Secrets

We had a...scuffle today. It's funny, and by funny I mean not funny, how one can be so tolerant, patient, permissive, such and such with the people that aren't so close. Why is it easier? Why so tough on the ones that are dearest?

I'd have to take a feeble stab and say perhaps it's that we have higher standards for whom we are closest. How cliché. Perhaps it's that we are most scared of the ones we care for the most. That's lame, also.

I like to take the individualistic approach. Why am I more harsh, less mutable...etc, when it comes to the person I love the most? That's easier to tackle. This is dark, but true: I think there's a need in me to hack away at those deep, rusty corners of his emotional being. Break it down with sheer mental force and have him rebuild it stronger, healthier. In the dark, still. But with me.

Stephen apologized earlier to me for being insane. I've come to terms though with my delicious slice of irrational pie. I like to take nibbles off his every now and then, too.

HNT

I like the contrast.

beware

I had a good time last night. Perhaps too good of a time. Nah... I went dancing at the local gay friendly bar. Always a good mix there.

As far as the swingers go, for some inexplicable reason only one of the pair can be attractive. There are the dance maniacs that must go on a high carb diet in order to sustain such activity for hours on end. After 15 minutes it's time for a rest and a beer. I'd say about 90% of the lesbians there were under 5' 2'' which puts their heads right at boob level. It's actually a little disconcerting to have a girl seemingly take a nap in your breasts while you're dancing to a techno song.

After a few drinks I unfortunately lost my "do not dance with at all costs" radar. He was sweating a little when we started to dance, but by the time 2 songs ended, it was a deluge. His shirt was matted, his hair turned spiky, and his hand was working like a windshield wiper on his foreheard. Sigh. The side he held against him was soaked. It looked really strange too because only my right breast was wet. There was no trail leading to or from, just bam! Look, my nipple is sweating!

He was also a wolf in gay clothing. Such trickery. Beware when the guy assures you that he is gay. It probably means that he's not. But hey, I was buzzing. So after bumping and grinding and gyrating until I was in danger of drowning, I took my leave. A bit later, boob only damp now, he finds me and asks me for a "hook up." What? Of course, he's bi now. Yeah. Perfect timing. But, no.

Good times.