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9:10 p.m. - September 07, 2006
Social interaction, nearly forgotten but most welcome
Was social tonight.

Did not wear a button-down shirt. Aside from sleeping and showering, I always wear a button-down or sweatshirt. Tonight I wore neither and it felt good, especially when I was complimented.

By a woman, but still.

So not feeling as ugly or undesirable as I normally do, a welcome respite from the quotidien.

I said yes to Brad and am going to some musical revue function, but only because I want to meet his friend Sean in person. I will not roll my eyes, doze, or feel my time was wasted by attending the revue; I will be open-minded and save the snide comments for myself alone. Broadway show tunes. I asked if this meant Les Mis and I was answered by stunned silence. You're too butch to be gay, an observation that tickles the funny bone because I'm as butch as a cardboard cutout of the original Rocky. But still, I do like hearing that, and do like Brad's interest in hooking up with me, even if it will never happen.

He is not my type. I can't define my type, but he is its antithesis. I do not prefer old or young or my age; I do not prefer tall or short; I do not prefer thin, average, heavy, or obese; I do not prefer blue or green to brown; I do not prefer blonde, brunette, or redhead; I do not prefer femme or straight-acting; wait, that is not accurate. Femme guys make me uneasy. But Brad is not femme other than he is a showtunes-singing, professional pianist who weights as much as my thumb and is wont to clap his hands when excited.

Er, that sounds pretty femme. So there - that's why I'm uninterested. Now I know.

It would be nice though to cuddle, to feel a warm body squirm under mine. Damn it, I want to fuck. Gimme pussy or gimme boy pussy, I don't care, I just want to slide into something hot and wet and remind myself I am alive, I can connect, I can be Present.

I am missing Alex II tonight. Damn that pesky horniness.

Another entry that lacks unifying structure, a point, lexical catharsis, revelation, or a call to arms.

But a call to hands. Yes, I'm off to masturbate and, in a moment of daring, reveal I am a two-hander.

This openness is shocking.

Good night.


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