The New Normal

"Ecstasy's a pill, and not a stolen kiss.
Character is vinegar without the piss
And pounding heart's not for love or art, but a beauregard's
And plastic knives will save your lives when they break apart

It's the new normal,
The new normal
The old way was OK
But this year's a new day...

And genius lost its meaning, it got kicked around
and slapped on fresh-faced artists
with that brand new sound..."

-The New Normal, by Mister Mann

Ironically enough, this is an artist The Optimist turned me on to. He's a Canadian singer-songwriter, and while his lyrics are rather depressing, I actually think the message is one of hope.

Or maybe that's just how I'm perceiving it.

Regardless, my new normal isn't what I would have thought it to be. It doesn't include certain people who I took to be fixtures in my life, and it does include those who I never would have guessed would mean so much to me.

And I'm OK with that. Because actually? I'm happy. I really am. And it's a strange sensation. I still second-guess myself when I say something stupid to the boy, automatically assuming he's going to knock me down a notch for it. Instead, he tends to laugh and say something equally ridiculous. Or he just leans over and kisses me. Tells me I'm adorable.

And it isn't patronizing, which is fascinating. The dynamic between us is something unique for me. I am so exceedingly comfortable being myself - my full-on, crazy, nerdy self - and that doesn't for a moment compromise how wanted I feel. In fact, I feel more consistently wanted and worthwhile than I have in a long, long time.

So I guess Friend was right about one thing - apparently my I-can't-be-a-girlfriend complex WAS utter bullshit. Of course, it took someone ELSE to show me that. But that's OK. Because the person who's showing me that is doing it so genuinely, and so compassionately, and so well that I'm actually not able to second-guess him.

I believe that he wants to see me. I enjoy being a part of his life, his family, his routine. I believe him when he kisses me and I feel it in my toes. I believe him when he says he wants to come to shows, parties, dates with me. Because he does.

And I certainly believe him when he pins me to the wall, his body pressed into mine as his teeth close down on my neck. I believe him as he strips off my clothes and throws me onto the bed, tying my hands above my head, his eyes all fire and passion and stormy seas.

So then I believe him as he traces his tongue down my body, lingering at my breasts and hip bones. And then I lose track of everything as his tongue finds what it's searching for, his fingers pumping in and out of me and curling inside me as his tongue traces and licks and laps at my clit. As he moans into me, my hips rise to meet his mouth and I can't stop moving. And he keeps going and I keep moving, and faster and faster and oh fuck oh god yes please don't stop fuck fuck fuck FUCK.

And then I'm shaking and he's smiling as he kisses his way back up my body.

And I do believe him, maybe most of all, as he lies down next to me and wraps his arms around my body, gently kisses my neck and pulls me tighter as we fall asleep together.

And just in case I find myself doubting, I am reassured when, in the morning, he's still there.

The return of the HNT

I haven't forgotten about Half Nekkid Thursdays... I promise! I just haven't been feeling particularly sexy lately, so I haven't been overly prone to getting half nekkid.

But that changed last night. I had a particularly awesome night with Friend - It was more date-y than our time together usually is. We went to the theatre, had several real conversations, then came home and were very silly. And then, as sometimes happens between he and I, the sillyness turned into sexyness. It's one of my favorite things about our relationship.

And he seemed more excited to see me than usual. Of course, it might have been the dress...

Captain Queer strikes again!

As I had previously discussed with The Scientist, I tend to have some capacity to, uhm... queerify my potential partners. I discussed it with him in the sense that I'd just hooked up with his best girlfriend who had never hooked up with a girl before. And I tend to find myself in threesomes... frequently... with two straight men.

Not the same two straight men, mind you. This marks the third different MFM threesome I've had. This year.

God, I love my life.

Which was, incidentally, exactly what I said when I walked back into my bedroom after my two boys and I had gotten back to my house and I'd excused myself to the restroom, as I opened the door and saw them both there, completely naked.

Yes, I have a very lovely life.

The night was an entirely random one. I went to dinner with C, came home and bought Bear a plane ticket to come visit me (huzzah! less than a month!), then was wanting to go play, but no one was around. Which is when a random old friend, who I haven't spoken to in at least two years, facechatted me. And we discovered we live about 10 minutes from each other. And made the executive decision that he and I were going to get drunk together.

He got to my place quickly, and I don't think we stopped talking the entire way home. Or for the stop at the grocery store. Or the liquor store. He was adorably excited, and there was gushing on both our ends. His poor boyfriend must have thought we were cracked out or something. We were just...buzzing... together. It was a blast.

We mellowed as the rum kicked in, and I got a chance to know his boyfriend better - and even bond over some similarities we have. We're the same age, and, oh, are both into BDSM and are total subs. It was one of those kind of nights where nothing is taboo. I loved it.

Eventually, a few of his boyfriend's friends came over... they had asked his boyfriend earlier, apparently, if there was REALLY a girl over. His boyfriend said "Yes, I promise, there is a girl here." By the time the friends got there, I was just drunk enough to introduce myself by saying, "Hi. I'm the promise. AKA Sasha." I thought it was funny, anyway.

I'm not sure it was ever really discussed, but rather it was just assumed from the time the friends walked in the door, that the two of them and I would all be sleeping together.

I didn't have a problem with that. Clearly, neither did they.

I don't know if the two friends have had a threesome with one another before, but they certainly acted comfortable and smooth enough around each other to make me wonder. They worked me like they knew what they were doing. But then again, I let them work me like that. I knew exactly what they were doing.

I knew what they were doing when one of them leaned in to kiss me while we were standing alone in the kitchen. I knew what they were doing when the other came in and found us kissing. I knew what I was doing when I stole away with the other and kissed him on the patio.

And I knew what we were doing when we all decided we were going back to my house.

"God, I love my life."

They both smiled at the comment, pleased with themselves and my reaction, I think. I barely had time to process their reactions, though, before they were both on me, damn near ripping my clothes off.

I will never get tired of the feeling of having so many hands on me at once. No two people's touch is ever quite the same, and, yes, the exhibitionist in me really enjoys it. Also, I've picked up quite the appreciation for naked skin from Friend (and others, but he and I talk about it regularly), and this is just such a delicious way to feed that hunger.

There is much more to be told about the night, of course... But I did get some fantasies fulfilled, which is always excellent. (Aside: I'm going to need to make a list of fantasies I've had fulfilled and which I haven't... I think the former list is longer. Awesome.) Check for details in upcoming product reviews - I do so appreciate when guys aren't intimidated by toys. In fact, that was part of our motivation for going back to my house - I was bragging about my toy collection.

God, I love my life.

It feels like we've been here before...

It's been a while since I've written anything overly personal on here. With my real-world job as a web editor (did I mention that I have a real-world job now? Like, an actual career?), I spend my entire workday staring at a computer screen, so sometimes I'm not overly eager to run home and do the same. I've been trading online interaction for actual, real life socialization. Imagine that!

But there are other reasons for the relative silence of late, too. And I haven't written about them in hopes that they would get better. But, the truth is, they aren't getting better. And I'm starting to feel myself slip down into those dark places I inhabited years ago... And I don't want to do that. In the past, you, dear readers, have been so incredibly helpful and gracious and insightful, that I thought perhaps I would turn to you again.

I've noticed changes in some of my habits. i think some of it is just antsy-ness - this is usually the time of year I would be headed back to school... So it's possible I'm still adjusting to and realizing that this is, in fact, my life. This is not a summer job and a summer apartment and summer flings, but rather the real thing.

Well, in some regards. Of course, it seems the things I wouldn't mind being temporary - the things I wouldn't mind trading out - are the things that are stable, and the things I so desperately want to hang on to are those which are slipping away from me. And it's started getting to me. I'm exhausted all the time. Regardless of how much sleep I get. Waking up is brutal, although I was getting good at waking up at 7am for work without much difficulty in the past month. That has stopped. Of course, when I do fall asleep, it's never through the night. This in and of itself, of course, doesn't mean much, but it seems to be just one part of a series of small problems that add up to something that feels unconquerable. I've gone back to always feeling rather sick - a combination of allergies and near-constant nausea that hasn't been so pervasive since, probably, high school.

If it hasn't been clear from my "frustratingly abstract" (according to Friend) posts, The Optimist is gone. Through no fault of his own, and no fault of mine. The universe decided to throw him a curveball, and he took the good, responsible, compassionate route out. A route that led him, suddenly and without a goodbye, far away from me and his other friends in this state. I don't hold the decision against him in the slightest - actually, quite the opposite. His making this sacrifice confirms my belief that he is this incredible, compassionate, giving person. It makes me respect him that much more. It absolutely supports my fascination with who he is and how he became this truly singular individual.

But his leaving hurt more than I thought it would. I've talked to Nonboyfriend about it - since he and I were in essentially the same boat, being unpleasantly surprised by The Optimist's sudden departure. I felt like (after convincing him that, no, I really wasn't going to turn into some crazy stalker and terrorize his best friend... Because we all know that I do that regularly) he and I could at least identify with each other's heartache. I don't say heartbreak, because that sounds too dramatic. But there is absolutely an ache. And it is palpable. And harder to ignore than I thought it would be. I'm not angry in the least. I am just very simply and without anything else, very sad. It's a pervasive kind of sadness that is at the same time purer than anything else I can remember feeling. I am sad for the loss of the memories I was so looking forward to making. I am sad for the departure of the butterflies that only inhabit my stomach when he's around me. I am sad to not feel that electricity when he touches me. I am sad to not feel his lips on mine and hope my knees don't give out but know even if they did he would catch me - and probably have some perfectly eloquent comment about it. I am sad to not know when I will see his face again. I am sad.

