5:13 p.m. - March 30, 2004
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I want a personal style. I'd like to wear flip flops in public if I felt like it. I want a pair of sunglasses. Always long-sleeve, button-down shirts with Dockers, a mindless uniform with sensible Sketcher shoes. Unexpectedly I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror and in the three second split between perception and understanding I thought how boring and it was me. I never wear t-shirts in public. Or shorts, unless I'm at the beach. I'm all about covering up and not being noticed, of falling between appreciation and finger-pointing can you believe what that guy's wearing?, that safe place of being wholly non-descript. The weight isn't the issue - even when I was skinny I was the same way. But the weight is on my mind - this morning I pulled on a pair of pants and you guessed it, my first thought was oh, these are the old ones but no. I was one of those guys who made fun of fat people a long time ago and now I'm gross. I tormented George - no, not George. Greg S. - every day when changing for P.E.; I'd grab his boobs and tell him to run more often with a training bra. And now I'm heading there myself. It is like paying penance.
Last night at group I talked about what happened at the juvenile hall in Albuquerque a long time ago. I think I alluded to it here but that was back when I wasn't so open about things. Spec wasn't the first guy to whom I gave head; the first blowjob I gave was to one of the guys who worked in the office at the juvenile hall. I was 15. One of the other guys in the group asked how I felt during or after, and I couldn't describe it last night. Very, very confused but oddly, I don't recall feeling ashamed, unlike the way I did the first time I did the same act with Spec. I'm glad I'm beginning to open up.
