9:31 p.m. - August 10, 2003
And then I wonder if I'm being manipulated.
He's never been the one who pursues and is frustrated by my hot - cold - near - far routine; it makes him feel rejected, not good enough. And at work he wants to be a field agent and instead is an office analyst, his requests denied and I do not understand how this feels, this golden boy shines and organizes his stars into neat rows. If we could talk like this more often - but not daily, because that's just too much - my head would be in the clouds and all would be well. I love him, readers, I always have yet it's not right and maybe life is about learning one's boundaries, learning what is attainable and what isn't, and how not only to accept these inconsistencies but to discern them a mile away. We share that same weakness inside, the fear of trusting and vulnerability and I know his terror of being queer and masking it all with hypermasculinity, and I love him for it because try as he does, it's not quite enough and that is a powerful feeling. I've fucked him twice today and he can make a very good bottom.
Sigh. I am turning into the consumate gay avatar, aren't I, reducing things to sex, weighing emotions on the scale of top and bottom. This saddens me.