Tuesday, October 02, 2001

good morning beautiful

What's that word for post-sex depression? Barely 5 minutes after he left, and he was here for over 3 hours, I was sad again. Not that it didn't pop up during the evening we spent together. After we took our first "break" - stopped the kissing and slurping, and just held each other, looking into each other's eyes with those silent questions, wondering....... I didn't pry, didn't ask him his story, just felt myself drift off into "this feels almost as good as.....(last boyfriend)...... but I don't want it to feel that good, not now, not yet"
Then I tried to get back under his balls, buring my thoughts as deep as my face would let me. Brief flashes of what we all saw too much of on TV 3 weeks back, and many times since, at least he couldn't see the expression on my face, I somehow felt safer buried in there. He suggested more pot, which was fine with me. Usually I'm not comfortable smoking dope with complete strangers, but it was late, he was beautiful, we already had established some good "chemisty", so we took a few more hits. This seemed to get him more affectionate, and more verbal. Maybe it was the music, Sigur Ros, that got to me, but his hands were firm and gentle, and he loved kissing, and this was my first time with someone in 3 weeks when we didn't talk about "it" - maybe it was understood, looking into each other's eyes and deciding not to talk about it, just to comfort each other, enjoy each other. He even recognized Vespertine when I put it on, having skipped the single, Hidden Place and going directly into Cocoon ........

so, the basics: he lives nearby, he's 38, adorable as hell, extremely hairy below the waist, uncut bouncing cock, one pierced nipple, and loves kisses all over his head (and body, for that matter).

Hearing It's Not Up to You from Vespertine is when i nearly lost it, such a beautiful song, but such different meaning from what it had been weeks ago........ I think that's why I've avoided listening to the album for most of the past 3 weeks, didn't want it to have this new "post-New World Order" meaning.... phrases like "unthinkable surprises about to happen" clearly were written about the joy of life, but now just make me want to cry in a most unjoyful manner.

So, back to the adorable boy. We eventually made it into the bedroom, and he was most determined to make it last, no matter how persistant I was in trying to get him to cum. But eventually we did, and it was quite spectacular, I must say. (If I wasn't concerned about the way my goatee would look, once it dried, I wouldn't have gotten up from the bed ten minutes later to wash up). I wished I had invited him to stay, but I wasn't ready for that, or worse, the "no thanks, gotta work, take care of my dog" thing. So, we left it at "see you around" as he passed through the door. I soon found my head inside the refrigerator, looking for a more reliable source of consolation.

The The's Mind Bomb has been playing a lot on my discman, and computer - probably because it's emotions are so clearly related to these past few weeks, certainly more cynical than i am, or want to be, but no danger here of finding scarey new feelings from a previously beloved record.... it ends with these words....

Take me beyond love
Up to something above
Upon this bed
Between these sheets
Take me to a happiness beyond human reach
Beyond the grasp of lust
Beyond the need for trust
Beyond the gaze of the sick and the lame
Beyond the stench of human pain