[cw for mild description of physical abuse, mild description of self harm, moderate description of violent sexual fantasies that are consensual but nonetheless violent]
Releasing an actual album that has, like, half-page ads for it in magazines and papers and BILLBOARDS is SO trippy (made sure to get a picture of me under one of those billboards to give to Mom!). Going on television shows, even trippier. Funny how much makeup they put on you (tho understandable for the same reasons theater stage makeup is)! Almost used the wrong shade of foundation for me till I told them, tho-- too light a shade, cue my ~absolute~ shock.
Played a few songs for a studio audience, and it was live for the TV audience as well, so that was nice. A little nerve-wracking too! But not the biggest in-person crowd I've performed for, so a good warmup for bigger theaters and such. ...I do hope they like me. I think the studio audience did. Walt gave me a big clap on the back afterwards (which of course made me nearly jump out of my skin at the time, but it was fine in the end) and all the guys gave me a big group hug, so I think that's a good sign. The rest of them did a wonderful job as well; it's so good to be performing with people with such a degree of musicianship/musical discipline. Some might say it's wasted on what amounts to pop rock, but I feel like it's a good thing to provide well-crafted and performed pop, especially if you can really put your own spin on it. There's so much stuff that's just churned out by a couple studio writers and performed by people who get paid so little (others-- managers, record execs, etc-- get the REAL dough), and I think setting an example of musicianship and songwriting in pop raises a bar that's been driven far into the ground for profit's sake. That seems worthwhile to me.
Anyway-- it's been nice hanging with the guys more and more, even in the more PR settings. I feel a lot more comfortable with most of them, now. Al, maybe not so much. He still treats me like something he has to put up with because everyone else does. He's too cool for me because he played drums for the Plastic Ono Band in a studio session one time or whatever the fuck. Rory still tries to be funny way too much, but he means well and is kind. Nate actually IS funny, still, and loves music so much it's kinda cute. It's nice to see such an earnest passion for craft over/alongside "rockstar" ambitions.
Things with Greg are also still going well. At a generally low simmer right now, of course-- we're not on the road yet, and I'm a man of my word-- but a nice one. Very habitual affection, sometimes when I least expect it. Days'll go by with nothing and then he'll be going out for beers with friends and he'll kiss me goodbye on the lips n' give me a good natured little chuck under the chin, says "See ya, kid", and it's the most Daddy sort of thing and UGH it ruins me. Or we'll be watching something on TV and he'll put an arm around my shoulder + hand on my arm (and he'll let me lean close into him...). Or I'll be cooking and he'll come up behind me and put his arms around my shoulders and rest his chin on top of my head while we talk about whatever (UGH I love that). Things like that. Just often enough to drive me a little crazy. I think I get it though, which is why I'm still mostly passive and almost always let him initiate physical things-- he's trying to get comfortable with the idea of me as more-than-friend. Friend-and-then-some. Not something you can really rush. So I'm trying my best, even though it can be torture at times and if I didn't know any better I'd say he knows it. But do I walk around the house in some of the skimpier shirts (or sometimes HIS shirts, and that’s honestly such a thrill...[10]) and tighter pants or shorter shorts I own and wear a few extra necklaces and chokers and things? Am I juuust a little swishier around him than the others when we're alone? Do I sit and stretch in obvious ways from time to time when he's around to drive him a little crazy/torture him back? Yes, yes, and yes!
I have to admit I daydream now about how we'll fuck... I mean, how could I not, with all the flirting we've been doing? We both have so much pent up now I KNOW it'll be outta sight. I obviously have no idea how it'll actually go down, but I've come up with plenty of fantasies. And jerked off to them, naturally. I've taken the edge off a couple times down by the piers, too, tho I know I won't be able to get away with that for long if we get as popular as Walt wants us to get. Might as well savor it while I can, right? Especially since it's been a long time since I've felt comfortable doing something like that. And it has been comfortable, which surprises me a little. I thought I'd be petrified with guilt and shame by now, but it hasn't happened yet. I don't feel better about myself because of it-- but it feels natural, not bad. Whatever! I'm still in my twenties for now. The pressure from my family to "get serious" about marriage will really ratchet up, I bet, once I'm thirty. Will success with the band make them care less? That would sure be nice... at this point, I don't think I could change even if I wanted to. I'd always need this somewhere. And I'm feeling less and less guilty about it again!
PS: That record company guy I had to butter up last year (so he would even BEGIN to take me seriously!) really thought he could get something a little extra from me. Kept trying to catch my eye, kept giving me leery smirks, and I just kept on politely ignoring him. I'm not desperate anymore, sorry, asshole. Get your kicks from whatever new poor sap comes crawling thru your door.
