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June 29th, 2005

what the week was like in lauderdale @ 06:03 pm

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Date:June 30th, 2005 03:25 am (UTC)

The other side of a day in the Florida Everglades #3

For the first twelve of the 13.5 hours we spend together, it seemed that we talked without pause other than brief reflection. The last 45 minutes were mostly uncomfortable silence. It was somewhere during the 90 minute prior, at my home, that lead to that.

Nice would have been some wine, a sensual shower as we wash the ocean from each others body, and some quiet time resting and relaxing in bed as we reflected on the day. And maybe some not-so-quiet time in bed, not relaxing, but instead thrashing and squirming and… what was that ever so erotic thing I said I read that he wrote that sent chills through me..???? Hmm… let nature take its course.

And as you’ve already read. Not to be.

Instead: the implication that I would probably have dinner ready by the time he finishes his shower.


“Fragile” I am not.
“Pushover” No f*cking way!
“Forceful” Okay… uh…. no.

Instead: “ I thought you might like some company,” said before he left the kitchen.

Whatever his response. I did not analyze it other than to know he didn’t say “NO”
In the shower he didn’t say “NO”
But his body did.

Here’s what’s important through all of this: my body did say “NO” too.

It ached with disappointment.

This disappointed-ness caused a numbness. Maybe it was also the ache of the sunburn. The brief conversation after dinner was strange and confusing.

Him: would I be disappointed if sexually he did A rather than B?
Me: NO!! No. no…… uh I don’t know…???

At the time I didn’t know how to say that it wasn’t about A or B or even C.
It was more about something else, about whatever it was being MUTUAL.

The most painful thing, the knife, was hearing that he hoped to see me again…. as a “massage” client.

The day after was horrible. Was it withdrawal? Longing for what I had hoped for?

There was the questioning of me by me of how I could have handled it differently for a more desired outcome.

I viewed the journal, anxiously awaiting what he had to say. Wondering if I’d find cruel comments. If so, thinking how cleverly I’d have my dog pen a reply relating how angry the dog was, filled with regrets of not biting more than playfully as he upset master.

I awoke Wednesday morning knowing this had been one of those rare life experiences that I would need to commit to writing, such a wonderful therapy. But I worried that Tuesday was the best day to have written, filled with the emotions and passion that help craft the words in perfection.

Wednesday I was already healing and over those emotions. Afterall, being not the “fragile” person. No, no, no, uh… maybe.

Okay *fragile* deep down in my inner core, surrounded by a shell of armor, thick, tough and impenetrable. Not the “fragile” of his definition.

And my dog doesn’t have to pen anything for me. I’m okay with what he wrote.

I understand better. Monday night it was literally: “You have space.” In my numbness, I didn’t know what the heck that meant.

Three words are most important and all that were necessary: “just not attracted”

I can live with that and I can live with me.

I can live in my white house with white ceiling, white walls with nothing on them, white floor.
And white dog.

I cannot live with: “…trying to explain that he didn’t create anything to share…”

I could live with and understand: “… that he didn’t have anything I wanted to take…”

Speaking of taking, I did take away intimate and personal conversations. Hours and hours where he answered truthfully some questions I longed to ask, things not answered in the journal. Yes, and I did get to share and give to him, relating so rather personal feelings and events. At the end of the day, yes I got to bag my Monica Lewinski! Yeah, sort of an inside joke with him. Ask him, maybe he’ll explain.

Now he told me that he can just erase an anonymous comment post. He can do that to this. I hope he does not.

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