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7:41 a.m. - August 13, 2003
I don't know what this one's about
Today is the last day of the course and think of me at 3:00 when the final exam is collected and I can say I'm outta here and my tenure as Assistant Visiting Professor - - - - - comes to a close. I'll be here through Friday, however, for meetings and office-clearing out, and then I fly back to California Sunday morning. I miss this place already and recognize that when I'm here I feel great, I walk briskly, I smile easily, I'm on top of things. Either I'm happy or the need for facade-building is pre-eminent and I always surpass expectations. I'm uncertain whether I will return next summer though it's a given on the part of my dean, but my having left the program will eventually be brought to light and I'd rather blaze-by-magnesium than be shuttled away with people shaking their heads and saying Didn't even finish the Ph.D..

This weekend Spec and I are going somewhere - it's a surprise, he says - and knowing him, it's to a beach. Rehoboth? (Delaware) Virginia Beach? (4 hours away) North Carolina? (6 hours away)... there are many from which to choose. If you recall last summer, it was beach after beach but I don't mind as long as it's not touristy and overcrowded. Mountains would be nice; there is only so much flat earth one can tread and I'm sorry, but the little bumps of dirt called hills and mountains here simply do not compare to the Rockies or the coastal chain outside my window back home.

As usual, I've been thinking, examining the sore spots and if there aren't any, making fresh ones. Is it a weakness to think Spec and I can pull it off this time, or is it a strength in that I am not so cowed I run away? Or is that perhaps the wrong way to look at the issue? Once a hitter, always a hitter - is this a permanent designation? Or is it a combination, less like sweet / sour chicken and more like yin and yang? He has been gentle and caring and I like - okay, so it's stronger than that - what I've seen thus far and it just feels good. And that quiet voice that never rests, the one that induces thinking when all I want to do is cuddle or stand on the balcony at night and listen to the fireflies, runs like a ripple across my brain wondering How long will this last?

Nota bene: I find myself embarrassed each time I run into the housemate. Does he think I'm a fag? Jesus, look at that; the guy catches me giving head to Spec and I wonder if he thinks I'm a fag? Isn't there a distinction between gay and fag? There is, there must be. Anyway, last night Spec and I were in my bedroom cuddling when we heard him come in and before I knew it Spec was whispering in my ear, It's my turn and we were loud. And taking it was simple, as if I've kept that real estate primed with daily rubdowns and toys and better yet, no anxiety, no palpitations, nothing but no-thinking sex.

So now, thinking about it, it isn't that I feel degenerate for gay sex itself but rather for the thoughts and memories it invokes and that is an important distinction and one long overdue. Of course, this doesn't mean the gay slut can come out to play with just anyone on the team, but with Spec it can. I mean after all, how often does one have a huge cock to play with and a hairy chest (that he trims... I find that hot hot hot) and who wants to be with you and just you?

I'm good, in a great mood.

Must run.


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