"EYE CONTACT, Jules! Yer FINE about it on stage, what's so different about interviews??" When it's a sea of eyes I don't actually have to look at any of them. I can find some focal point on the horizon that's accurate looking enough and stick to it. Or there's someone fine in the audience to do some secret playful flirting with (or a girl with a particularly fantastic outfit or vibe). Or I'm so lost in the music it all doesn't matter anymore anyway. A single pair of eyes (and then even more eyes trained on you, behind cameras) is different, yes. I wish it wasn't. I remember Mom being frustrated at the same thing when I was younger; she swore it ruined some opportunities for me and it probably did. But eyes have a lot of information.... and when you're trying to keep a lot of information in your head straight as it is, adding more to the pile gets stressful. It makes me more likely to draw a mental blank. I'm not sure how to explain that all to Walt without sounding crazy or stupid, tho.
I know it must make me look so stupid. I know I need to remember how to sit as well (to not sit "so faggy", as Walt eloquently puts it), I know I lapse into queenishness without thinking, I know I'm still eating too much and not exercising enough after. I know I need to try harder. I know I know I know. Hell, it's a miracle I'm holding up this well anyway. Drinking a little more than I usually would, but not getting drunk or anything-- just enough to take the edge off. And not on any night I have to sing. I'd rather not have to rely on it... I've seen firsthand how pathetic that turns out. I just need to be able to power thru this PR crap, and then I'll be good to go.
Things have gotten so busy lately that there hasn't been much time for anything besides work, but it's a labor of love-- how many people can say something like that? There are times I want to rub it in Granddad's face; to say with all I do, all I am: to hell with your tradition!! Let the machines do more and more of the farming and let people live! He's always wanted me (and Mom and Mamaji before me, tho he was more successful with them) trapped outside of Carlton chained to a tractor. It's how ~he~ lived, after all, and his father and father's-fathers-fathers before him in ~the old country~. Oh yeah, that old country that was ruled by a king and then a dictator up til a couple years ago (when your former countrymen also got sick and tired of "tradition"!). Swell country that is!
See, I write all this here because even now, thinking about actually saying all this to his face, a chill runs up my spine. He can only walk with a cane now but I still imagine that cane cracking over my head, Mamaji coming in later to nurse the bruising and cuss out Granddad and myself in Farsi. I'm equally full of rebellion and guilt for it, it seems. I can never just leave things be.
Matters of sex can be the same way, and have been lately. Like I said before, most of my day is spent working: the album's out, but now it's all legal stuff, promotion, and tour prep. I come back to Greg's place sometimes past midnight, and by then I just want to crash. Lay in bed in the basement room I have, thankfully quite private, and my head swirls with thoughts of him-- how wonderful his voice sounds with mine, how easy it is to sing with him, how amazing it’ll be to sing with him on stage, how effortlessly fantastic his style is, how nice his hair is… how good his cock felt in my mouth, how it might feel inside me, how his sweet green eyes rolled upwards when he came, how nice his body is in a simple way: soft and fuzzy, comforting. How much I want to feel all of it, and with more than just my hands. How nice and round his ass is, and how nice it'd be to feel and squeeze at the very least (does he even KNOW how beautiful his ass is??). How divine he must smell after a few hours sweating under bright hot theater lights, how ridiculously sexy it'd be to lick it out of his pits. His smile, the way he looked at me the one time he called a bit of my singing "perfect". I'll think of all that and every time I'll say I'll keep something of a lid on it. That I won't always jack off to it. I don't want to see him in work settings have it be awkward, you know? But in bed at night or sometimes in the shower I can't help myself much. I think it must be because of how downright chaste I was after Rick (and up 'til recently). Any thought of sex made me want to claw the skin off my shoulders and scrub my skin raw. It made me feel monstrous.
And I'm writing all this here to say that sometimes it still makes me feel monstrous. I suppose I should've guessed the shame would show up sooner or later-- I thought I was free of it, but will I ever truly be? Strangers are one thing, but friends and co-workers a whole 'nother one. I would NEVER break our deal but one of the things I fantasize about is him being so desperate for me that HE breaks the deal by grabbing me and bending me over and pinning me to the piano in his practice room and fucking me raw n' senseless so it hurts, 'til I can barely stand on my own, only stopping once he’s satisfied with me, after begging me to break our deal for him. --I'll see Greg during the day and want to apologize for the contents of my brain. Or I'll feel so sick after I cum, so full of thoughts of hurting myself, that all I can do is curl up as tight as I can to stop myself from doing anything stupid. The only thing that saves me is the knowledge that I can't afford to spiral. That too much good is in my life now for me to destroy it. I guess it all comes back to what I wrote at first about Granddad: I need to prove him wrong. I need to live my life for ME, without fear, for once.
[10]Especially when he’s already worn them and they smell like him too, UGH… The first time I wore one in front of him I did apologize, told him I hoped he didn’t mind, but that I LOVED his taste; asked him if I pulled it off with a silly little twirl and he didn’t answer in words, but pulled me to him, kissed me deep, felt everything above my waist before pulling away and saying that he “guessed so”. HA! But also WOW...