1:14 a.m. - April 12, 2004
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Everything began when he showed me his underwear and I was intrigued. I'd climb up the fence and he'd be on the other side, pants undone, and would ask if I liked his underwear. I don't know if I responded. I was shy but didn't take my eyes off him. Later he began showing me his dick and shortly thereafter began masturbating while I watched. I think I was fascinated; my heart would beat erratically in my ears. I would bring him my own underwear to hold, my blue Batman or red Superman underoos, my tightie-whities. One afternoon I climed over the fence and went inside his house. When I think about this I feel bad.
It is one of those nights when the skin on my hands tingle from the Ajax and Formula 409.
I wonder occasionally whether I'll ever get over it. The residue is in my cells, that's how I visualize everything.
I broke up with Ryan II yesterday. Holding myself away from a guy frustrates me; not holding myself away scares me. I'm not fair for him. He was a nice guy about it, said he'd try to be more interested in bottoming so I'd have fewer - reactions - to intimacy. It's intimacy, period, that's the problem. Wonder if I'll be able to open up and let down my guard with a man, trust him implicitly and just let go. There's a refrain marching through my head, a ragtime beat and a piccolo, everything's fine on the outside and inside I'm melting. Discordant.