But I believe him (and Nonboyfriend) when they remind me he will be back. I know he will. And he hasn't misled me yet, so I don't expect him to begin now. (Right down to his parting salutation on the phone, which was, verbatim, what I've always told friends I wanted to hear from someone who wasn't sure when the next time they would call might be.) And, again, his reason for leaving is so good and so... HIM... that I couldn't do anything but support it. There was never any other option in my mind. I couldn't not support him. And I hope he knows that. The last thing I would ever want to be or do would be an additional burden for him. That isn't what good friends do, let alone lovers or partners or whatever we were. But it does leave me pining a bit for something I know I can't have. At least right now. And the uncertainty of when I may or may not see him again is eating at me, just a little. It makes it harder to overcome the sadness, because I don't have a set point to look forward to. It's too abstract.

And I know that wound, if that's what we'd call it, is especially fresh. It will caulderize with time... Although I hope my feelings for him don't. I love that I simply cannot have my walls up around him. I love that I feel safe and comfortable and happy knowing he's in my life. I love that he talks to me about life and art and philosophy and also that we can get drunk with my roommates and write haikus about a missing cat. Like I said, he's rather singular. I've never met anyone who affected me the way he does. And just like how it's so easy to get used to sleeping next to someone, and so difficult to get used to sleeping alone (I still sleep on my side of the bed, although I haven't had a regular sleeping-over partner in years), accepting that affectation makes it that much harder to forget about.

And other relationships are suffering as a result. A few nights ago, I completely flaked out on Bear. He was having a rough night and needed someone to talk to, and I just... fell asleep. And I felt so incredibly guilty in the morning. And he's told me that he's not upset, although his tone indicated otherwise. Mostly, though, I just feel awful for being such a shitty friend. My friends deserve better. And usually, I can deliver. I don't know why I couldn't then.

And my best girlfriend, C, is going through some really serious things. I want so badly to be there for her, and it kills me that there's only so much I can do. Going to dinner with her and giving hugs and texting everyday seems so inadequate for how much I love her and how much I want to make her pain disappear. And I know, ultimately, there isn't anything I can do to make it stop, to make it better for her. I just wish there was. But I do know she reads this, so I just want to reiterate, my love, that I am here for any and everything you might need. And I love you more than words, and I only wish there was more I could do. I want to make all this stop for you. I want to fix everything. And I know that I can't. And that just... destroys me.

Maybe that's the best adjective for how I feel right now. I feel destroyed. Not by any single event or person, but I feel just so helpless and out of control, that it's driving me crazy. I'm falling back into old patterns of coping with that loss of control. I don't even know HOW to process these things in a healthier way. And the last thing I want is help, as strange as that might seem. I just want to feel better. I want these things that hurt the people I love to vanish (yes, even when I am one of those things). I don't want any of this. I don't want to feel like this.

My one-track mind...

..and how I worry it sometimes hurts people.

Well, maybe not hurts, exactly. But I do have a tendency to get singularly-minded and focus a great deal of my attention and concern on a single area. I like to finish something that I start. If I hear a new band that I like, I want all their music, and I will listen to it on repeat until I know all the lyrics.

It's part of the reason my job as a Web Editor is tough for me - it's so multi-dimensional, and there are so many big things happening simultaneously that I can't ever finish any single "project" in a day. That can get frustrating.

So, too, I'd imagine, can being my friend when I'm really excited about someone or something. I've realized that the past few weeks, my personal posts have all focused on The Optimist. And, indeed, he is becoming a consistent part of my life. I love that. I love that he's in my life and he honestly fascinates and excites me in myriad ways.

But there are other people in my life, too. People who, maybe, are a little more unsung. Perhaps it means I take them for granted, but especially in regard to one, I feel he's been making an effort to be more present in my life lately, and I haven't acknowledged it as openly as I should. I suppose affections and obsessions wax and wane naturally, but I'm pretty sure it's been a while since I've written a post really talking about Friend. (Who, rightfully so, points out that his nickname is the least inventive of those I am or have been involved with. I still contend that's primarily because he is first, foremost, and always, my friend.)

As a refresher, I've known him for a long time, and we've been sleeping together, on-and-off (off when I was out of town or when I test out monogamy, not because we're fighting) for a couple years. He is very, very smart, and some of my favorite memories with him are conversations we've had where we get in often one-sided debates railing on the uneducated masses. (Snobbery, you say? Never!) Especially when we are together, we are exceedingly silly. He is one of the few people in my life I can always count on to cheer me up when I need to take my mind off something by just being goofy. A week ago or so when he came over for dinner, we found ourselves playing in the rain in a sweetly romantic gesture.

All of these attributes aren't anything new, though. They are things that have always and continue to attract me to him. I love and appreciate them. What I wanted to recognize is what seems to have changed, especially since I've moved back after graduation.

Sometimes, when I was home for summers or vacations or whatever reason, I would get frustrated with Friend's seemingly inherent flakyness. It never felt malicious, it was just kind of... saddening when we would have plans and he just wouldn't show or he would fall of the face of the earth conveniently for the week I was home. I talked to him about it on various ocassions, and while he would apologize where appropriate, I didn't see any change right away. I had recently resolved to just stop letting it bother me. It was, I figured, part of his personality, and therefore part of our relationship. I could deal.

But in the past few weeks, I've noticed him making - what feels like, at least - an increased effort to include me. It's nothing major, but they are those little things that I really appreciate. If he's running late or has to cancel on our plans, he'll shoot me a text. Whereas I've historically been the one to ask him to hang out, there have been several cases recently where he called me and wanted to see me, not the other way around. A few nights ago, he called me up to come help him build some things for work. Admittedly, he needed an extra hand, but it was still nice to feel like he'd thought of me. It was nice to feel included in a part of his life that's normally cordoned off for me.

(It's important here that he's not the only one cordoning off areas of his life. I do the same thing, and as such our times together are necessarily usually just the two of us. We are, essentially, one another's secondary partners. Other partners know about each other, but only in an abstract sense, for the most part.)

The past few times we've spent time together, actually, there hasn't been anything particularly sexual about it. Which, as strange as it might seem, makes it feel MORE like a relationship, not less. I'm not sure entirely WHY that is, but that's the result that often seems to happen.

Regardless, the point is that he's been making an effort. And it has meant something to me. And I haven't mentioned it. So now I am. Because it's awesome. And appreciated. Much love, Gun. ;-)

We're here, we're queer, we're fabulous, don't fuck with us!

This past weekend was Pride here in my hometown. It's always one of my favorite times of the year - I love summer here in general, largely because there are so many festivals. And Pride, of course, is like one of those festivals... taken over entirely by teh gehys. Really, it's a queer takeover of downtown. And while I do love the festival and the parade, both seemed a little tamer this year than years past. The festival, in particular, felt more like any other fair held downtown, just with more rainbows.

In any case, though, Pride this year was no bust. My favorite part is the parties, and there was no shortage there. Friday night found myself and my roommate at a women's party, where I'd gotten comped admission so I could interview New York-based lesbian hip-hop and soul duo God-des and She. They were friendly, talkative, and, oh yeah, really sexy. I was so excited to meet them, and even more excited to watch them perform. They put on a wonderful show, and the crowd really seemed to love them. My roommate and I had a great time at the party, and she seemed genuinely glad to get out of the house for a girl's night on the town. Oh, yeah, and she got hit on. And kissed. It was a good night.

Saturday I covered the state's first-ever Dyke March, interviewing attendees (and Dykes on Bikes), listening to speeches, and running into the lovely Essin' Em and her partner, Q. I always love seeing her, and I've been looking forward to meeting Q since Em is always speaking so highly of her, I was just sorry that I had to cover the event as a journo and therefore couldn't really hang out with them.

That did make this year's Pride an interesting experience. Everything except for the party on Sunday was part of something I was covering for my magazine, so I felt I had to maintain a relatively professional demeanor. That meant just one drink at the party on Friday night, and wandering around awkwardly and approaching random people at the Dyke March. I wouldn't say it exactly hindered my enjoyment of Pride this year, but it certainly changed the way I experienced it. But the money will be much appreciated when it comes in a few weeks.

Sunday was my day off from professional capacities. I made it downtown just in time to watch the entire parade and meet up with The Pilot's younger brother, who had never been to Pride before. It was fun to show him around, and we got along more easily than I thought we would have. We knew each other casually from years ago, but haven't spoken in easily over a decade. I know he, like The Pilot, can have a tendency to be a little shy (as, actually, can I), so I made an effort to be a little more outgoing than I usually am. I think he had a good time - he also joined me for a BBQ back at my and my roommates' house. Where, lo and behold, Friend also stopped by! (I say this mostly teasingly because he and I have a tendency to go several weeks without seeing one another, despite living only a few miles from each other.) The BBQ went well, although I had to leave early to go to the official Pride afterparty, where, thanks to my fabulous coworkers at the magazine, I was VIP, as was my date, The Scientist.

The afterparty was, like last year, held at a club downtown with a great rooftop bar. As VIPs, we had a cordoned-off area, complete with bottle service. A few of my coworkers were there, and they seemed so genuinely happy to see me that I was really quite flattered. They said incredibly nice things to me, and insisted that they're sure I have the full-time job I've been gunning for at the magazine. (I have a meeting with the editor-in-chief and publisher next week to discuss my salary... so it's promising, but I'm not willing to believe anything until I sign some paperwork.) The party started early in the evening, and being that the sun doesn't go down until nearly 9pm lately, sitting on the rooftop probably didn't help my sunburn, which I began work on earlier that day, standing in the sun for nearly an hour and a half watching the parade. People kept commenting about it, asking if I'd ever heard of sunscreen. I have, of course, and I usually don't burn quite this badly. Oh well. It's already tanning out in all but the worst areas. I'll survive, I think.



In any case, The Scientist and I had a nice time at the party - it was mostly laid back, and we got a chance to talk, he met my coworkers, all around good things. Of course, being that I was in a good mood, I was due for something to screw it up. Cue...

Edward.

