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Wednesday, January 07, 2004

I wrote this for myself after a Christmas party in which a longtime (female) crush of mine kinda-sorta asked me if I would have sex with her. All names are changed to protect the innocent:

Holeeeee mackarel. I mean. Leslie. I mean, sex. I mean... holy... I mean... I mean... I mean...

Can I handle Leslie’s sexual development as well as my own?

No. Leticia. Back up. Don’t take responsibility. Hold on. You’re not going to be her guardian. Be her friend. Really. Don’t.

So Leslie asked me today, “If I asked you to be my first... would you?” I said “Yes,” not even stopping to think. I.. she.. we didn’t kiss or anything, but she held me, and I..

It was so robotic! So... passionless! I felt like I was playing Leslie II on my Xbox and trying to find a way to please her to the optimum quantity so I can clear Level 3 and gain 3,000 adolescent points. I... couldn’t possibly open up to her. There was something cold about it, like I was just moving my limbs rather than with my thoughts. I couldn’t let myself go. Not now. Not when she needs me.

But she needs a friend...

She also imparted to me that she masturbates. Like me. But I can’t tell anyone. I think my own bravery allowed her to tell me. That’s kind of neat. But she’s scared of herself. Like me.

Dear lord, I don’t have any answers. I wish I did, I would be a smarter person for it. But I don’t know where my boundaries are or what she needs from me. My arm fell asleep, and I was afraid to tell her, for fear of ruining the moment. That’s not how I want to have sex. But Leslie is so...

Jesus, I don’t connect with anybody. I’m going into the corner and sulking.
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