The first set of photoshoots for this made me think we were modeling for a clothes catalog or something... and none of the clothes were even interesting enough to want to take for myself. Oh, well! Hell, some of 'em, I almost feel like they were ordered a size too big on purpose. I was in charge of setting quite a bit of this up, but Walter always has his hand in it somewhere, so I wouldn't be surprised if that was all on purpose. Then again, it's harder and harder for me these days to tell what's intentional and what isn't. Have to let so much slide or else I look like an insane person (more than is probably-usual). Ugh. I already feel like an insane person, though.
And the thing is, I don't think I would feel better if I was in better fitting clothes, or less clothes. I had so much fun a couple years ago for the solo album, was happily pulling sexy poses, more than comfortable taking my shirt off or whatever else. I knew it'd get me more attention, and not necessarily in a way I wanted (as in: more likely that women'll scream at me in the street), but it felt good anyway. I didn't feel leered at by the photographers, I didn't feel like they were trying to be perverts whenever they instructed me to do anything, and I didn't have any problem following their direction. This time, one of them asked me to unbutton a shirt halfway and I glared at him. Ugh. I mean, Walter was hovering around in the back, too. For business reasons, most likely, but the idea of him looking at me in any way made me feel sick in such a deep, old part of me. Dressing up for people. Being cute for people. Making them happy. They like you when you're cute. They love you in that shirt, you look so cute in it, and he bought it just for you, it would make him so happy to see you wearing it. It would make me happy, too. Do it for me? You can do it for me, I love you. --Even remembering that now (and I can't even remember the context, just Mom's voice, her words), writing it, makes me want to vomit. I'm filled with such an anger, really closer to a RAGE, but the anger disgusts me, terrifies me, I want to claw at myself, at my skin, until there's none left, until I'm not there anymore somehow, but that's impossible.
Not surprised that I scrubbed myself raw in the shower after that whole thing. It helps, for awhile. I can imagine I actually DID get all my skin off and something new and nice and not-disgusting will grow in its place. Sometimes these days I get jealous of animals with exoskeletons. Beetles and the like. Sometimes I can imagine my leather like that, but I still have to take it off, eventually, and then the spell's broken.
Ugh, I don't know why I'm like this lately. It's only gotten worse-- the violent disgust at the idea of anyone touching me literally or even metaphorically. Even poor Jack just put a hand on my shoulder once recently and I immediately flinched, shoved myself away from him, and he began uttering a nervous litany of "I'm sorry"s that threatened to make it all worse. I snapped at him to just shut up for a second, then told him I had to be alone for a moment, that I needed some space to just BREATHE, please, and I was so afraid he wouldn't give it to me but thank god he did. And I walked out onto my back deck and just hyperventilated for a minute straight. Walked back inside, threw my jacket on over everything, and I could at least start to calm down. Jack asked if I was alright and I just told him that things were just busy lately, and that a lot of the pressure was on me in particular, but it would pass. He asked if it was okay for him to hold me. I shook my head. He asked if we could sit together on the couch. Opposite ends. Just together. That was okay. ...Eventually, it was alright for him to lay his head on my lap, I stroked his hair, I breathed.
I remembered, then, when we were talking near the holidays, when he told me how his parents would dress him up in things and style his hair for him and send him out looking like a little doll. I don't know why that feels so relatable, still. I wasn't treated like a doll (and if my grandfather ever caught me playing with a doll... well, I don't need to finish that sentence). I got dressed up to go to Church like Jack did, but it wasn't anything excessive... I remember Mom saying those words to me, sure, but I don't remember how, why, when... it could've been a holiday dinner or something like that, I don't know. I was always good for entertainment at holiday dinners. But I wanted to do it and I liked singing and having that singing calm everything down and make everyone happy. I liked being able to ensure a holiday dinner would be a good one; I liked having such an ability to do that. And now I think about things like that and I feel that rage begin to claw at me. I don't know what it is. I don't know what to do with it. I don't know where to put it. Jack understands it, to the extent that he can. That helps.
I still don't like that I'm like this around Jack. I don't want him to have to deal with it. I wanted this to be a break from all of that, for me but also for him. I wanted to give him the best of me, or at least, the best I had left. And I can't even do that. And I still have to fucking promote this fucking album and I'm going to have to go on the road and be Jules Riley and I have no fucking idea how I'm going to do it. I could hold onto Nathan for dear life, but if there's ANYONE I don't want to be weak around, it's him. ugh. I obviously have to figure it out. There's no way around it, there's no escaping it. The only way out is through, and all that. But UGH the way through is a fucking nightmare and it's been one for far too long of a time by now and I'm exhausted of it.
