*

Getting used to the idea of not having Greg's voice as my main emotional anchor on stage has meant trying my best to find new ones, and as much as it frustrates me that it's the case, Nate's guitar continues to be the best one. Well, it’s not just an anchor... ugh it's so hard to explain even on paper. I mean, I think about it and I get frustrated all over again, and I feel frustrated enough for quite a few reasons. His playing’s as beautiful as it's always been, and it's a beauty that draws me close to it, makes me believe I'm seeing glimpses of a heaven I thought I'd lost forever--

Then of course, I shake off whatever memory's screwing up my brain and I remember it's all coming from the biggest child in this fucking band and I almost hate him for it. I think about how he kept whining last year about the spotlight moving away from him or whatever (when he wasn't whining about girls) and I want to grab him by the shoulders and shake him and call him a fucking idiot, that I wouldn't have even been interested in joining this damn band in the first place if it hadn't been for hearing his guitar all those years ago, and I see people in the crowd as awestruck by it as they fucking should be and how does he NOT see that??

I'll find a way to figure all this out. Greg's just thown my head and heart into disarray in multiple ways this year. I still feel so lost, even with things with Benny going so well. That's as precarious as everything, is the thing, and I don't know how to make it otherwise or if I even want to, if I even should. UGH.

Greg's been trying to be all ~nice~ to me, lately, too. Like it matters or changes anything. The ending's the same no matter what, and it doesn't erase that interview or the party or anything else. Not that I haven't been nice to him-- I have. We still have to perform together; we need to like each other enough to fake it on stage, at least. Which is where I am. I thought that'd be enough for Greg, but it's obvious he knows something's up, or he wouldn't be bothering me about it. Maybe I should enjoy watching him scrambling trying to make it all up to me. I dunno. Still too frustrated and angry for that kind of spite. I'll figure something out.

PS: NONE of them ever know where I go when I go with Benny, or even sometimes when I'm just hanging with the crew. Rory says it sometimes feels like I pop in and out of existence, ha. What can I say-- I've had years of practice...

PPS: It's been so nice hearing Nate sing that song we worked on earlier-- the first time he was so nervous about it, but I learned that he had a far easier time of it if I shadowed him softly-- like a gentle reassurance. I should take those "training wheels" off by now, he doesn't need them, but... ugh. It made it nice in a different way, I guess. I dunno. Happy mistake.

*

Honestly, if Walt thinks I'm trying to seriously undermine him or Phil, I might as well shore up potential allies at the very least. Especially with things already getting shaken up with Greg leaving. I know I can't do much else anyway, currently, and I wouldn’t even know what I’d want to do if I could. The band itself is doing well, but I'm still very much a newer entity there, so not trusted where it matters most. Hell, Nate n’ Greg thought I was too much of a "new guy" last year to contribute my own songs to the group?? But Benny DOES have experience that I don't, if not really a seniority[31]. And even without the seniority, he very likely does know more than a little something about the internal politics of the crew, management, etc. I don't want to use him and I don't want to look like I'm using him and I absolutely NEVER want him to think I am, it would crush me. He's been such a good friend+ and I don't want to lose him over a miscalculation/misunderstanding. I just want to know if Benny'll have my back-- since I've already told him I have his. But I don't know if he KNOWS that I would. And I want him to know that more than anything. --I know a decent amount of the crew trust and like me, too. Especially Eoin and Juan, but being around Benny means I've branched out some; working with them and learning more about their work also means I've earned a lot more of their trust.

*

UGH Benny's so wonderful. I have to get a nice motel room for us and a good distraction or two to get us there, maybe, but it means we finally have a nice place to fuck however we want again and a private place to talk if I succeed in getting said room. He's basically picking up what I'm putting down. Thinks I'm a little crazy, but-- well. Let's start closer from the beginning, because it's hot!

Us and a few radio stations around the country have been hosting these charity baseball n' softball games this year-- band versus crew or band/crew versus radio station or whatever. I don't play, of course... I'm far too delicate~. HA, seriously though, I just have terrible hand-eye coordination and I'd rather not volunteer myself to look like an idiot. So I'm the announcer, which is cute n' fun. I've had to pretend I'm rooting for the band if I'm rooting for anyone at all, but obviously in my heart I've really been rooting for the words-can't-adequately-describe-how-fine man on the crew team, and his big strong legs in tiny little athletic shorts and knee high tube socks, and I've had to try my very best to not look and sound completely smitten with him every time he's at bat. I think I've succeeded? He tried his best to rile me up this time though, what with those little butt shakes winding up his swing (that also shook... other things~)!

