*

Saw Kyle again after all this time and it woke up and then broke the remains of my heart. Again. He's still so handsome and I'm more and more of a haggard wreck, but he was as kind as he ever was. We were just two of various pop 'star' types at this charity recording thing-- a break from serious recording-- but we were able to spend some time together alone again, away from everyone trying to get Michael Jackson’s attention or what-have-you (very understandable in some ways, but I didn’t want to bother him, especially when so many other people were, and I had other things on my mind). I guess I hung around him a lot just generally... he's a kind person. Can be funny, too, but could also tell I didn't want funny at that point. I needed someone familiar, and calm, and kind. Me, being a lonely idiot just like the first time we met, eventually admitted to him that I'd missed him, told him to his face that he was still so handsome.

And maybe I just can't pull off what I used to be able to. Like I said, I'm a wreck. So I shouldn't be too surprised. But I still can't stand the way those sweet eyes of his crinkled when he stroked my cheek-- it was too close to pity. He told me he was married now and he'd never be able to live it down if he betrayed her (of course, he's too damn good for his own good), but that he'd missed me too, that I looked and sounded just as good as he remembered (bullshit on both counts but he's incapable of being anything but nice), and hoped I was doing well. I didn't have the heart to tell him that I was doing fucking terrible. I said "well enough". He kissed me on the same cheek he touched, patted my shoulder, told me it was great to see me, that he'd never forget the weeks we spent together and how good I was to him, and that was that. Fuck. Just stick a knife in my heart and twist why don't you. The second-sweetest guy I'd slept with in years and he was in and out of my life in a flash. Figures. I guess I'm not very sweet right now. Definitely not wine and candles. But I wasn't really that when I first met him, either. I could've tried, again, for him.

The one positive of this whole thing is I wrote a quick draft of lyrics to an entire song out of it and the bare bones of the music. He's "girl"-- he'll never know of course, but no offense meant to him either way. We both know how it is. And it was a silly fantasy to turn into a song, I suppose-- if we just had a night together. If we could pretend again, just for that amount of time. It would've been nice. But he doesn't know what I've been through lately, I wouldn't want to bother him with it or with anything else, and I wouldn't want to hurt him or do anything too stupid. So I suppose it's for the best. I don't really know what else or who else to turn to, though. So many of my options are extremely tempting and equally extremely stupid and bad ideas. This almost feels like the last stop before hell. --Maybe it's not. I can think of something. Enough work'll shut my brain up from most anything.

PS: Well, I suppose there were other positives, too (Anna would like me to ~think happy thoughts~, I’d imagine). There were various types of harmonizing going on between various people, and some were having a more difficult time than others, and I was able to help a lot with that. That did feel good. It was hard not to be a little preoccupied during it all, though. I hope I did well enough.

*

Unsurprisingly, hanging out with Jeffrey is not the answer to any of this. I did try. I am around his house quite a bit lately, for work. He wants to lament about Teri, still (maybe not even about her, exactly, but about not being married anymore, not having a wife anymore). I'm not telling him a fucking thing about Ben. At least he doesn't try and pry into my head too much-- he's too preoccupied with his own, and beyond that, I don't think he'd want to know about Ben anyway. A little too icky to think about me kissing him or anything else. Everything we're writing is a breakup song, pretty much, but that's to be expected. Nathan's been profoundly unhelpful outside of his very particular guitar parts (and he KNOWS I'm not itching to be with Jeff by myself all day). At some point he has to get the fuck over it, but god knows what awful things Walter is filling his head with. I'm a horrible monster and a conniving bitch and I've been purposefully and spitefully depriving everyone of income and all I care about is myself. Yeah, yeah.

I think Nathan still thinks the both of us overreacted to each other, so it's a wash. I know he was actually frustrated with Walt. He just figured out a way to make it less uncomfortable for him. It's nice for him that he can do that. Convenient. --I'm very frustrated myself with Nathan, but that has a kind of... tinge to it now it didn't used to. I see him make his stupid glum little pout at me and I want to tease him. Once I made him play a part again and again 'til I could tell his nerves were fraying, and THEN I stopped. Ugh. Like I'm poking and prodding at him from odd angles because I know I can't have him. Any thought I have about him is less stupid than some of the fantasies I've already had about other men recently, but it still annoys me he's been stuck in my head in some capacity like this for as long as he has. It should be a little painful, I think. And maybe he even likes it that way[71].

*

I really, TRULY needed a distraction from everything else, so finally got the courage/became stupid and drunk enough to ask Joe some very stupid questions-- about whether there's gay transsexual men and if he knew any, chiefly (like, there's transsexual women, there's transsexual men, so there's gay ones of each, you'd think? right?)-- and he laughed but told me there was. He trusted me and knew I wasn't going to be an asshole on purpose, at least, so the dear thing helped hook me up (and I hadn't even been seriously looking for that! Truly just drunk and stupid). I wasn't exactly sure what the hell I was getting into, but at the same time, Joe looked so much like a man; I figured it couldn't be too bad or awkward, even if it doesn't go anywhere or the chemistry's just off. --Could I be recognized at the club we met in? Was I, occasionally? Yes. At this point it's likely unavoidable. But I've been lucky in that all of the clubs and bars I've been to understand the necessity of anonymity, of privacy[72].