Work is a blur again, for the most part. Rehearsals can be nice. Singing with Nate almost always feels good. At least there's something there, too. But it's surrounded by so much that's just... ugh. And Nate can't understand so much of it, and he refuses to understand the rest, and there might be time to do something about it at some point, but not now. Jack's voice lessons have been going well, at least. He's unsurprisingly an eager student in that context, as well. He says I'm a good teacher. That's been a good distraction. And like I said, he's a wonderful student, so that makes it easy to look like a good teacher. He's already gotten better at speaking more consistently from a deeper place (and that does take practice, there's quite a few muscles and various things involved, and it is tiring singing or talking at a new-to-you range). When he's nervous for any reason it shoots right back up, but that's all from bodily tension.
When I realized that, there was a part of me that wanted to walk close behind him, hold and massage his shoulders, nuzzle into his hair, kiss the back of his neck, press my dick into him, flirt him into relaxation 'til he melts in my arms. Just as soon as I visualized it, though, I wanted to vomit. Or, more accurately, I started to get hard from it, and then I wanted to vomit. --I haven't used the character I use with Jack for sex, for lessons. EVER. He was turned on by the idea at first-- of blending those two things-- but it's something I've been strict about. I just know it's a bad idea, and it FEELS bad to me, and part of why it feels bad is because of moments like that, where it turns me on, but in that sickening way that giving him speed did. I don't know what it means but giving into it doesn't help. I thought it would, but it doesn't (which makes me feel sicker about giving him speed to begin with... it's been fine, at least, and it doesn't come up much). But I hate that I even get turned on from the thoughts to begin with. It makes those skin ripping feelings start to happen. So I can't get too close to him when I teach him. He's a bit disappointed, but hopefully he understands.
PS: Him talking about liking mulled cider earlier reminded me of something Mamaji, Mom, or Auntie Roya would make when any of us were feeling sick or if it was just a gloomy, chilly day out-- they all just called it apple tea. Grated apple, green tea/water, sometimes some lemon and orange slices, a little cardamom and cinnamon, (and honey for sore throats if needed), all heated up in a saucepan. Non-alcoholic, and not so heavy on the spices-- I was worried it was only soothing to me for sentimental reasons, but I bought some apples and made a couple servings anyway for us to relax after everything one night recently. He liked it, thankfully, enough to want to know how to make it himself, so I *know* he liked it.
Bit of a better mood thankfully, lately. Been spending more time with Jack and that's helped, and obviously he's very happy about that. Of course, the closer things get, the less time we'll both have for each other, but that makes spending extra time together now make even more sense.
I've slept over Jack's little apartment a couple times-- sometimes we hold his lessons there instead of my house-- but it honestly really is a bit of a sad place to hang around in for long. Truly a bachelor pad in every sense, and I've told him so-- not all of it’s in his control, I understand that, but why not make what you have REALLY yours? Also asked him if they were paying him well enough at his welding job-- they are, he's just too green to get full benefits, etc, but he'll hopefully be a full-fledged union welder at some point later in the year or early next year[92]. Well, there, I'm with another union man. Sort of. For awhile. Honestly, Ben wasn’t good at decorating either. He was more spartan; Jack’s a lot more slap-dash. (And Ben had a lot more money by the end of things…! But he insisted on such a pick-up-and-go sort of life. I know it was something he was forced to get far too used to, I just hoped… for a lot of silly things, like usual.)
--I've cooked for him and that was very nice overall, but the unfortunate size of the kitchenette makes that process a bit sad, there, too. He liked it all though! Just Mom's typical Persian-Portuguese dinner (a danger making that-- whether it’d make me just burst into tears or not even thinking about it, but thankfully I didn’t), but not something he's ever had before, of course, and he let me chat his ear off about the various nuances and overlaps between Central/Western Asian and Mediterranean ~cuisines~ while I was prepping everything; poor thing, ha. I made it spicier than usual-- the way I like to make it for myself, not family-- and the spice didn't scare him off! As for location choices, he's unfortunately a little too young to easily pass as a "friend" of mine and calling him a "nephew" or something is just... yuck[93], so him hanging around my place for too long or too often would get ~scandalous~, and I don't have a pool so he can't just be my pool boy... maybe Lou was right and I need to live a bit more decadently after all...!
