September 29, 2011
18:49
After chastising the gothgirl for being a bitch, I followed my friend's advice and said to her "so what time are we meeting up". She didn't miss a beat. I didn't commit to going but I put the option out there, at first as a joke, but she went for it, so it became reality. I went to her house and was shaking. At the club, this guy I don't know her relationship with, but I don't like the way he touches her. She later said she wasn't interested in dating him. Why do I care? I tried to be fun. Like my friend suggested. Introduced myself to people before they were introduced to me. Did things out of character. She annoyed me by talking about how her friends were the only reason she showed up and how disappointed she was by them not showing up. Shut up, girl. Shut up.
But my friend, the one who created this night, he is the only one I've talked to, actually there is another one, another male, who sees these decisions as pluses and minuses rather than right and wrong. I appreciate that. When I talk to a lot of girls, I feel stupid because they have an idea that one action is right and one is wrong. Healthy versus unhealthy. With this friend, it's like, "she has something you want, and you have to decide if it's worth going through certain things to get that." We had contingency plans, for whatever, for if she made out with someone else while I was there. He assured me, that I now know what she's capable of. And that destroys certain expectations, and that is a comfort.
We finished being standoffish at the club and were in my car. She was too drunk. I was too drunk too drive. She pissed in an alleyway. I rubbed her back and didn't really think it would progress from there, I rubbed her head, I kissed her neck and then it went two ways. "This is bad" she'd say. "Shut up," I'd say. "Don't worry about that till tomorrow when you're sitting on your bed full of regret." And then we kept going at it and my hand kept trying to go under her clothes and between her legs, and she kept resisting and saying she doesn't know, and I tried again, and I said I wouldn't try again since that might constitute sexual assault, but I ended up with my hand under her dress, and I kissed her harder than ever, and our lips connected in a way they hadn't before. I pulled her hair, leading her where I wanted. Bit her neck, her arms, and I drove her home, we were lost, and she pissed in another scary place, and I took her home, holding her hand, asking her more questions than I had before, since I knew she had a problem with how she felt like I always talk about myself, so I asked her questions. Tried to relate without being totally self centered. Rubbed her between her thumb and forefinger. Felt good to comfort her. I could see that the intimacy was already out of my control.
More kissing downstairs, more touching. I asked her if I could come upstairs, I'd tuck her in, and stick around if she wanted me to, or leave since she has trouble sleeping with people. I undid my pants, told her this wasn't a sexual thing. The lights went off, and it became a sexual thing. I regretted not letting her take my shirt off before because she wanted me to, but I was timid about my body. Ashamed. This time I took it off. Because I knew it might be a long time before this happened again. That this might be the last time. I felt less sexually aggressive in her bed, I felt more cuddly. I guess I like some discomfort. But then I got into it again.
We fell asleep, and I woke up in a dream state. I couldn't see much but I then went after her and I was so into her body, grabbing her ass and breasts and arms with my hands and teeth, aggressively pursuing her on multiple fronts, unrelenting. Something had changed since the last time. I wasn't as afraid. And I've lost track of when what happened, maybe this is before or after I woke up or maybe it's both. Whatever the case, there was a change after I woke up, everything became more intense. I saw her in a dream, her body was an industrial zone, becoming changed in various ways because the budget wasn't enough to have more than one level. Is this some sort of horrible metaphor about how I view her or just a dream colliding with a human being? I was inside her again, but we did not fuck. Her body responded in such a way that made me want to fuck her, but I guess last night was not the night for that. "Give me your mouth," I said, and she obliged. I said a lot of strange things, things that felt out of my control. "I love you," I said. And I didn't mean to. And I didn't remember it the next morning.
I didn't sleep well, and I felt unwelcome because she kept stirring in the morning. I felt badly about that. I tried to be quiet, to be unmoving, but she stirred so much. I decided to leave about ten minutes before my alarm went off. I wanted to say goodbye without bothering her. I assembled my clothes and rubbed her back, to which she immediately turned. "You going?' yeah. I tried to say goodbye without waking you, but since that didn't work� and I went in to hug her from the other side of the bed, and I kissed her cheek, and she again offered her lips to me, and I didn't feel obtrusive anymore, and I realized I was welcome there, at least for that night and morning. We kissed softly in a way that lingered slightly, and my lips felt as if an electrical current ran through them. I closed the door behind me, as quietly as I could, stomped out in my big, big boots. Into the streets, into the loud traffic, into a phone call with my friend, to tell him how wonderful it was. Went to school and got a good parking space, felt delirious, felt surreal to be there so shortly after leaving bed. I stayed drunk throughout the day.
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