Yes, you read correctly. Edward. Of 70+ phone calls and twice as many texts and a few emails and facebook messages. I swear he has some sort of radar for when I'm happy. Since all that insanity back in March and April, I have blocked his number, blocked him on facebook and any other social networking sites, and I hadn't heard from him until about a month ago.

It was the night I was meeting The Scientist's friends, and about halfway through the night, I got a phone call from my mother. She told me someone had broken into her house (where I also used to live). Nothing was missing, but they were still calling the police. And the only things they found rearranged were in my bedroom. And whoever it was made their entry through the basement, which was where Edward used to spend most of his time when he was at our house (which was often... As I said, he's been in my/my family's lives for 10 years.) It seemed like too much of a coincidence. Edward had sent me a facebook message about a week before (I hadn't realized that I hadn't blocked his sending messages), which was about the same time frame as when he showed up at my mother's house right before I graduated. So we don't technically have any proof that it was him, and since nothing was stolen, we couldn't do more than file a report, but I can tell you that it terrified me to be back in that house the next day. (I stopped by to assess the situation, I don't live there.) I am essentially convinced that it was him, because there's no one else I can think of who it could have been. I was hoping that when he went in my room and saw that it is very obviously not lived in (no clothes in the closet, bed covered in cat fur, nothing on the dresser), he would give up and at least believe that I really don't live there anymore.

And I didn't hear from him again until Sunday. He called me four times in the course of an hour. He was calling from someone else's phone. He left a message each time. In the third message, which was the nastiest, he actually implied that perhaps I just didn't have his number anymore, so he left it again. Of course, that also functions as evidence that that was NOT the number he was calling from. He didn't say anything directly threatening, but did swear at me some more and tell me how it's so obvious that I never gave a fuck about him. And he told me he was coming into town "pretty soon here." Which is just vague enough to be rather terrifying.

And I hate that I get so skittish when he calls. I didn't answer any of the calls, because thanks to him, I don't ever answer numbers I don't know. If it's someone who knows me, they'll leave a message and I'll call them right back. But just hearing his voice on the messages (which I've copied onto my digital voice recorder, as evidence should I need it), hearing his tone change from pained to angry to that sleazy, faux-pained manipulative tone I recognize all too well, really throws me. I was Skyping with The Pilot last night, and I eventually had to hang up because I was just so upset and I didn't want him to see me all curled up and teary-eyed and pathetic.

I'm not really sure what to do at this point. I am a little scared to do anything active, like get a restraining order. I'm worried that would provoke him further, and it's not like my holding a piece of paper in his face is going to stop him from hurting me if he wants to. My current address isn't listed anywhere, and the only people who know where I live are close friends and family, all of whom know about the situation and understand the need for secrecy. But I was reading over some resources The Pilot looked up for me online, and one of the recurring themes about how to deal with being stalked was to tell people. So, dear readers, I'm telling all of you. I've kept some of the details and events quiet over the past few months, but I felt I should update everything now. I would be lying if I said I wasn't scared. I can rationalize that he probably isn't really dangerous, but his persistence makes me nervous. And I hate that. I hate being scared in my own city, where there are so many great things and beautiful people who I love so much.

And there's only so much anonymity I can assume. I'm a writer. I refuse to publish under a pseudonym (well, aside from here, but I mean for paying jobs), and I refuse to let my fear of Edward totally run my life. It helps that he doesn't know where I live. But I hate that he seems so fucking determined to contact me. The Scientist and The Pilot have both suggested I change my phone number, but, again, I have contacts, professional and personal, who have my current number. Changing it would involve calling all of those people and explaining the situation, and it's so fucking frustrating. And terrifying.

The night Edward called, I got sufficiently sauced (The Scientist and I took a cab back to my place), and The Scientist stayed with me, so sleep wasn't as nerve-wracking as it sometimes is. Last night, I took some Tylenol PM to knock myself out so I could sleep without freaking out and waking up at every car that drives by my window. But if this continues, I'm really not sure what to do. It's draining and I don't know how much longer I can tolerate it before it takes an even more significant toll on my life, my happiness, and my ability to trust people.

Feels just like I'm falling for the first time...

I'm going to go ahead and title this entry as such, even though I already know Friend thinks it's cheesy, and overly mushy or whatever, but I'm rolling with it. It's not only appropriate, it happens to be the theme song of the weekend, and the boy this entry is about, well, he already knows this song makes me think of him. And I should warn you that this might be the most giggly, girly rant I've published to date. I blame the boy.

But I'm not sure what to call him. There are so many things about him that fascinate me, I can't pick one to focus on. Every time I talk to him, I learn more about him and I am increasingly amazed. I cannot say enough good things about him. And he's done so many things, and in many ways, IS so many things, that I'm having trouble picking just one thing to identify him with. But what astounds me most about him (and he knows this), is his persistent optimism. It isn't naiveté in any way, but rather the honest and true belief that things will work out, that everything happens for a reason, and, I think, that people and life are generally and genuinely good. And that belief, that personality, is in such stark contrast to my own that I am just endlessly fascinated by it. By him, really. So, dear readers, allow me to introduce you to The Optimist.

He is a dear and long-time friend of some of my own dear and long-time friends, although we had never met before this weekend. At least not in any official capacity - we realized he had come to a party at my house in high school, but I don't know that we were introduced at that time. I met him this weekend at what became, essentially, a weekend-long lovefest at Nonboyfriend's house, along with Nonboyfriend's girlfriend, myself and The Scientist.

But all that is a story for another entry. Or five. This is just an introduction to The Optimist. I should preface this that I am a little nervous about writing on here, not because I've told him about the blog (although I have), but because often, when I put things I'm excited about into print, it seems to jinx them. And I would really, really like to NOT jinx this burgeoning relationship with The Optimist. If you hadn't known, you wouldn't be able to tell that we met just four days ago. While we're counting this weekend as our first actual meeting, it seems like we've known each other much longer. I'm hesitant to speak too much for him, but I know, for my part, I am shockingly comfortable around him.

He is warm and inviting and completely disarming. The optimism is contagious, affecting even my jaded moods. He's clearly brilliant - and a good deal more intelligent than I am - but I've never once felt talked-down-to. That intelligence is well rounded and applied and reflected in his speech and diction, but he isn't so proper that profanities don't escape occasionally (yes, sometimes at really opportunely sexy moments).

And speaking of sexy... His kisses are just... there are no words. Me. I have no words for how fantastic they are. They really should be a controlled substance, because I'm pretty sure I'm already addicted. And he'll bring his hand to my jaw and pull me to him and and and *swoon.* With some guidance from The Scientist, but also largely on his own, he's already figured out where my buttons are, and he takes non-verbal direction better than possibly anyone I've ever met. My skin, my entire body, is electrified when I am near him. It's like there's some current running through me, recharged every time his lips touch mine or his hands touch my skin or or or. And he says these beautiful things to me, and I love watching his eyes change color, or when he looks at me and smiles, a little sleepy, and pulls me tighter.

But it's more than that. And that's what really has me fascinated and simultaneously terrified. Because while, yes, I want him, I want to be around him. I want to talk to him. I want to hear about his life, I want to hear his thoughts on things, I want to hear him sing along to the car radio... I just want to know more about him. He listens to me when I talk, and asks questions that prove he's listening. And I find it so natural to return the favor, because he's just fascinating. It isn't that I don't find my other partners interesting, but at present, I've known them all for years, so the relationship is already established. I already know that I'm interested in them, and I know how to listen to them because we've spent so much time together. The Optimist and I have spent perhaps 24 hours with each other (total), and I feel like he has already reached that same level that I have with other partners I've known for years.

And that is scary. Establishing that kind of connection usually takes me much longer than it has with The Optimist. And I've talked to him about most of this, and he has taken it all in stride. Listened to my fears, validated them, and then, if need be, talked about them. I don't feel quite as much like a crazy person around him. I feel like maybe my feelings are reciprocated. Mostly because he tells me they are. Oh so eloquently.

So, yeah, basically, I'm in trouble. And can't wait to get into some more.

flashback

I had lost all concept of time, but had a very keen sense of place and every other physical sensation coursing through me. Friend had situated himself between my legs, his fingers working in and out of my cunt and curling inside me as his tongue circled and sucked on my clit - my hips rising to meet his mouth as I sunk deeper into that alternate universe where, again, things like this actually happen.

The Pilot had pulled himself up next to me, his hands strong as they grasped at my waist, my tits. He'd alternate between kissing my lips and my neck - that spot right at the base of my collarbone that he'd figured out makes me shiver and whimper and melt all at once.

My world was fast condensing into a very specific tunnel vision consisting of only the three of us as Friend continued fucking me with his mouth and the Pilot tightened his grip on my body. As the Pilot moved one of his hands toward my collarbone, instinct took over. I brought my hand to his and placed it across my neck, and I swear I caught him smiling out of the corner of my eye as he tightened his grip.

And then I absolutely lost it. With the Pilot's fingers around my throat and Friend's inside of me, my bucking hips moved faster and I didn't even have time to feel that heat starting at the base of my spine. Pleasure just ripped through me as my back arched and my vision became just a white light and some unconscionable stream of profanities flew out of my mouth. I couldn't tell you exactly what I said, but I'm pretty sure it resembled

OHFUCKHOLYSHITJESUSFUCKINGCHRISTFUCKGODFUCKINGDAMMITFUCKFUCK

And then I was panting and only vaguely aware of both Friend's satisfied smirk and the Pilot's eyes looking me over as I started shaking from the aftershock. Friend chuckled to himself as he got up, and I just started giggling incessantly, still trying to catch my breath and unable to move any of my limbs more than they were already quivering. Had the light been better, I'm sure you could have seen my entire body flushed. Someone, the Pilot I think, said something, in reference to me coming hard and loud or something, and I tried to put words together to make a response and utterly failed. Which induced more giggling. Because it was really all I could do, as my breath finally started evening out and the tunnel vision widened back to include at least the room the three of us were in.