I do give that decadence to Jack how I can, because it's clear he lacks it in his life otherwise. After days at work (and voice lessons for Jack) and nights at clubs I’ll sometimes get us as nice and luxurious a hotel room I can find. Move the beds together if necessary. I play with him, he pleases me, I hurt and please him/hurt-him-pleasurably in whatever ways we thought up together-- a collaboration of another kind-- I fuck him 'til we're both exhausted, we wash up, make use of whatever fancy baths n' champagne they have, I pick something nice up for him for dinner (if we're at my place, I cook), we sleep/rest next to each other. Sometimes the rooms have mirrored walls and before we wash up and relax I can sit with him and show him just how much he took for me and how much I gave him (the redness of new bruises against the deep blossoming of older ones, beautiful because they mean something beautiful instead of something ugly, and so many different colors, enough to almost make me wish I could paint), and he gets one last cum while I tell him how good he was and how beautiful he is this way in his ear and bite at it while I feel him up gentle, stroke around his hole (the one that matters[94], and we both admire (and I admire him admiring) his body, the state of it, all of it used and spent exactly the way he wanted it to be. I can still give someone something and have it feel this good. It's not something I'm taking for granted.
PS: He still can't always touch me. I feel terrible about it. He tells me not to, but I can't help how I feel. I never can. But anyway, he also made the both of us apple tea-- one cup each straight, the next cup with a shot of whiskey and a little extra bit of honey. Very good! (And one honestly cute thing... how flustered he still gets when I call him sweetheart. He set my mug down in front of me, I told him thank you, sweetheart, and he went almost as red as the first time he called me Sir. --And he did mumble out a "no problem, Sir", which made me laugh and kiss him)
Touch can still be difficult. Not as bad as before, but not great. I still don't know why. So much about it frustrates me. I hate being around Nate like this. He's a very touchy person. And he means well! I know he does. I can tell his innocent touches from his not-innocent ones very easily. And even the innocent ones feel like burning. Sometimes I do admittedly wonder if it's the speed. That can make skin bullshit happen. Or really, it tricks your brain into thinking it's happening. Or something like that. Or maybe it really does make you hyper-sensitive to certain things. I don't know. I'm not sure if it's that anyway. When I got that feeling before, the first time I used heavy, it was a lot more of an itch than a burn, and it wasn't just with touch. So this still feels... different. And that's almost worse. If I knew it was the speed, at least I could just power through it. I don't know what the fuck it is. It's burning and panic, it's being torn between wanting to shove or flinch or run or play dead and feel nauseous.
On nights that I see Jack immediately after work he can't touch me at all and he knows that by now. Ugh, I hate that he has to even worry about it but I'm so fucking glad he does I want to cry. Sometimes we can still have sex. Other times it's a bad idea. He wants to see me anyway. This ends when I go on the road. He knows that. I don't want to lean on him too hard. I don't want him to expect something that can't happen, and I don't want him to have to see me as weak as he has or feel like he has to take care of me. "Something's really fucking wrong in your life right now, man. That's all I know." Plenty is wrong in my fucking life. I can't do anything about it. Yet. And it's nowhere near as bad as what so many other people have to deal with; I have what so many people would LOVE to have. God, I wish everyone could have a nice house and a good car and no worries about paying bills and money for whatever else they need, plus some extra for fun. Like I'm complaining to HIM and he lives in the fucking apartment he lives in.
"Well, something about it's obviously still no good." Well, then, I need to figure out how the fuck to deal with it. "Sure, but it's not like you're being a pussy about it or anything." HA! Quite a few people at my job would beg to differ. "Well, they can suck my dick!" So I bitched to him about Jeff. And ugh, it honestly felt SO good to bitch to SOMEBODY about Jeff. And I even told him about how much my mother loved him, and he just... he just SUCKS! And I could never get what the fuck she saw in him, and really, I never got what she saw in quite a few men, but anyway, we were getting off topic and this was about Jeff. So he let me rant about him a little while, and he raised up his can of beer with a "FUCK Jeff!" --Being stupid and childish like that is really what feels good right now, but it feels stupid that it feels good. Well, whatever it takes, I guess. Within reason.
[92] He also still has a medical bill to pay off from getting his breasts removed. Asked him if he wanted help with that and he seemed about as stubborn as Cryssie and Ben could be about financial assistance. Ugh. Oh well!
[93] He’s far too white anyway– playing with his sunburns is fun. And slapping them, but really, that’s just another kind of playing with them. They REALLY bring out the Valley hick boy in him, too, so of course we've done some scenes revolving around that (imagining I really DID take over a portion of granddad's farm, and Jack's my favorite farmboy, but sometimes he stares at me more than he does his job, so he needs a bit of "disciplining" from time to time, etc). UGH, so hot.
[94] He used to be afraid that I’d try and fuck the other hole, but neither of us have a use for it and that’s what I told him. Like, you don't like it, so how could I. It’s nothing I’d ever be interested in regardless; his ass is very nice, we both enjoy me fucking it. I do pay special attention to it in front of the mirror, though. I want him to know it’s more than enough for me. Another way I could never be like Lorenzo– I love making Jack feel good (his body, but also just about-himself). I love knowing I make him feel even more like a man. It turns me on knowing it.