| now is | once was | came from | heard tell |

3:54 p.m. - 2004-10-19

flooding rains

Big gay party in these parts, a few weekends ago now. The boy, sweet thing, was looking forward to it so very much. I performed in the early part of the night so in the end it was just one great long blur. I spent so long coming down from the responsibility, from the feeling that at every moment I had something else I should be doing, that I sort of forgot the ‘fun’ bit. Still, it was fun. Strut-prance-and-dance fun. Swanning on the arm of that smooth, sharp leather boy. He withdraws when he’s having that much fun, becomes rude and aggressive. Do I need to say how much I enjoy that?

Out together again the next night, and then the next day and the next night and the next day in my bed… laughing and lazy and intimate. That boy can make it seem so quickly that things are so close, when they are not. But still. We had sex that rocked the house, over and over again. I pulled his clothes on late Monday night, turned myself into a boy. Wide-leg jeans, white t-shirt, black jacket, sneakers, baseball cap. I needed clothes to walk up to the shops to buy amyl nitrate which we had decided would be the best idea ever. He spooked at seeing me dressed as him, though, and as soon as I was back made me take them off again. Turn into my girl self. It was worth it.

The truth that I already knew but had no had proven, about the way I like to be treated by the right person. Proven correct. Harsh words, face-slaps, being thrown around. Whispered softly to, good girl, when in adoring service. Caving to him, giving to him, taking and taking as long he saw fit to continue. “Who’s pretty?” he crooned, stroking my face after he had fucked me empty and left me smeared across the sheets. “C’mon, look at me, whose a pretty girl?”

And since then… two and a half weeks since then… nothing. I avoid surprise with pre-emptive disappointment. Oh well.

More recently, there has been another elegant, striking creature on the scene. A butch boy I started emailing after I met him a few times out, the date of a beautiful older femme friend of mine. He and the femme ended, as far as I can tell, amicably and well. I have not been in hot pursuit, been careful to not throw my knickers at him too soon. Enjoying the conversation and the exchange of ideas when we finally met up for coffee over the weekend. Enjoying the charisma and the sharp, powerful good looks. Tall boy, thin, swaggering and fiercely intelligent. Writes beautiful porn from that side of this electric dynamic. Is the most articulate and compelling butch I have ever met. Is, unfortunately, a full twice my age, which makes me wonder if this is remotely possible. He seems just too nice, too responsible to consider taking on a bright piece of sparkly young fluff as even a casual diversion (I would love to be his casual diversion). But is this flirtation, or is this the automatic banter between talkative butch and talkative femme? I can’t tell, but then, I’m in no hurry. I can take my time figuring it out.

My life has been sadly free of scandalous or even interesting, or even any, sex since the big gay party weekend. It seems so unfair to be surrounded by such attractive creatures and unable to touch any of them. Prophesies are that, since I am leaving the country in January, it is inevitable that I will fall in love in December. I do wonder.

- |+

[Phone Home] - 2005-02-22

[She hurts, even from here, she hurts.] - 2005-02-11

[Two weeks and counting] - 2005-01-31

[Dirty] - 2005-01-20

[Here Now] - 2005-01-18