7:31 p.m. - January 18, 2004
He used the boyfriend label today and that bothers me. I am not in love with him, there is no upheaval of heart and viscera when I think of him, I do not think about adoption and white picket fences with him standing at the door (painted a deep burgundy with black iron knocker affixed). I like spending time with him watching movies and listening to him breathe, I enjoy his laugh and biting his nose, talking about travel and music, and I enjoy being intimate with him, but I am not in love.
If anything it is relief from loneliness, a sudden warmth when you move your feet to the warmer part of the bed. It is burgeoning confidence, a growing list of entries under heading: What I Enjoy Doing With Men, a sojourn but not home port.
I am jaded enough Ė hell, be honest, Jason Ė I am resistant enough Ė to keep my cards close as if every man is Spec or the best I can get is someone who admires my cocksucking skills because men are like that.
The acknowledged flip-side is that I probably wouldnít recognize love if I was surrounded 24/7. That may not be so bad, either: Have a group of friends (social network), casual sex (physical closeness, relief), a dog at home (companionship), an imperturbable attitude (I donít need love because my life is too full as it is). That could work.