leftunspoken's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- like a helicopter I couldn't begin at the beginning if I tried. I'm not even certain I could end at the ending. So this will be one of those random entries that reads just like life...messy and undone and unwanted and leaving you a little dizzy with the desire to lie your head down. New boy's back. Scratchy-voiced from lack of sleep and with a brand new bad hair cut that makes him look even younger than he is. I'm already uncertain, did you have to make him look 12? Is that a sign, Lord? Wearing his tags, which he's never done around me. I didn't like them...they got caught on the sailboat dangling from my belly ring when he slid up to kiss my neck. Stupid U.S. government almost made me bleed. I cried out a little and said "stop" pretty forcefully. He got a crushed look on his face, expecting me to make him stop kissing me I guess. He seemed relieved when I started detangling us and explained. It felt like Fear Factor - trying to feel which way we were caught without being able to look down. Just a thought: Are people ever truly detangled? He wore a new cologne. He didn't smell like him. The significance of which I'm sure escapes him. Men never realize how important to me is their scent. When you are near me your scent becomes the only thing I want, you are warmth and love and life. When you are far from me, I can conjure you with it, close my eyes and feel wrapped in you - safe and loved and invincible just remembering your scent. When you smell new, I no longer feel safe. It's like starting all over again. You'll never get laid that way, darling. Somewhere deep down where fear and love live, you'll be someone new each time and I won't ever feel safe enough in your arms to want you. It's an illusion, I know...safe, home, want. It's a trick, but at the very least you could perform it correctly. The rabbit comes out of the hat. Nobody wants to see a bunny sawed in half. Bad magician. You were big in my hand. Huge in my mouth. I thought you probably would be. Some guys just have that 'big dick' look. Then others totally surprise you. You're too thin. I have this overwhelming desire to fatten you up and rub your back or read you bedtime stories each night while you fall asleep. I've always been looking for daddy...when did that switch? I don't like thin guys. You're strong though. You pick me up into your lap like I weigh nothing, drag me across the bed by my legs, yank me up against you. I love that. So it's okay if you're thin. You made happier noises when I rubbed your back than you did when I sucked your dick. I'm not sure how to take that. I think I'm insulted. I think I'm paranoid. You have to rub my back tonight. It's my turn. Will you pop my back like you did last time? That was so cool. You're so cool. Pretty surfer boy. I don't like the tattoo on your chest. The one on your back is nice. The other one is too black and somehow reminds me of a fancy door knocker. You left last night. After drinking the sweet tea I apologized for, before you explained you liked it like that. And I stayed up until after 3 a.m. because I couldn't sleep. My head spun endless...like the way your body works to stop bleeding after an injury. I wish I worked on an assembly line. I want sameness. One thing in my life that is predictable. The soothing hum, hum, hum of again. It's been so long since anyone was familiar. I miss knowing someone so completely. Everyone is always new and I always feel like I'm auditioning. I'm me, I'm not faking anything, but it's terrifying to try out for the part and not be what they wanted. (I just realized the words sound familiar...look back to when I left...it was about not being what anyone wanted.) It's so heartbreaking. Forget assembly lines. I wish I worked on a ranch. I miss outdoors. I'm better suited to dust and manure and horseback and yelling at stubborn cattle. When you left I kissed you goodbye, shut the door, and curled on the couch. I put my left hand to my lips (one of my self-soothing reflexes), and discovered it smelled like your skin. Not all your skin...It smelled like that perfect soft skin I'd been stroking, my hand stopping at the place where it bumped my lips then sliding back down. I wanted to never ever wash my hand. I wanted to go to work like that. Sit in my office like that. Drink my coffee holding the little styrofoam cup with that hand. Speak to people and behave appropriately all the time knowing that my left hand smelled like your beautiful dick. I stayed there watching but not comprehending the television, with my hand over my mouth and nose. Trying to chloroform myself. It worked I think. I washed my hand anyway. You sort of have to. Life goes on. But I keep putting my hand to my face still. Pretending. 8:32 a.m. - August 09, 2004 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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