for me to remember, but the only one I'm interested in is him.
I notice him stealing glances at me, but I do not return them. I talk with my friend, talk with the new faces, and I leave, my shoe catching on a piece of tile as I walk off, undignified stumble, but I catch myself.
I go up to the hotel room, I change into my swimsuit, and head down to the pool area. I make friends with a Ukranian and we wander the hotel, checking out men and women, laughing as our types are so different.
We head to the pool and, once more, the man with the sleeve done in such beautiful work is there with my friend. He steps away to get a drink and I comment that he's attractive.
He's in a relationship, I'm told.
I miss a beat, nothing noticable. I'm used to news like this. It's disappointing, but there are many men in easy distance, and some might actually be desirable to me.
I make a loop, threading through the crowds, dodging drinks, waving at strangers who smile at me and try to call me over.
Nothing. Not a single one. There are plenty of attractive men, but none I want. None that have that presence I desire. Some come close, but... it doesn't quite line up.
I return to the group after being sent on a beer run, four cold cans in my hands, I saunter up, mentioning to a friend about my new tattoo.
This gets the man with the sleeve's attention. He wants to see my tattoos. The chaos star that decorates the inner curve of my left hipbone and the "visceris" running down my side.
I show him, and we start talking ink.
A few minutes later, we're interruped and I decide to make another loop.
Nothing.
The pool closes down, the patio follows suit, security herding us out like drunken cattle. I follow my friend, my hands on his shoulders, and suddenly Sleeve's hands are on mine, and a mini-conga line starts as more people hop on the evacuation train.
We go to the sixth floor to visit a room. Ten minutes in and I'm ready to go. I bid everyone goodbye, tell them I'm going to hit the lobby and jet, but suddenly I have three men following me and a group of us head downstairs.
Drinks are obtained after a good twenty minutes. Sleeve trying to work the bar system when it's so understaffed and overcrowded. But he does make it, brings back drinks, a water for me. We toast to nicknames.
Shortly after, security shuts down the bar.
We change hotels. The three of them have a hotel room across the way, so we walk over. Sleeve mentions his back is killing him, so I have him lie down and straddle his waist, rubbing the tension out of his back while the four of us talk and laugh.
He wants a cigarette, so the two of us go back downstairs and he smokes and rubs my neck.
I think nothing of it, at first.
I earlier, I had thought that with the three of them following me, with him insisting that I should go back to their room with them, that he was trying to set me up with one of the other two, live vicariously through them. Such was not quite the case.
Facing forward, I pretend not to notice the quiet sound of him inhaling through his nose, nearly touching my neck with his lips, brushing my hair aside with his hands. He slowly pulls me closer to him, and I do not encourage him.
His nose continues to travel bare inches from my neck, and I can tell how much control it is taking him not to bury his face in that curve.
I talk. I do anything not to acknowledge what he is doing, not to show that I know we would have great chemistry and it's such a freaking waste that he has a girlfriend because we could do some damage.
A whispered, "Can I kiss you?" and I stop, I turn my head so my lips are near his ear.
"Don't you have a girlfriend?"
"Sorta."
"Open relationship?"
"No. We shouldn't be together."
"Easier to stay?"
"No. Harder."
"Frightened?"
"Maybe."
I kiss the upper curve of his ear, and soon the stubble on his upper lip is rubbing my lips raw as we nip, stroke, and suck.
Five minutes in, we hear yelling. I assume it's security, not liking how we are sitting in front of their hotel, his hands straying over my chest.
But it's not.
It's one of his friends. One of his friends came out to make a cigarette run and saw the two of us going at it and yelled at us to stop and yanked him away, apologizing to me, saying it was nothing personal, but Sleeve was in big trouble and have a good night.
...that is the first time since I was sixteen that I have ever knowingly touched a man who belonged to someone else.
I slipped.
My control, my morals, the things that make women feel safe to leave their boyfriends around me, men that are my friends that I do not touch, thrown aside for some damn chemistry.
Guilt flooded me as I walked back to my car, as I drove back home, passing them on their cigarette run, sitting at a red light as Sleeve's friend shouted and gestured at him across the street.
I wounded another person tonight with my selfish actions, with my lack of consideration, with my rationalizing and looking for a reason that it would be okay to kiss him.
And I know it's just kissing. Kissing, to me, is so incredibly minor, it's like shaking someone's hand.
But it can hurt someone else.
I did that. She may never know, but I do. Self-absorption. I let my own desires control me in a way that I do not normally do.
I was supposed to email him later, to talk about writing for his website. He needs more article writers.
Now I'm not so sure.
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