Wednesday, May 7, 2008

Last night, I went to a meeting of sex workers. Most were female doms, but still it felt good to be making connections with people, getting involved in more scenes here in New York. My time in Tennessee was amazing and I am going to create such an environment for myself here in this city, am going to extend myself and my time. It is so easy to plop yourself down in situations with strangers, necessary, and I am determined to do as much of this as possible, that this is the best way to meet new people. I am really excited about things right now. I even wrote for a bit today, which hasn't happened in months.

I spent my daytime with Diego walking around Manhattan with him and various dogs, him doing someone's dogwalking duties this week. We sat on the East River and talked about life in this city, about our comfort here and the thing tied to our comfort, a desire for discomfort, for something new, a bit of change, and how to go about making that occur. He was wearing flip-flops today. This meant something to me.

Having been sleeping with him since November, I have never once seen his feet, him always having socks on in bed. It was something that always bugged me, but it seemed as though too much time had gone by to mention it, that surely there must have been a reason his feet were always covered, that maybe it would make him uncomfortable to mention it. It had become a generalized symbol to me of his inaccessibility, of him hiding something, keeping something back. I had outlined in my head several times while thinking about it a short story about the situation and about the significance these never exposed feet would have in the interactions between these two characters, between fictional Diego and fictional I.

And so it was a really nice sight to see him in flip-flops today, to see his feet. Three dogs were walked. They went from bigger to smaller. The last dog was old and barely alive, blind and deaf and walked with pain on its hips, dripping shit out of its ass. It was a sad sight to see, the elderly dog.

Afterwards, he invited me up to his apartment for a glass of Crystal Light. I drank some of the sweet stuff and then fell into bed with Diego, made out with him, clothes coming off, dicks being sucked, jizz being shot, and a feeling of closeness, of affection, being reestablished.

Tomorrow, I go back to work editing transcripts and to other things. The night air, a bit chilly, but only so slightly, feels so good breezing in through my kitchen window, Gillian Welch the soundtrack to the breeze, to this night, to these sentiments.

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