Anyway-- his name was Jack and he was lovely. Noticeably younger than me, which I was surprised by[73]-- twenty-four, but he looks even younger-- with big pretty green eyes, buzzed blond-ish hair, small but neat beard, killer smile, great laugh. Just about my height-- he got a kick out of that n’ how high-pitched my voice is-- in a leather vest, boots, classic tight ripped up Levi's and a truly practical reason to stick a sock in them (unlike some of the boys I've toured with...). His musculature was also practical rather than showy, not much hair on his chest but a nice trail. A long thin light pink scar underneath each pec. It was so easy at that point, even with those scars, to treat him like another guy, another date at a bar (then again, why would scars be strange to me). And he was funny, charming, confident-- I was worried he'd still be too short for me, but he won me over fast. He kissed me first and he wasn't shy on the dancefloor, either. Full of joy, singing along to How Will I Know in that cute imperfect untrained voice most people have, not giving a damn about how he sounded-- and I didn't dare sing along, I'd never rob him of his moment-- flashing that great smile at me all the awhile, so infectious I couldn't help but smile back.

So we met up again at my place--he drove his motorcycle there, which was... interesting-- started getting heavy, and that's when we both ran out of script and had to start improvising. Awkward sometimes, yes, but not in any truly mood-killing way. He knew what he was doing with himself, and he had to trust that he did with me, and I had to trust myself to not be an asshole if it all turned out a way I ended up being disappointed in. The shiest he ever got was when I helped take his jeans off. It made sense-- neither of us really knew what to expect from the other, and I had no idea what to expect whatsoever.

At first glance, his body was admittedly incongruous to me: like a man at the top half and a butch dyke on the bottom. It got a bit easier when I relaxed a little and could notice that there were some differences (in size and function)-- it was something halfway between a clit and a dick, basically. Which I can still barely wrap my head around... since it was halfway between the two, though, I just sort of treated it that way, got some pointers from him as he got less nervous, and he started sighing, moaning, jutting his hips toward me, and I felt his chest with my other hand-- something I KNEW I liked; firm pecs, nice little tits... and then something somewhat unique to him, the little smooth embossing along his skin where his scars are. That difference didn't matter to me nearly so much, though. Scars could mean anything, and his chest WAS beautiful to look at and touch, and kiss, and he could feel me up damn well, too, so things started to pick up from there.

What really sealed it though was catching a whiff of the hand that had been feeling him up (grabbing lube or something) and I realized that he SMELLED like a man, and I got so fucking hard, and Jack made the hottest little noise at that and UGH. He told me he only wanted his ass fucked (and I'd already forgotten he had any other hole anyway) and I told him that's typically what I prefer anyhow. Something I realized halfway through: the things that were awkward for me were equally awkward for him, and he wanted to avoid them as much as I did. He liked getting fucked from behind; I liked fucking him from behind (and I had plenty of my own I had to hide myself, I realized-- I didn't and still don't really have any explanation for my own scars). Fully congruous for me that way, for one thing, and he really does have a nice ass (I think if I had my face in one of his pits I'd be able to do most anything he wanted, though). But also more comfortable for him; he knows he's more fully congruous that way, he wants to be seen that way, he's turned on by being seen and fucked that way. Which, duh, I guess, but yknow.

Realizing that, though, and realizing that he brought along some equipment to let him fuck (and he let me pick from a choice of THREE lengths and girths! A gentleman!), made me want to ride him. --And he wanted to feel me up while I did so and he wanted me to cum on him, so an easy enough trade to make. Speed really can be a wonderful drug (and injected testosterone something else entirely...). I'd say this was the best sex I've had since Ben, but in all honesty it was the first full sex I've had since Ben. I've jacked myself off a truly embarrassing amount of times, had other guys do it a fair amount of times as well, I've been chained up and slapped n' smacked n' flogged n' whipped while getting jacked off, other guys've sucked me, but no full sex 'til now. It's all obviously been very... complicated. But this time, I was able to ignore all my morbid anxieties around it and just DO, and do so much, and feel so much, and feel so good, that by the time I’d calmed down a bit I noticed I’d scratched the hell out of one of his shoulders/pecs. Thankfully not something he minded (and if he noticed my scars while I was riding him, he didn't mention them or try to touch them).

