Mark texted me last night, asked if I had dirtied my new sheets yet. I told him that I had not, asked him if he wanted to help me do so. He called me a dirty boy, though it was surely what he wanted to hear with that line of questioning, and then invited me over to his apartment, him having it to himself last night. I met up with him outside his building and saw him walking toward me about a block away. I became nervous and excited, could not believe that this person, someone that I find so cool, so attractive, should like me.
We joked about being awkward last night because we were yet again. We took off our pants to be comfortable and that helped moved things forward. We had sex, and man oh man, I am so attracted to this person, he is sad and funny in a way that I love. I need to really get it down in words, that that is what being a writer is, describing difficult to describe things, and one day when I am not so rushed, one day soon while the crush is still here, like tomorrow (except it's going to be so beautiful outside), I will try to describe the magical qualities that this boy seems to possess in both character and appearance.
Afterwards, after orgasm, as we were falling asleep, I pulled my arm away from him after it felt awkward to spoon him, that I know this boy is weird about touching and sex and I didn't want him to be uncomfortable, didn't want myself to be wondering if he was. He grabbed my arm and wrapped it tighter around him. That was so nice. I relaxed and slept the night pressed against him.
I woke up giddy, kissed him goodbye, and later in the day saw Sex and the City, which was totally amazing in that particular way, and provoked much thinking about boys on my part and friendships here in New York - the movie really being about strong friendships - [redacted]. Anyways, Manohla Dargis (sp?) can stick her thumb up her ass because the movie made me so happy.
And I am go-go dancing at 40C in a couple hours and I am not sure why, but I love dancing and drinking and boys and there I guess is the why.
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