12:03 a.m. - September 30, 2004
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If you say I'm adorable, I give you the prize, even if your cock is uncut, your kissing uncomfortable, and I feel like a cheap whore bought for the price of a dinner and a few easily-said words.
Not all is lost; now I know what an uncut dick looks (smells?) like and the next time I see one, I won't think it's a leg-warmer on the wrong appendage. I also know that when a man is recent-breakup-lonely even I become attractive, and when I am lonely sentimental expressions converge into me giving head and being called a name that is not my own and not minding at the moment.
He said I could spend the night if I wanted but it was better I left, better I became angry at myself in the solitude of the Hertz, better I pledge no more dinner-and-sex, no more smiling when I'm complimented, no more nourishing the craving for not-aloneness. My third one night stand, if that is the proper nomer given I've never slept over with any of them. A blow and go, a nut here and there, a handjob, blowjob, a fuck if the confluence of desire and safety overrides the alarm signals. Just sex, right, pure recreation and not something to be ashamed about. But you know what I thought about often? I wished I could have been more at ease and comfortable being intimate with Spec; had I been, he would not have hit me and things may be different today.
A trick. Did he trick me or he I, or is it mutually reflexive? I am a fag no better than the worst; I swallow and have a hole that aches and I still don't feel adorable.