Anyway-- wow. We washed up, kissed each other goodbye at my door, and he asked if I'd want to do it all again sometime. "Not for anything serious, or anything, just-- you know. Because you were really cool about it. And it was hot." Well, why not? I need something good in my fucking life, and as long as it's just sex I don't mind. I'm still not completely sure how I want to have sex with him yet but I'm open to figuring it out. But he deserves someone far better for anything else, someone who'll stick around longer than I will, someone whose life isn't tied to his contract. He has so much more time left and so much left to live for. What a darling he is, though. He won't have any trouble finding a better man than me; hell, he could probably charm the pants off of anybody even with all his differences. For now, though, I do want to take advantage of the fact that this has me feeling more alive, more human, for far longer, than anything or anyone outside of a certain very stupid choice of someone has in months. It's like Kyle in that way-- pretending again, for another moment, that I can be good.

PS: He obviously knows who I am, but he's been treating me so... normally despite it. I appreciate it so much, and I told him that. I think correcting him at first when he called me Jules Riley-- Rajani, sweetheart; I'd said-- made my point clear enough[74]

PPS: We were laying there after everything and I blurted out a stupid question about whether he ever crashed his bike. "Sorta? But nothing serious, at least, just a little scratched up." How did it feel? "...Huh?" --Nothing. ...Thankfully could change topics quickly after that.

*

Back in the studio and I feel calloused. Not *callous*, -calloused-. Made of old blister and scar tissue. Speed is still good at keeping me functional and faking it. It took me a little while to be able to reach that sweet spot singing again, but I found it eventually, and it was another brief respite from reality. I was in the world of song again, even if it wasn't heaven anymore. Before I found it though it was hard to get the tension out of my throat. I'd crack a little too easily and I knew it wasn't all physical damage, it was nearly all psychological-- tension held in the wrong places leading to misuse or misfires-- but it still annoyed the hell out of me, which did not help the tension issue. The others either don't notice or care and I'm not sure which and I'm afraid to ask. I won't like the answer either way.

I did find a replacement for Rory-- Gabe, studio bassist, extremely versatile player from what we've heard, big like Ben but darker, clean-shaven, less butch. Agreeable-- I mean, this is just another gig out of many for him-- laid-back but happy to talk about various musical topics with me and the rest. Walter thankfully hasn't said anything awful to him or to me (I told Gabe if Walter gave him any shit to tell me and I'd handle it)-- he might have just enough studio or industry connections to make being rude or nasty to him a bad idea.

I've also assumed quite a few producing/engineering duties-- not all of them, that'd be ridiculous even if I did a dozen lines a day, but a fair amount. My solo work's prepared me well; Vince taught me so much. In any other circumstance that's something I could be proud of, be excited for. Now it's just another guarantee that I'll have less and less downtime. I can't handle downtime. The scream perpetually caught in my throat gets so close to letting itself loose, and I feel as though as soon as that happens I'm done for. I'm walking a tightrope over thousands of feet and if I stop for a second, if I look down, I'll wobble, fall, die. Ken doesn't fucking get that. He thinks I think I can do his old jobs better than he can or whatever so he's been real snippy with me. He's getting paid the same regardless, so I'm honestly not sure what the bother is. I've always respected his work and I thought I made that clear to him, and I thought that would be enough for him to understand a little, but apparently not. Asshole.

Meanwhile, Nate's been in a bit of a better mood all of a sudden. At least, enough to tease me in his own ways-- he said he liked the new earrings, did one of his big old laughs as he flicked the dangling one with a finger. God, he doesn't know what he's playing with doing that to me right now. DOES he? Did he know I'd think about it like this later? Fuck I hate him so much, he really does think he can get away with everything. He CAN get away with everything and Jeff's of course the automatic nice-guy genius or whatever. So where the fuck does that leave ME? And what the hell do I even think about Nathan anymore... I've been jacking off to how his body looks and moves lately, but it's been such a detached thing-- not an active attraction to him as a person, more of an excuse to cum. And he didn't seem interested at all in me even on that annoying little teasing level earlier. Ugh the earring thing really has scrambled my brain up. He knows I'm onto powder from pills now, too, but that's just a given for so many of us. Not something he’s worried about-- something we can do together, instead. We'll go to the bathroom together sometimes to do a little toast. He was still a little surprised it was speed for me, not coke, and I said I liked to be able to keep it up when I fuck. "You tryin' to say something about how I fuck??" No, i'm telling you something about how *I* fuck. But if you have no problems on coke, good for you, sweetheart! Gave his shoulder a little squeeze on the way out. A silly dare to myself, a mini shot of adrenaline. And I did get away with it! So I suppose I can get away with some things, sometimes...

*

[71]Ugh, it's like that stupid fucking story about crashing the motorcycle planted something in me and now it's threatening to sprout out everywhere and I can't handle this right now, I really can't, and why the fuck did he do this to me, he probably isn't even into any of this stuff and I'm just a freak like always and if I bring any of it up I'm also an idiot.

[72]Of course, if they didn’t, I have enough at my disposal at this point to help them understand that necessity, one way or another.

[73]I suppose transsexuals are uncommon enough that the age range in social or support groups would run the gamut. But still, gonna have to tease Joe for robbing a cradle for me...

[74]And he blushed such a deep red I thought he was embarrassed with himself, and maybe he was, but I told him it was fine and he somehow got even redder. Silly thing!