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Ever since I've got back from the holidays, it has become increasingly difficult to be honest in this journal.

HNT’s been fun because I like photography, and I like exhibition to some extent, although not as much as I used to. But I feel like it’s started to detract from what I’ve really wanted to say. It is a past-time, which is not wrong in it self. But as I’ve said before, many many times, I too often latch on to whatever comes my way, just so long as it passes the time. Especially when I’m having trouble valuing times past and present.

This is OK, is actually required sometimes, but I tell myself again and again, these distractions should never grab hold.

(Balance Learn, balance.. You can tightrope the ever-present edge of your sanity. Lean this way. Stagger the other. Maybe you like it like that. Take the way you’re talking to yourself right now for instance. Ahem. )

Much has been happening, and I feel like I’m always waiting for dust to settle. Documenting my life as it happens, before I can come up with satisfcatory rationalizations, can be difficult, and dangerous. I put thoughts down here, and it can make my inconsistencies and possible hypocrisies start to feel more and more blatant.

The thing is, all the months before this clearly pointed to where I would find myself right now. I am here, right in the chewy meat of what choosing a relationship like mine can imply. Everything else before this was just warm-up.

It's sticky and shaky in a different way than one can imagine. I wonder again which way I will blindly pat and navigate through.

What I'm having trouble with writing about is my phone call with T. I still feel a bit ashamed.

I don’t know if I can mull over the lusty details of it, when I have that uneasiness in the background. I thought I could make a ‘story’ of it… but I can’t.

Maybe if I spit it out as briefly as I can, put down some recriminations and justifications, then I can go back to it.

…

I don’t know.

…



When I called T, he told me he had met with the girl that night. That was why he was so eager to talk to me.

She had come to his house that very night. He said it became very obvious that she was not interested in the two of us, more just in him, in having sex with a stranger. Said he tried to bring me up several times but she wasn’t having any of it.

He said he didn’t ‘give’ her a whole lot, but did do a little something. I don’t know what that means. Well, I mean, I have an idea.

That’s not the hard part.

He said he didn’t fuck her, and wouldn’t want to. He said she wasn’t very inspiring.

He said he knew it was wrong a bit, and that he really didn’t make a habit of thinking of someone else during, but that also it was a bit of a part of the fantasy…

Because apparently he started to think of me. He said it made him really hot, that if I had been there right then, he would have just…fucked..me.

That’s not the hardest part. That’s coming up.

I was so turned on to hear this.

We continued to talk and by the end of the conversation, I came, hard and sobbing, without so much as a finger on myself, my first time ever.

…

There, I said it.

I don’t know. Well, I say I don’t know but I do.

I’m wary of attacking or justifying this because I’m not sure which side I want to win.

Deep-down I feel again that it is what it is, not wrong, not right, and I shouldn’t be afraid. But what if that deep-down feeling just doesn’t fall through?

….

Next post maybe.