Comfort food, without the calories.

Walking home a few days ago after a solid 12 hours spent on campus (doing work and in class the entire time), I was dragging my feet and feeling utterly exhausted. On a side note - why is it that it feels my entire collegiate, more, my entire academic, career is coming crashing down on me in these last few weeks of college? In an effort to combat the exhaustion and the depression that always seems to accompany it, I called the Pilot. (This has become a regular occurrence.) As we started laughing and nerding out about sci-fi and dinosaurs and grammar, I felt myself calming down.

Thinking about it later, I realized that usually, walking home feeling like I was, what I'd really want would be comfort food - for me it's usually chili or Mexican food... Something warm and filling and most likely greasy. Of course, there's always the guilt that accompanies eating those kinds of things, knowing how full of unnecessary calories they are. But talking to the Pilot had the same kind of soothing effect. In fact, I've realized I basically associate hanging out with him with those feelings of being on vacation, and very truly so, where there are no professional, academic or social worries on my mind. It's a very happy place. I am relaxed and happy and very silly - midnight giggle-fits are a regular happening. The same thing happens when I'm with Friend. Being around either of them is like a much-needed refuge from my hectic life and even from my neuroses. Even after a no-good, awful, downright rotten day, just talking with the boys salves the wounds. They're comforting.

So they're my comfort food. Without the calories. And I'm very lucky to have them.

flashback.

We'd been in town for a little less than 24 hours. The first night had kept us all three awake long into the morning, and as such we'd slept into the afternoon. It seems silly, given the night's activities, but I still wasn't sure where Friend and I were at. I'm always nervous when I see him again, as I never assume he's actually going to still want me. And I didn't know how the dynamic had changed since we'd all slept together.

But the Pilot was in the bathroom, showering or brushing his teeth. I was standing in the kitchen, rinsing a glass, when Friend swooped in. We'd all been a little hyper thus far, a combination of the company and the conversation and the sex. He stepped into the kitchen next to me, and didn't say anything. I just remember him being even more energetic than usual. And he took my face in both his hands, and leaned down to kiss me. Sweetly, but with intent. It lasted only a few seconds, but as he pulled away, I remember my feet faltering a little and a goofy grin spreading across my face. And the butterflies. Always with the butterflies. Sigh.

flashback.

As I turned to face the Pilot, I put my palm squarely on his chest, pressing him down to the bed. In a move surprisingly smooth (for me especially), I threw my other leg over his hips, and he muttered "yeah, that's one of my favorites, too." I leaned down and kissed him squarely on the mouth as I lowered myself onto his cock. I kissed along his neck and collarbone as I started moving my hips up and down, slowly at first. As he began moving his hips up to meet my motions, those movements got steadily faster, our breathing heavier. I kissed him once more before pushing myself upright, my hips still moving faster, my panting louder. As I sat up, a delicious fullness overtook my senses. My hips were moving without my command, grinding into him harder and faster, and I threw my head back and let my whole body rock. If he had his hands at my hips, I didn't know it - I wasn't aware of anything but the pressure building at the base of my spine and the heat spreading from that same spot. My hips were rocking back and forth at an almost frenetic pace - I can't even imagine how my naked tits must have been bouncing with my none-too-subtle motions. The force of my thrusts I know were moving his body beneath me, and I didn't care. I was entirely on another plane of existence. He pressed his hips, his cock, into me a time or two more and I felt him come. I tensed my nearly-spent muscles around him and folded my body back down on top of his. "Oh, that's just not FAIR," he exhaled.

The corners of my mouth turned up in a smirk, I looked over at Friend for the first time. He was looking at us, smiling. And stroking himself. My smile broadened as I slowly pulled myself off the Pilot, whimpering just a little as I did...

Break-ups in non-monogamy

Given the blowout with Edward, this is something I've been thinking about lately.

I haven't actually had much cause to end any of my non-monogamous relationships. I mean, things with nonboyfriend were always knowingly short-lived, but primarily ended because we were both leaving town. As for my other partners, well, even though I've left town (admittedly with the intention of coming back), they're still my partners, for all intents and purposes. As much as one can be without being in the same state. (Something on which my views could fill an entire other entry.) The lack of breakups are also made easier by the fact that I move across the country (and sometimes across the world) every four months. It makes for an easy break with few complications.

But in about six weeks, I'm graduating college. And moving back. For good. No more packing up my life every four months, no more transient lifestyle. And consequently, no more transient relationships. It's a thought that's made me a little nervous, especially regarding a few people, like Friend, with whom my relationship has always been necessarily secretive and aided by the fact that we COULDN'T spend much time together. There's a nagging fear in the back of my mind that he won't like me or want me when he can see me any time. Then again, many of those fears were calmed with the vacation he and I took to see the Pilot, where we spent more time together than we have in the 15 years we've known each other, and managed not only to come out unscathed, but, as far as I can tell, still quite fond of one another. These are good things. And make me think that maybe such relationships will survive me being in the same place for a somewhat extended period of time. I can't decide if I think it's strange that my being in the same place would harm my relationships or not.

But then, there are of course drawbacks to going home. Some loose ends, as it were. Some I'm not particularly worried about as I'm sure they'll tie themselves up as they see fit (nonboyfriend being the only one left there, since both Edward and P have removed themselves). But there are some others that I think will likely result in me needing to end the relationship. And I'm not very good at that.

For one, I don't have a ton of practice in relationships where breaking up has even been an option (you don't exactly break-up with a fuckbuddy, a one-night-stand or a no-strings-attached FwB). And in those relationships where breaking up has happened, I'm usually the one being left. Notably, it's historically been for something I've done wrong, but nevertheless, I'm not the one having to administer "the talk." So I don't have much practice in breaking things off with people in the first place. Save for those, like Edward, who make it easy for me to just never speak to them again.

But I do have at least one relationship - although I thought I'd tied it up - that it looks like I'll have to re-affirm my breaking off of the thing. But here's the thing. To me it seems like it might be a little more complicated to do so while still sparing feelings, given my open non-monogamy views. I don't dislike this person, he's a fine guy, we just aren't an exceptionally good match. I get the impression he really likes me, which, in the first place, makes me nervous, but I also get the impression that he isn't as comfortable with my non-monogamy and sexuality as much as he finds it a novelty. He's told me that he'd harbored a crush for me for a few years and the chance to be with me was kind of the fulfillment of a fantasy... Again, something nice to say, but it raises red flags in my I-don't-want-anyone-too-close radar.

Now, I thought I had made it clear to him that we were over when I left home this past time. We went on a goodbye date and everything (his idea). He's dated someone else in the meantime (to the facebook-official level... something he wanted me to do but that I was uncomfortable with), and has since broken up with her. I don't have details on that. But he's recently started calling me again, and today he sent me a facebook message, simply saying "Just because you are incredibly gorgeous doesn't mean you get to be on my mind all the time! ;-)"

Again, nice sentiment. But concerns me. Actually, makes me a little uncomfortable. I didn't respond to it. And I'm not sure how to make it clear to him that I'm not interested in being with him again. While still sparing his feelings. Like I said, he's a fine person, I just don't want to be in a relationship with him.

But he knows I'm non-monogamous, so the "I've met someone else" or "I'm not looking for a relationship" feels disgenuine. He knows I'm in other relationships and is ostensibly OK with that, so it seems to remove some of my reason for breaking things off with him. We only had sex once while we were together before - partially because he's somewhat proper (well, until he's topping me, ha) and partially because I didn't try as hard as I could have to work around my schedule to make time for us to be alone in my apartment/bed. The sex itself was fine. I enjoyed it. But it wasn't anything particularly special. And I certainly have better sex with my other partners on a regular basis. And, quite frankly, the kind of sex I had with him (and that we talked about having) was similar to the kind of sex Jacob and I have. But it's way hotter with Jacob. Jacob is more in-tune and receptive to me and knows my body better. He does a much better job of fulfilling those desires.

But it seems a little cruel to tell him I'm dumping him because he's not "good enough" in bed. Yeah, yeah, sex is important to me, but so are people's feelings. Believe it or not.

And then there's the fact that I would, actually, like to continue seeing him as a friend. I do mean a friend without benefits, because the benefits seem to complicate things between us... but friends, nonetheless. This is probably a minor point, because, were I to actually get this far in explaining things to him and he said he didn't think we could be friends, I would live with that. It would certainly be sad to lose a friend, but frankly, I wouldn't be crushed.

But I don't know how to approach him with all this. My honesty-is-the-best-policy seems a little heartless here, since the honest truth isn't that I don't like him, just that I don't like him ENOUGH to keep him as a partner. So. What the hell do I do?






And then as I'm writing this it's sounding like I don't think I have the option to be discerning when choosing who my partners are. Hmm. Maybe Edward got to me more than I thought he did.

The end of Edward.

Yes, the end of him. I'm not doing this anymore. He went too far. At least, I believe he did. I don't think I deserved what I got last night.

I usually don't post texts and messages in their entirety, but I think in the interest of fairness, and in me trying to see if I really did ask for this, I'm going to publish the whole interaction. It stretched from about 330 in the afternoon, when he started texting me about my facebook status - which were song lyrics from the emo song "Almost," saying "Sasha...Almost had you, but I guess that doesn't cut it - I almost wish you would have loved me too."

