12:12 p.m. - October 30, 2003
I am not cute when I blush.
Taking a big chance, but I'm going to ask him out on a date. Not a suck-neck or fuck-buddy metaphor, but a date, perhaps a movie and dinner. Thought about this last night and realized I've never once asked a guy out; in my limited experience, I'm the one asked after, and I never want to be together in public. I think with this guy, I wouldn't mind going to a movie with him, getting to know him better.
All of this seems foreign, yet like coming home, as if I were a missionary kid long ago coming back to the field and finding everything different, yet the same and knowing my way through the brush. It is a pleasant feeling.
How odd to see myself engaging in the behavior I condemn and judge: If the sex is good, you keep my interest and I'll come back. It wasn't the sex (oral is oral), or even the kissing - or even his broad shoulders - it was the cuddling and laughing, talking about camping and hockey though he didn't know much about the latter. No, it was how easily he accepted boundaries, that's what it is. He asked if he could, I said no, he said okay. That feels great and makes me smile.
Tangent: Living the hypocritical life of church on Sunday and being gay the rest of the week is becoming much easier. This makes me sad.