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Tuesday, February 10, 2004

I don’t want to have sex with Leslie. Y’see, it’s just not right. I’m honestly not all that attracted to her. I just want to leave her and have her find happiness with some man who will please her and make her happy. I’m not him.

Moreover, I need a man, and it just wouldn’t be honest to pretend to be as infatuated with Leslie now as I was in eighth grade. The sex would be calculated and robotic, with me trying to please her to the maximum level but saving none for myself. It would be good sex, probably, but cold and emotionless.

Nevertheless, there’s a large hole in my stomach that I have yet to fill. I just want to find my mentor, put my head between her boobs, shrink three feet, and have her hold me in her arms and tell me everything’s okay while she strokes my hair and breathes the entire universe.

I’m pretty sure I’ve become a woman by now, but I don’t know when it happened. There was no fanfare, no party, no quest to find my inner vision of the world. No large naked women telling me the secrets of motherhood. Nothing. I can finally say I “have my shit together,” but for naught, for all that everybody’s noticing it. I’m growing up in the middle of the forest, without anybody to hear me.

Dammit, I need a fucking bar mitzvah. I would go back in time and convert my parents to Judaism just so I coulda had a bar mitzvah. It woulda meant the world to me. I’m going to have to improvise something before the adulthood rush wears off.

Ciao,

Leticia

(edit: About sex with Leslie, I'm still mulling it over; keep voting in the poll, I just might decide to have cold, emotionless, but nonetheless very good sex with her.)
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