Edward: Almost had who... may I ask.. sorry, just read your facebook.
Sasha: Oh, they're just song lyrics. But they could apply to a couple people in my life, ha. Why?
Edward: Nothin...
Sasha: No, what's up?
Edward: So... no biggie, just a little jealous.
Sasha: Ha. Jealous of what?
Edward: idk, nothing I guess. nevermind, just me being silly.
Sasha: Ha. Don't worry, you're my only almost lover. hehe.
Edward: only almost lover?
Sasha: More song lyrics. Look it up - it's a pretty song!
Edward: whats that mean for me as an almost lover... sorry for my mild jealousy but i kind of consider you property of Edward... in a way. ;)
Sasha: What do you mean by that? Elaborate, please.
Edward: mine... maybe.
Sasha: Repeating yourself doesn't count as elaboration.
Edward: your my baby, my love, my dream girl, my sex goddess, and in my mind my one and only.
Sasha: (silence)
Edward: ...maybe.
Sasha: Wow.
Edward: ...sorry :(
Sasha: No, no. Nothing to apologize for. It's just... intense.
Edward: almost a decade of being in love with someone does that.
Sasha: (silence)
Edward: ... wow i feel dumb now. :(
Sasha: No, you're not dumb. It's just me. You know I'm weird about people telling me they love me slash romanticism.
Edward: even slash a person who's in love with you... kinda stings knowing my feelings for ya aren't mutual... oh wells i still do love ya. cant change a heart.
Sasha: I wasn't trying to. Really, these are just my issues with people.
Edward: i didn't think I was just anyone. i figured after so many years doing nothing but love you would put me a lil bit higher up on your list. but ok i understand.
Sasha: No no, don't do that.
Edward: ...yeah... nevermind forget i said anything. at all.
Sasha: I will not! I just wish I could make you understand.
Edward: what, i get it. no worries just forget i made an ass of myself.
Sasha: Shit. Why do I always do this? Please don't be mad at me.
Edward: im not mad at you, just upset with myself for acting like a idiotic jack ass.
Sasha: Don't do that. These are my issues. Sometime I probably should walk you through my theories on relationships and how i live my life now. Might help explain me.
Edward: no, trust me i understand. after all its me, not really a great catch to go loving all willy nilly... or something. idk whatever.
Sasha: That's not it at all.
Edward: yeah... well im just a sex toy. i get it.
Sasha: Dammit. How can I make you understand that the issue here is me?
Edward: yeah, of course. no worries i understand and ill be fine. and im not mad at you so everything is fine.
Sasha: Goddammit.
Edward: yeah, its fine. you cant love me back. thats fine.
Sasha:This seems like a shitty way to have this conversation. But yes, I have ridiculous issues w falling in love. It scares me shitless.
Edward: ill just have to learn to share... or something... idk i dont feel too good right now.
Sasha: I'm sorry. I wish you'd let me explain.
Edward: no need to explain or any need to stay tied down to just one person. you just cant love me back. i completely understand. but i cant see a future with me, you, and whoever else may be tossed into the mix. im not a fan of sharing someone i genuinely care for. obviously too much for my own good.
Sasha: Well then i'm sorry that my view that monogamy has no bearing on affection or relationship success or importance isn't something you agree with.
Edward: ... yeah... in other words just me isnt enough. forget it. im not feeling so good so enjoy whoever with whatever. bye now.
Sasha: OK. This obviously isn't something you can deal with. I understand that. When you want to have an actual grownup discussion, let me know.
Edward: actual grownup discussion about what, how i love you and want yo be only yours but me alone wouldnt be enough for you, or even capable of caring back for me?
Sasha: No, a grownup conversation about realistic relationship possibilities that make people happy, where everyone gets what they need WITHOUT all the drama that destroys people and relationships and love.
Edward: there's nothing really to discuss, you dont want just me, or even me at all really. i love you too much to allow myself to be in any kind of multiple partner relationship. so yeah.
Edward: so i want and love you, you want more than love me, and cant love me back... pure and simple. so i understand, and im sorry im not ok being just one of your many toys.
Sasha: No, I never said I can't (or even don't) love you back.
Edward: yeah, and where i get to sit around while you fuck around with other guys. sorry but no.
Edward: simply put me, and my feelings for you are not what you want... at least not only what you want. so fine, ill pick up the pieces from you once again, and try to move on. i hoped id be the only you wanted but oh the fuck well. not gonna let anyone, especially you hurt me again. not again.
Sasha: Stop that! Goddammit how can I have a conversation w you if you just jump straight to the guilt trip? You make me so fucking angry that I can't see straight. Swear to god were you here I would scream at you then kiss you until you got over yourself long enough to shut up and listen to me.
Edward: listen to what, i got everything youd try and tell me. fuck monogamy and all that right... ill take your advice then. Edward the whore is back... yay.
Sasha: Fine. Do what you need to to make yourself feel better. And blame me or whatever you need. And maybe when you're done being angry at me again you'll want me. Because I will still want you. I want you and I want you to be happy. Sometimes those seem like mutually exclusive things.
Edward: but you dont want just me, so thats the point... i give the fuck up. no amount of caring for anyone makes up for being hurt. not again.
Sasha: I never set out to hurt you. And I am sorry if my honesty did that. And I'm sorry that I don't want an exclusive relationship right now. I fuck those up too easily. Altough it looks like I've done a bang-up job on this one, too.
Edward: i dont blame you. your just incapable of producing the same feelings i do. i only blame myself for being such an naieve ignorant jack ass. sorry. bye.
Sasha: Tell yourself whatever you need to. Like I said, when you want to give me a chance, or at least make an effort to know who I am, let me know.
Edward: yep. shouldve known it would come to this. you have no reason or right to give an ounce of shit about me. so enjoy who ever with whatever. hope its fun and fulfilling for you. goodbye sasha.
Sasha: OK. Just keep going ahead with the guilt-trip. I'll fall back on those people who don't make me feel like shit for being who I am. Good luck with everything.
Edward: ha... i cant believe i thought you actually cared about me. what the hell was i thinking. hahaha.
Edward: i think i got ya figured out. cant believe i thought you wanted me. ha.
Edward: yeah you too. enjoy your other lil toys. hope none of them fall for ya.
Sasha: Yeah, me too. Maybe they won't get such a kick out of trying to make me feel like a whore.
Edward: whatever. all i wanted was to be cared about like i do for you. but just one dick apparently isnt enough for Sasha. yay.

And there is where I threw the phone across the room, and it broke into five pieces. I think I terrified my roommates. Nevertheless, I slammed the rest of my drink, picked up the phone and went back to my room. When I came back a few minutes later, I asked my roommates if I could have some of their vodka, they both just stammered out "yeah yeah yeah of course, whatever you want!"

I didn't respond to Edward again throughout the rest of the night. But I didn't quite have the self restraint to not open the text messages he kept sending me.

Edward: god, i wasted fucking years on someone who i never be "good enough" for... fuck this shit im fucking done. ill just go do what you do.

Edward: none the less, i promise to never bother you a fucking gain. no need to be guilt trip for no reason.

Edward: god damn it Sasha why'd you have to fool me for so fucking long into thinking i mattered to you. god damn it!

Edward: what? you dont think i deserve a response as to why you bullshitted me for these past couple of years? or are you too busy fucking around with your other toys?

Edward: HELLO! ID LOVE TO KNOW WHY BULLSHITTED ME SO MUCH FOR SO LONG! HELLO!

Edward: PULL WHO'S EVER COCK OUTTA YOUR MOUTH AND ANSWER ME PLEASE!

Edward: yeah, didnt fucking think you had a reason.

Edward: just one more regret in my life. goodbye then Sasha, enjoy your life without me guilt tripping you or burdening you again.

Here is where he started calling me. I didn't answer. He called at least once between each o the following texts.

Edward: hmph. guess i didnt matter that much then. fine.

Edward: ... so ignoring me. fun. and here i was trying to salvage something, but i guess not then. enjoy yourself now .

Edward: my last attempt at salvage sasha. tonight or never. and seriously you will never hear from me again unless i get some kind of semblance to an explanation.

Edward: i merely wish to know why ive been bullshitted by the one person i actually trusted. why? if no answer then a permanent fairwell.

Edward: well then, you have fun now. goodbye sasha and take care, sicne you only want one... no wait many things. use a condom now. bye.

Edward: ill be sure to erase any way of us contacting each other again. facebook, phone number, everything. enjoy yourself now.

Edward: I KNOW YOUR BUSY FUCKING AROUND BUT AFTER EVERYTHING WE'VE BEEN THROUGH AND YOU'VE PUT ME THROUGH I DESERVE AN EXPLANATION! I DESERVE CLOSURE OF SOME SORT!

Edward: so when your done getting your fill, it be at lest decent of you to explain. if you gave even an ounce of fuck about me... ever. then at least give me that.

Edward: do you really not give a flying fuck about me enough to at least give me that?!? id like how you hurt me to not destroy me more than necessary, so how bout it?

Edward: fine, ill just do the one thing i knoe will curb broken feelings. forget i asked anything of you. ever.

Edward: could you take who's ever cock out of your mouth for a second to fucking talk to me? im hurting here in more ways than one.

The last message was left at 2:48 am.
And then he abandoned the text messages in favor of voicemails.

"I still believe I deserve some kind of fucking explanation from you goddammit. I mean, fuck, I poured almost a fucking decade into trying to be with you, just to have you fuck me over, hell, worse than you've ever done. And why? It's nice to know how much you actually give a fuck about me. Yknow I really thought if anyone would be honest and not bullshit me, it woulda been you."

"Could you stop being a bitch for like five fucking minutes? Maybe? Or not, which fucking ever. God... damn. I cannot believe you did this again. Oh I am so fucking stupid. Wow."

When I threw my phone and went into my room, I couldn't hold back the tears. I was so angry. And so hurt. And felt ridiculously alone. They were the exact same feelings I used to have when ex hit and/or screamed at me. I just wanted to curl up into a little ball. I could tell myself, intellectually, that he was being childish, that he was just trying to get a rise out of me, but emotionally, he was beating me down. It was working. I sent out a few frantic texts and clung to my computer, hoping I'd find someone online who I could talk to who might not think I'm a life-ruining whore. Thank god, the Pilot was on. I had to reboot my computer, but then we started Skyping.

