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8:33 p.m. - February 07, 2004
There is nothing to say
Been on the phone for about two hours with Spec. His father died Thursday and heís a mess and damn it, I let him get to me. And is this selfish to be thinking of my own reaction towards him instead of his own loss and grief, saddened for him and angry because the things he wants to say only come out when heís overwhelmed emotionally, things not just to me but things he canít say to his dad. And I feel awful because there are similar things I want to tell my own father but donít for the same reasons, and one day will I be as torn up like Spec? I felt guilty when he accused me of leaving him the same way his father did and I began to yell because he knows why Iím not up in Seattle being his bitch and letting him walk all over me; the time we spent together was good for him, bad for me and when he protested that he was patient and loving and kind more than any other guy would have been in similar circumstances with a frigid cocktease, and how fucking me was a favor he made me cry and thatís what he liked best and did well and I say fuck that. And Iím sitting here right now angry and hot and feeling guilty that I think of myself when I shouldnít but who says I have to give a fuck about him anymore. I donít care if heís hurting and feeling alone and canít talk to anybody else. Thatís a lie and I wish I were there with him, holding him tight and letting him cry with me. This is the Spec I love even now when heís open and honest and drops the macho routine and we talk about the good times and when he shares why he was attracted to me I admit it, I think I made a wrong series of decisions to leave because whoís going to feel the same way for me again? I am too jaded and cynical and distrustful, thatís what it is, to let down my guard the way I did with him and look what happened, I turned into some faggot queer for a guy who hit me and treated me like shit and still I couldnít get away until the situation just got as bad as I could take it and I blamed myself and I pushed away and were he close Iíd run over right now. Yeah you move on Jason, you dumb fuck, you move right on to bigger and better things and if I had balls Iíd admit I still want to be with him despite it all. My heart wells up when I think of him, when I think of all his fronts and see that boy inside Ė Jesus Christ, the mawkishness reigns Ė and the times heíd hold me when I woke up from my dreams and heíd sing to me, wouldnít go back to sleep so I would shut my eyes, he didnít laugh or make me feel stupid when I told him about the bogey-man. How can two extremes be in the same guy? We would talk about his father once in a while when I brought it up and he shrugged it off, but later heíd hug me and whisper in my ear thanks for talking and listening and that was sufficient. And that night we were lost in North Carolina on some backwoods road at midnight driving around some alligator swamp desperate for a motel or gas station, that night opened up, explained what it was like graduating from high school and college and my father not being there, and how I told people I didnít care at all when thatís what I wanted the most and he cried like a little kid and I loved him for it. Thatís the Spec I love, the one whoíd grin and be daring and hold my hand. Itís not his looks or his job or all that and it kills me he doesnít value the inside parts maybe the same way it should kill me that I donít see my inside parts. I love him, I do and I donít understand why or whatís wrong with me that I do and it angers me.

Thank you for listening.


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