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Saturday, February 07, 2004

Okay, here’s an update. Leslie is the one I wanted to have sex with for a long time. She wants to have sex with me (more later; I wrote a blog entry in my notebook that I shall transcribe). On the way back from the trip, she pretended to lick up my exploded remains (don’t ask) and said “wow, Leticia, you really are sweeter than sugar!” (I tried to imagine my remains tasting like peach cobbler, or fruit compot. Mmm.) (Compot, not compost.) She draws doodles of me in which I have my hands behind my back, large angel wings, and a great big heart to match my great big smile—the most perfect girl in the world. Holy geez I’d like to have sex with her. But anyway...

Because of the trip that I forgot to tell you about (and the real reason for my absence; again, more later), I haven’t masturbated for days. So finally I got down to business when the horniness impeded on my ability to do homework (really), and decided to masturbate about her licking up my remains and giggling. I tried a thousand different variations (including us sharing a giant ice cream sundae; as bedding, not as dessert) until I settled on her saying “I could eat you up;” but no, suddenly, instead of Leslie saying that, it was some brawny ridiculous Southern guy with a beard in a creepy bar as the cigarette smoke wafted past the red lights. I came.

SHIT.

(Yes, the reason I'm concerned is because I only ever masturbate about boys. Well, maybe sometimes I masturbate about women, but you know, I always kind of identify with them... whatever... I'll stop second guessing my sexuality...)

(Oh! But the real point is, this begins the Should Leticia Have Sex With Leslie poll. Answers on a postcard, please. Keep in mind that I'm not going to take these results seriously; I just thought it'd be fun to keep a tally.)

(One tragic problem is the _logistics_ of sex; where would we do it? I don't think either of our parents would allow it in either of our houses, and I'd rather not play the do-you-hear-footsteps game...)
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