I still feel bad for unloading so heavily on him. He actually saw me crying (and the requisite coping mechanism, drinking), and I'm sure I was blubbery and not making any sense as he tried desperately to reason with me. But he was amazing. He stayed on Skype with me for well over two hours. Making me laugh, plotting Edward's demise... and telling me not to answer every time Edward called me. The final count was 26 times, the last one at about 315am.

Roomie also happened to be online in New Zealand, so she repeated the things I'd said to her the night before about our pasts not defining us and there being nothing wrong with being who we are. Again, it's one of those things I knew, intellectually, but my irrational emotions were winning over. At one point, she asked me how I was feeling about the whole thing, and I just said "i feel like a whore who won't ever be loved." This was her response:
"I admire you so much for how comfortable you are with your sexuality and how fearless you always are. Like you said, you shouldn't let anyone make you feel like shit for the things in your past. They're just things you've done, they're not who you are. As for never being loved, I love you, so you know that's not true. I know that there is someone out there that is amazing and worthy of you, and you'll find them because you are amazing. You have this energy that sucks people in. You deserve to be happy, and I know you will find overwhelming happiness."

And it helped.

A couple hours after the Pilot and I had started talking, Friend logged on to AIM as well. (I'd texted him asking if he was around.) The three of us chatted as they made more plans for Edward's destruction, and did their best to convince my intoxicated, emotional ass that I wasn't a whore and that I was loved. They did an amazing job. Some of it was reason, some of it was emotional appeal, mixed in with a lot of reminding me that they both love me. When it was becoming apparent that Edward wasn't going to let up (and I, in my stubborness, wasn't going to turn off my phone), the Pilot suggested he call me and we take a walk together. (Virtually, of course.) I put shoes on, but then remembered that it isn't particularly safe to walk around alone at 3am in my neighborhood, not to mention it was 45 degrees and I was already shivering from the drinking... But I still called him, and then we dialed in Friend, and I curled up in my bed.

It was so soothing to hear their voices. And hearing them together, it was like we were all actually together, back with the witty banter. The only thing that could have made it better were if they were actually there with me, because if they were, I know I would have been getting more cuddling and love than I'd even know what to do with.

Bear checked in periodically through the evening, although he was out doing things and so didn't get the worst of my meltdown. He did, however, send me the song he said he chose for me (after my selecting "My life would suck without you" for him. Here it is:


The Pilot and Friend stayed on the phone with me until 4am, when I promised I'd go to sleep. I thanked them, not knowing how I would have coped if I hadn't had them there for me. I told them I love them, they reminded me they love me, too. And I believed them. And didn't feel so worthless anymore.

I got up to get ready for bed and couldn't help but look at my facebook. Edward had sent me a message, but this time, reading it didn't make me crumble. I think my boys got through to me. In any case, here's the message:
"... Thank you for helping realize how fucking ignorant i was over you. Its been so long since i've had my heart broken i almost forgot how much it really hurts. Hope this whole thing makes you a bit happiier. Enjoy your life sasha, without me. You didnt lose me, i lost you. Goodbye and thanks again, i promise i wont allow myself to be so fucking naive again."

And the only thing I could think, was how much more I WILL enjoy my life without him. And how incredibly lucky I am to have so many people who love me. And are willing to give up their friday night to console me, thousands of miles away though I may be. The Pilot called me this morning to make sure I was alive and in one piece (he'd seen the worst of it... I think I scared him a little. I'm sorry for that, dear.). Edward called me again right after the Pilot did, and just left me an empty voicemail.

So I've published everything here as a way of purging it all. It's deleted from my phone, from my inbox... He's deleted from my life. It feels good. I have more than enough love in my life, and thanks to those people, I even think I might deserve some of it. And I'm pretty confident I didn't deserve how Edward treated me. I didn't lie to him, although he begs to differ. And actually, reading through all this, I can't exactly find the point where I did anything wrong. Where I lied to him or broke him or anything. If anyone else can, I'd love to know.

In the meantime, though, I'm going to go back to revelling in my wonderful life, full of incredible people who make it worth living. Thank you to all of you. I love you very, very much.

Sasha.

I am a greedy whore.

No, really.

I hadn't been able to sleep on the second leg of my flight. I was too jittery and excited and just couldn't stop smiling. I must have looked like an idiot, a shit-eating grin on my face as we touched down at the airport just after midnight. But I knew Friend was waiting for me at the airport and that the Pilot would be there momentarily to pick us up. I nearly sprinted off the plane and to the train to baggage claim. (Wow, that was a lot of unintentional rhyming.) I found Friend sitting on a bench, a giant backpacking pack at his feet. As calmly as I could (as if he didn't know how excited I was to be there and seeing him), I walked up to him and said something stupid like "hey, don't I know you?" There were hugs, and we called the Pilot, who rolled up shortly thereafter. We decided midnight meals were in order, and after an unsuccessful effort to find an open Village Inn, settled for Denny's. (Which, by the way, were springing up like weeds... I think the final count was 8 or 9 in the same stretch of state?) The snarky, witty, nerdy conversation ensued basically immediately. I've known both boys for years, and while they've kept better touch with one another consistently than I have, I feel like I fit seamlessly into their friendship. It's a nice feeling. Of course, we tend to be very silly when we all get together, and most conversations eventually end up reduced to naked and/or sex jokes. Which is also awesome.

We had to drive for about an hour to get back to the Pilot's apartment, meaning it was somewhere around 2am. For some ridiculous reason, we decided to nerd out and watch Firefly. And drink rum. The Pilot is part pirate, and as such, LOVES rum. He was starting to devise some kind of drinking game involving taking a drink every time a character swore without really doing so, but he was basically the only one playing. Friend and I each had maybe a glass of rum by the time the Pilot had three and was relatively sauced. From some kind of semi-fateful misunderstanding, I'd told the Pilot ahead of time that we could all just share his bed. And, seeing as how both Friend and the Pilot are straight (or at most hetero-flexible, to borrow Friend's phrasing), and because, yknow, I'm a cuddle whore, I climbed into the middle of the bed. And then things got interesting.

I should mention that, in general, Friend and I are very silly with one another. Especially when it comes to sex. It's one of my favorite things about him, not only does he make me laugh, but he does so at exceedingly appropriate times and is excellent at diffusing a tense situation and helping me put things in perspective. As such, the sex we have is lighthearted and fun - which doesn't make it any less hot or memorable, but does set it apart from most other partners I've had.

In classic fashion, as I was lying between the two boys, Friend made some comment about how it was silly that I was wearing a shirt, since I had perfectly good breasts that shouldn't be hidden. Or something to that effect. I just giggled, and without much convincing, shed my shirt. At which point, I had a hand on each breast - one belonging to each boy. Friend made another joke, and started kissing my neck, biting my earlobe... pointing out to the Pilot that he should do the same and see what kind of reaction it elicited. They made the requisite snarky, cocky comments when my breathing became audibly louder. Hands started running up and down my body. Friend and the Pilot have very different touches, and it was electrifying feeling the two sensations simultaneously. As I've come to expect, Friend's touch is softer, more sensual. The Pilot, running his hands up and down the right side of my body, had a stronger touch - it seemed more urgent, hungrier. Even before anyone had moved his hands below my waist, my body was buzzing. Friend turned my face to his, both his hands on my jaw, and kissed me. So began my first boy-girl-boy threesome. And the fulfillment of a fantasy I've had for years.

(On a side note, I've started noticing that perhaps having one's lovers read one's blog is a good plan. It's a good way for them to take note of what you do and don't like, without having to burden oneself with actually telling them... *snicker*)

The Pilot knew Friend and I have been together, and I'm not sure he was originally sure how he would fit into the scenario. So I turned to him, and kissed him, too. And I have to say that in that moment, I started to feel a little like a sex goddess. That's probably an entirely unearned title, but it's how I felt. Understandably, I think, given that I had two men basically worshipping me. It's hard not to feel pretty fucking hot.

Friend, for his part, kept the tone characteristically light, which I think sometimes bugged the Pilot, who takes sex much more seriously. (Again, something that was evident even in the way they touched me.) My style is probably something of a combination of the two - I can certainly roll with either, and it was a fascinating experience having the two combined. I'd love to say I played some crucial role in mediating between the two, but the truth is I was so flabergasted by what was happening that I probably wasn't much help at all. I just kept floating higher and higher, existing on some other plane where things like this actually happen.

Throughout the entire encounter, Friend emerged as the kind of leader, or perhaps the director. He and I don't do much with a dom/sub dichotomy (although he's usually in charge, and has no problem pinning my hands down or pulling my hair to put me where he wants me), but he stepped into this quiet dominance part in this situation. I think some of it was, as we hadn't discussed anything about this with all three of us, we were kind of improvising and needed someone willing to direct things in some sense. And I think some of it was, for all that I suspect the Pilot has quite a bit of a dom personality buried in him, he was still a little unsure about what was and wasn't allowed. And I will admit that it was lovely to just sit back and enjoy, totally absorbed in the sensations, knowing that Friend was looking out for me and knows me so well that I can trust him completely. So things progressed.

Both guys went down on me - which is a big deal for me, as it's something I'm not exceptionally comfortable with. Of course, like most of the things that night, I was a little too blissed out to be self-conscious. Which, again, was a nice change of pace. And again, getting the undivided attention of two men at the same time doesn't hurt a girl's ego, either. At one point, Friend got up and came back with ice cubes, which melted on my overheated skin accompanied by my whimpers and squirming. Friend would periodically look at me and just shake his head, saying, "You are SO spoiled." I'd smile and giggle out, "Oh, I know. It's awesome."