I said, once we finally had time to ourselves-- now, Benjamin Jones, I KNOW you were trying to make me look silly up there showing yourself off for me that way. He said he was returning the favor of me showing off for him so many nights, and fair enough! I played the haughty queen for a little while longer, though, toyed with his wanting while he toyed with mine, making each other as hungry for one another as we could. He had quite the upper hand of being drenched in sweat and still in that cute little outfit (the shirt and shorts clinging to him, outlining his pits and nipples and belly and cock beautifully, soaking his shirt in lovely patterns), but I was able to stand my ground well enough 'til he lifted an arm up and pushed my face in. I couldn't control the groan that left my throat being able to smell and taste him (or how instantly hard it made me...), and he laughed at it, said "You my dirty little princess-boy, aren't you baby?" which drove me even crazier (and of course I'm everything he said, so of course I affirmed it for him).

Every step of the way he teased me, made me as desperate as possible, having me suck his fingers before I could even touch his cock, dictating the tempo of my sucking him with a hand firm on the back of my head (sweetly stroking my hair with a thumb, my shoulder n' neck with his other hand), sucking me, turning me over and rimming me slow and steady while he held my wrists in one of his hands behind my back, his tongue and fingers playing with me, little moans and laughs humming against me while I begged him to fuck me. But we both got so involved with everything before we ran out of time for it!! Had to “settle” for jacking each other off, tho everything leading up to it still meant the cum was amazing. Anyway, that's when I told him we needed to get a nicer room, more time, no chance for interruption-- so he could fuck me stupid, but also so we had a chance to talk afterwards. "About what?" Oh, you know, just some ideas that've been floating around my head about you and the boys n' dykes~. He raised an eyebrow at it, and I told him not to worry about it 'til I got us that motel time.

Then, on the walk back to everyone else-- me still in a blissed-yet-frustrated daze (the frustration far nicer than the time with Greg and the bath; a frustration I know will be soothed in time, but still a frustration that can't be soothed by anyone but Ben so something that's still currently driving me crazy nonethless and will continue to)-- he stopped for a moment, wandered off a ways, and came back with a bluish-purple wildflower-- a cornflower, I think. Tucked it behind my ear with a little smile, pat my shoulder, squeezed it, immediately lit another cigarette and stuck it in his mouth, and walked away again before I could even think of anything to say about it. Aww... it's really something to see a guy like him be shy! Especially after everything that happened earlier!!

PS: Maybe I can put the cornflower in my box? Pressed in something, so it stays nice. I’ll press it in here for now!

*

All the recent flower stuff has me thinking about the one real time Granddad and I really got along, where he almost seemed to understand me and I him. --Not just one singular time, but a regular chore that I truly enjoyed and found relaxing, which was gardening. Waspy whites think gardening's for ladies n' fags, but one thing I learned quickly growing up was that gardening's a ~man's~ activity in Portugal. So I also learned, from Granddad, how to plant and maintain rose bushes and trellises, which ones were best for what purpose, how to tell a bunch of different plants and flowers apart (and different varietals of flowers, like the roses), learning all their names, which ones should grow where and next to what other plants for what reasons in which season, etc. And so many of the flowers were so bright and colorful, and you had to handle them so carefully (in the case of roses, because of the thorns, of course!)... I think, if I had to take over some portion of his farm, growing flowers to sell in bulk to florists and ~apothecaries~ or whatever is one I could've managed (at least Ebi's been fine taking all that off my plate).

Granddad could still be gruff when he was gardening, but I could tell he was happy with how quickly I picked it up from him, and in quietest moments I could hear him humming little tunes in his near-tone-deaf grumble. I'd ask him what they were and he'd pretend he never sung them, or he'd say "'s'not important." and throw out a pop quiz question on whatever he'd been teaching me about that day. He could almost be as gentle as the task itself. There was something surreal about it-- like he became another person, and it was a person that was so much more likeable, so much less frightening. I’d pretend, during those hours we were planting and pruning and pulling things, that this was always how he was. Or that I could somehow be good enough for this Granddad to stay. I just had to figure out how.

I never could, or he never let me. But I still know the names of most of the flowers.

--I wish I could tell (most of) this story when I’m asked on TV or for a magazine about family. It’s a mostly-happy thing, a real thing, but I know how they’d take it. There’s only so many little digs at you you can read before it starts to get tiring and laughing it off starts getting old. Maybe if I make it about, like, picking veggies or something? ~Crops~? But I can’t bullshit too hard about family everywhere, ‘cause they see it. Ugh. I hate having to worry about this at all. But everything’s so visible now. Not that I want to complain. It’s just-- it’s a lot to adjust to, especially amidst everything else.

*

[31]At least, not with this crew– he’s been around awhile, but still has some ways to climb here. And could that happen all on his own? With Phil around? I’m new myself, newer in some ways, and while I’m not fully white (or ambiguously white? Depends on the census year, it seems) being in the band itself provides a kind of clout that might still be helpful.