Somewhere about three hours in (yes, THREE HOURS), the actual sex began. I don't recall exactly how the arrangement came to be (then again, most of the evening wasn't planned), but I ended up facing Friend while the Pilot fucked me from behind, spoon-style. Wow. What a mind-fuck. And talk about a very strange way to be submissive. Making eye contact with your partner while you're being fucked by someone else... I'm not even sure I can verbalize the sensation. I felt empowered, sexy, desired, while at the same time feeling very vulnerable and submissive and even a little objectified (in a good, consensual kind of way). Looking at Friend, it was like I was asking his permission, even though he'd obviously already granted it. Again, he would take my face in his hands, kiss me deeply, pull me back into the moment when I was floating away. He does that sometimes. Usually right when I need him to.

And there was the separate sensation of pleasure coming from the Pilot, fucking me. He knew what he was doing. It felt fantastic. I love being fucked from behind, and it had been a long time since I'd had spooning sex, although it's one of my favorites when it works right. And oh, was it working right. His hands were gripping at my hips, pulling me into him, and I know my breathing (more likely panting at this point) was synching up with his thrusts. He came quietly, and we both let out a deep breath. He rolled onto his back, and we all spaced out a little on the bed to start the collective come-down.

The details from there are a little fuzzy. It was definitely a different kind of come-down, and I'm pretty sure I started giggling insanely. (Something that became standard fare for the week we spent together... the boys took to calling it my midnight cat crazies... cat owners will get it.) Eventually, we fell asleep, me still in between both the boys, each of my arms twisted with one of theirs. And I slept well... Sweet dreams weren't even needed. I had just lived one.

If the things I fantasize about keep living up to my expectations, I might have to reevaluate my chronic pessimism.

And as for the title here? It became a running joke for the rest of the week, that I was a greedy whore, just letting the boys pamper me like that. And really, they were right. I just can't promise I'll be changing anytime soon if these are the experiences that trait gets me.

Coming back

I apologize for my absence of late - I've just spent the past week on a combined birthday/spring break vacation, and I must admit, blogging was one of the furthest things from my mind. Friend flew out from home, and I flew south from school to stay with a mutual friend, who we'll call the Pilot. We we spent the week surrounded by sun, sand, more than a little rum, a non-stop soundtrack of 80s music, and oh yeah, a whole lot of sex.

I have a ridiculous amount of gushing/updating to do, and all that will come in the next few days... In the meantime, here's an example of a strikingly appropriate piece of the vacation soundtrack...

Love and non-monogamy.

I've spoken to a few people, and received a few comments here that have led me to think that I've given the impression that I think love and non-monogamy are mutually exclusive. I don't think that.

Not at all, actually.

I am admittedly young and as such necessarily new to expressly non-monogamous relationships. But even my limited experience thus far has been so incredibly positive that it's made me re-think my automatic imaginings of my future as a monogamous one. I have been happier, relationship-wise, in the past year or two that I've embraced polyamory then I've been in quite some time. Some of that is due to a series of particularly wonderful partners - some of whom I'm still with. Overall, they've been honest and warm and welcoming and I've learned things from them about myself and the world and life and love.

Specifically in the case of Friend, probably my most consistent partner (in that we're entirely open with one another and continue to care about each other even when we're not in the same place, and then fall back into our old routine when we are), I have never felt second-rate. I know that he has other partners, and he knows that I do as well. We talk about them. We talk about someday maybe introducing some of them to each other. I have never felt cheated out of time with him or neglected. The terms of our relationship are very clear.

And we tell one another that we love each other on a daily basis. It might not be that epic, fairy-tale OH EM GEE I LOVVVVEEEE YOU style, but it is very real. I love him very much. And I believe he feels the same about me. It's a simple matter of fact. And I'm happy when I'm with him.

And I'm happy when I'm with my other partners. I'm happy when I'm with Jacob. I know for a fact that he loves me. And I love him back. He's been there for me through quite a bit, and he brings something unique to my life. My family likes him, and that makes me happy, although that's not something I ever thought I would care about. He's sweet, and an excellent cuddler, and indulges me in all kinds of wonderful ways. Actually, he tends to spoil me. Sometimes I can't handle it, and I know that actually, in this relationship, it's usually me who's the one hesitant to say I love you. But those are my own issues.

So no, I don't see my non-monogamy as excluding love. And I don't see falling in love with someone as an automatic declaration of monogamy. In fact, it's more likely that the more I cared about someone, the more likely I would be to be honest and open with them about not being monogamous. I've cheated before, and hurt people I really love. I don't ever want to do that. This is the best way I've found to do that.
"I'm sorry I have to say it, but you look like you're sad - your smile is gone, I noticed it bad. The cure is if you let in just a little more love... I promise you this - a little's enough."


It hasn't been flawless, but no life, no relationship, ever is. But instead of saying that non-monogamous people are lacking in love, I argue the opposite - we're the lucky ones in that we're more surrounded by love than most. I can think of two, three, maybe even four people right away who I love in a romantic sense and who love me back. And there's no conflict with that. How can that not be real love?

Cabin fever

Thanks to my annual bout of bronchitis, I've spent the past week indoors. With the exception of staggering my way to the occasional class - which I only have three days a week, one of which I missed - I've been in my apartment. Bear came by to make sure I was alive, but other than that and my roommates delicately trying to keep from waking me while I was sleeping 18 hours a day, I've had no human contact.

And it's driving me batty. Granted, at this point, I'm through a five-day long antibiotics stint (and the forced sobriety that accompanies it), but I'm still hacking pretty healthily. I suppose now, it's less of a body-wracking cough, but still not fun.

But I don't care. Because I NEED to get out of the house. I almost snapped while talking to a professor today. Thanks to my cough-syrup-induced coma I didn't return her email for a few days, although when I did, it had the missing project attached to it. I understand this is less-than-professional behavior, although she did know in advance how ill I was (and I'd gotten the appropriate extension), the class is nonetheless a bullshit class where I'm the only senior and we do things like spend two hours discussing how to properly cite in APA format. Which I've known how to do since I was 14. Not to mention, we're journalists and therefore don't use APA for anything but bullshit academic projects. Anyway. She decided to pull me aside after class and scold me on how such a long response time would never be allowed in the professional world. I gritted my teeth and took it, but then she went off about how, were she my boss, she would have been calling me and calling me... The woman has my phone number. She could have called me. I left the room fuming more than I should have been, and had to spend an extra few minutes standing outside in the blowing lake-effect snow just to cool off.

I realized, after the fact, that my internal overreaction is almost certainly a product of my being cooped up for far too long. (And might have been some pent-up emotion about the fact that we spent the entire class talking about how people whose family members have been murdered do or don't process and heal. My teeth were hurting from clenching my jaw so hard.) But also, I'm co-dependent. I've owned it. But good lord, I didn't realize how quickly I'd become accustomed to seeing my boys each weekend. I really missed not just the company, but them specifically. I saw one of my closest friends (and the psuedo-ringleader of one of my groups of boys) today in class and spent the whole time thinking about what I'd missed out on this weekend. Which makes me question just how much of my codependence I'm really OK with. I don't want to be non-functional when I'm on my own.

I suppose I'm not, really. I'm going to go ahead and blame this on the fact that I'm terrible at being sick and alone. It upsets me on a pretty fundamental level. And then there's the less complex reason of - I really have fun with these boys. It's more fun than I have doing a lot of things, but infinitely better than being drugged up and trapped inside my long, narrow room. Which increasingly resembled a prison cell the more time I spent inside it.

Anyways. I spent the evening cranky - although it was helped by my Queer Writing course and subsequent speech by David Valentine, who was well-spoken and intelligent and interesting. He's best-known for his book Imagining Transgender. I haven't read the entire book, though I have worked through a few chapters. Dense, fascinating material.

I came home to find my roommates had made dinner - including a special portion for me. (I've got an obnoxious food allergy that they very kindly accomidate.) Lovely surprise. We each take turns cooking, but there's no particular schedule. But that helped with the foul mood. And then we watched Jeopardy - a strange but enjoyable ritual where we pretend we're smarter than the people on the show. Then it was on to House, M.D. I don't normally watch, but this show featured a child who was born intersexed, and we'd just been discussing it in my Queer Writing class. Took the opportunity to educate my roommates and make clear - once again - my stance on some homo/queer/transphobic statements one of them was throwing around.

And now I'm holed up in my room again. This time chatting with Friend and our mutual friend, slowly working on plans for spring-break-slash-birthday-athon 09. I'm pretty excited.

And to top it all off? I'm listening to nothing but Blink-182 tonight. It's somehow strangely soothing. I think it might just appeal to the overly dramatic side of me that was reigning today. Nevertheless, punk-pop reminds me of high school, and how nice and simple my problems were then. Actually, no, that's a lie. My problems are simpler, easier to solve now. And less severe, for the most part. Does that seem backwards to anyone else?

a girl like that

It's been a long weekend.

Today, there was an article on the front page of the LA Times about my cousin who was murdered. It was well-written, though I wish they had quoted more sources, to get an idea about just how many people she touched. But there are some beautiful photos of her. And there are photos of the corner where she was murdered. I hadn't seen those yet. They aren't crime scene photos or anything of the like, but being able to visualize exactly where she was killed... that was harder than I imagined it would be.

Yesterday was the campus memorial for my classmate who committed suicide while we were in Spain together. Again, hard to see photos of her, hear people speak of her, see frat boys in tears and know she isn't there to comfort them. Or any of us.

And the day before that, I fucked my best friend here at school. We'll call him Bear, for a nickname I call him. Usually, that wouldn't be such a big deal, but he and I have a different friendship than many of my others. For one, he wanted to save himself for marriage. He and I hooked up about a year ago - a night of kissing, nudity and some oral sex, but no intercourse - and he got a little weird after that. We joke about it sometimes. Then, while I was in Spain, he had sex with some girl. He knew her from before, but it was a rather spontaneous decision and, to quote him, he "just wanted to get it over with." He called me immediately after. International long-distance, on his cell phone. He didn't know how to process it. He said he didn't really enjoy it, and couldn't see what all the fuss was about. He said he now felt he could actually wait til marriage, and that sex just didn't matter.

Then, on Thursday, he came back to my apartment, as he often does when we go out drinking. (He's an RA and although he's 23, of course doesn't want his residents to see him drunk.) We climbed into my bed, like we usually do. And started kissing. Which is unusual for us. We weren't shit-faced drunk, and actually talked about it, first. And decided we were going to have sex. (Apparently, in his mind, the only thing making him wait at all was that he wasn't sure if I had any condoms.) And then we did. We got home at 2am, and went to bed at 730 in the morning. The sex itself was good. He liked when I took charge, which isn't something I usually do, but this time it felt right. And then he'd be in charge. You should see my neck - he leaves DARK marks. They're STILL black. And all over my neck, and my tits, and there are even a few bruises on my arms from his hands. I wasn't expecting that from him. In my mind, he was essentially a virgin - and in my experience, virgins aren't often so... forceful.

I know this isn't as graphic as I sometimes am. I think it's because I'm not totally comfortable with what happened yet. Well, not exactly with what happened, but more with what that means. We had the Talk today. He apologized for springing it on me when I was dealing with other things, but I knew it needed to happen. We talked through what we were feeling: He's hung up on the fact that he thinks he would actually like to date me, but his family (and he) has a problem with him dating a white girl, and he knows I'm bad at relationships, and we're both moving away in four months. And I'm not sure why things feel so different with him. I still don't want a boyfriend, but I have trouble being able to file him in the friends-with-benefits, or even lovers -who-I-love, file that people like Jacob and Friend fit so perfectly into. Things are more complicated with Bear.

So I still don't know what to do. For now, I'm listening to a lot of music. And still thinking about Kirsten, because I can't escape it. And it makes everything else seem less important. I called my parents today. My dad is funding a trip to the City next week and weekend so I can see my friends there, one of whom also knew Kirsten. I need to be away from school for a little bit. Be away from everything, be somewhere I feel fabulous. That means the City, for me. Or home. But the City is MUCH easier to get to. So I'll be heading there this Thursday. Hopefully when I come back, my head will be clear.

As my iTunes was on shuffle today, I stumbled upon this song, which I don't listen to much. But as soon as I heard it, I had to replay it four times, until I had all the words memorized. It seems to describe me so perfectly. There may be another post about my conversation with Bear, and about his honest questions as to why I believe I'm always the problem in every one of my relationships. It breaks my heart a little when he's so... naive, I guess. I just don't want to hurt him, too.





But I AM a girl like that.

HNT: NYE

Here is the first in a series of photos I took at and surrounding New Year's Eve 2009. Along with a new (and, I might add, teeny tiny) dress, I got new lingere as well. The bra was actually courtesy of one of my best girlfriends... Long story, but it worked out. So I finally have a pretty bra that fits right. Again, I've gone on other rants about the fact that it's really difficult to find bras which are actually PRETTY in anything bigger than a C cup. Stupid.

Anyway, so this is the first in the series, taken while getting ready for what became quite the evening. I had been texting with Edward for most of the day of and before, and he had told me he would come into to town... I had bought him a ticket for the club and everything, as he had PROMISED me he'd be there. He kept stalling and stalling, and finally, about 930 (it's about an hour to my place from the town he lives in), he simply stopped responding, which I've learned is code for "I'm being a pussy and avoiding you because I know I've let you down again." And apparently no amount of prompting about just WHAT he was missing out on... (Not just me, but my hot, and fellow single bisexual girl of a date) he didn't show.

Granted, it was his loss, and the night was one of the better New Year's Eves I've had. I had a great time pre-gaming with my date and her friends, we had a good time at the club, then went back to her house, picking up one of her boys en route. By about 3am, Friend was at her apartment, as well. There was a rather funny incident of a LOUD sack session with my date and her boy in her bedroom while Friend and I giggled on the couch in the next room. Eventually my date and her boy emerged semi-dressed, and my date curled up on the couch next to me. After the obligatory introductions, my date went back to making out with me. And then proceeded to have a conversation with Friend about whether or not I was a good kisser. Quite literally over me - she was on my left, and he was on my right. Thankfully for my ego, they decided I was a good kisser, and that the lip ring was an enjoyable feature. Of course, I'm not sure they would have said anything but kind things while I was there, but I suppose that's why they're good friends.

My date and her boy eventually went back to actually go to sleep in her bed, leaving Friend and I alone in her living room. At something like 430 in the morning. On New Year's... well, Day at that point. Clearly, there needed to be nakedness. I must say that I am quite the fan of Friend's tendency to pin me against the wall and remove my clothes. It's not as rough as some other people I sleep with, and I like that. It just fits so well with how we are with one another. And I love the trail of clothes that always end up left along the places we hang out. And of course, the ridiculousness that always follows the sex. I really enjoy the little, random things about our relationship. I haven't heard many complaints from him, either.

So, while my NYE was definitely Edward's loss, it wasn't mine. Or my date's. Or Friend's. A good night for all involved, if I do say so myself. Edward got what he deserved. So did we.

For the record (and the HNT), here's what Friend got:



HHNT!

The internet is for porn, and other random realizations.

This will, admittedly, be a disjointed post. I'm having three different conversations right now, all about similar things, but with different people. So maybe I'll just number the following grafs.

1. This evening, I learned rule 34 of the internet. After discussing the movie Coraline with Friend and a mutual friend (people are going to have to start getting fake-real names), and the beauty of real claymation, Friend asked if I thought there was claymation porn on teh interwebs. Well, even without applying rule 34, I found it. It isn't good, from what I found on a quick YouTube search, but it is pretty funny.

2. This led to a discussion of puppet sex - I mentioned Team America, he mentioned Avenue Q. Which I haven't actually seen all of, but have enough friends who are obsessed enough with Broadway musicals that I know most of the songs. I STILL have "The internet is for porn" stuck in my head.

3. And then I started chatting with my friend here at school about porn, which is always funny because he's quite sexually conservative, and while we have hooked up once and often share a bed, the sexual tension between us, in my opinion, is somewhat fabricated. Maybe it isn't from his end, but it isn't authentic from my opinion. And I'll admit that sometimes I do enjoy making him blush with my comfort of discussing sex.

4. Although as both Friend and Jacob have pointed out recently, while I have no problem discussing sexuality and sex in the more abstract, removed sense, actually discussing MY sexuality or the sex I'm having with a partner makes me terribly uncomfortable. I'm not sure if some of that, compared with how comfortable I am writing about sex here, or in other publications, has to do with my general higher level of confidence in print - I can proof what I write much more simply than proofing what I say. Nevertheless, I suppose it is a strange juxtaposition. Because I am hideously uncomfortable talking about sex while I'm having it. Even discussing my preferences or quirks makes me physically uncomfortable. So do fawning expressions of affection. Jacob knows that. Somehow, whenever we hang out, right before he leaves, he talks to me about how much he cares about me. And invariably, I end up with my back turned to him, hiding my eyes, which change color when I'm upset. I am, quite literally, physically uncomfortable. I suppose that's proof that I believe him, but it still makes me wonder if maybe there are some intimacy issues there. I wouldn't be all that surprised.

5. I was reading Essin' Em's blog, and I just LOVED this quote: "If you cannot laugh with the person you’re fucking with, then you’re fucking with the wrong person."I think it's brilliant. And as I was reading it, I was realizing that that's true with both the people I've slept with in the past few months. Friend and I's relationship is built almost entirely off our ability to be comfortable and laugh with each other (which includes the snarky, witty banter which I love so much). And Jacob is so ridiculous in his affection and, let's admit it, his indulgence of my fantasies and desires, that sometimes we also can't help but bust out laughing. I also tend to be a little disoriented after sleeping with him (from exhaustion and coming down and what not) which often leaves me as the one being ridiculous.

6. And the laughter is what was lacking from things with Edward. Who I have just let communication fade away with. There was no climactic "final scene" where I screamed at him for letting me down yet again. There was one very drunken and angry text message, but that was actually before he let me down this last time. I've simply stopped responding to him, on facebook, or text messages, or anything. And it's worth noting, for my own sake at least, that he has made all of one attempt to contact me, if it can be called that at all. (I'm not sure if a facebook "poke" counts for anything at all. Actually, no, I've decided that it isn't worth shit.) So maybe he's letting me go in the same way. I've finished the Twilight series, and I suppose that along with that ended my relationship with Edward. It seems fitting, I suppose. I won't say he'll never be in my life again, because he will, more likely than not, show up in a year trying to downplay how poor a friend he's been to me, but I'm not sure I'll be able to move past it. There's only so much a heart can take.

7. I have no female friends here at school. Literally, none at all. My roomates are both guys, and all of my close and even casual work and class acquaintances are men as well. I've always been a boy's girl, but this total lack of female companionship is something new. And a little strange. Generally, I like it, and it certainly facilitates things like three-pronged conversations about internet porn (although those aren't so out of place in my daily life anyway), but sometimes I do miss the girly-ness. And there's a notable lack of the queer women I was hanging out with before I went to Spain, although I'm hoping my involvement with the community here will bring me back into touch with them. My two best girl friends on this side of the country are both in the City right now, and I do plan on going to see them soon... my favorite artist is playing there in two weeks, and I need a break from the frozen tundra. And both my girl friends down there are decidedly feminine. One is even a full-blown, pink-wearing, blonde-haired blue-eyed sorority girl. Yes, I know that's reinforcing a stereotype, but she and The Texan, while I was in Spain, single-handedly made me reevaluate my condemnation of the university Greek system. Not too shabby. And, who knows, maybe I'll get to have coffee with the charming Roland Hulme while I'm there. What'cha say, friend?

8. I think that's the end of the randomness for now. For those of you who, by some miracle, are still reading, I appreciate it. I promise I'll get to work on more thought-provoking posts. I really am starting to turn on my brain for classes, but tomorrow is horseback riding, so that's where my head is now. God, I love riding. Stay warm, everyone.