[cw: discussion of past relationship/sexual abuse; drug use and dubious consent in present context]

*

Work's been going decently lately-- everything with Jack's got me in a generally better mood than I've been in awhile, which makes even the more difficult things around the business and my life a bit less of a pain. Being around Walter doesn't make me quite so murderous (him having to put on a happy face for the PR circuit has been delicious to see, as well). Everyone's worst tendencies aren't driving me up a wall like they can at times. For awhile Jeff was more uncomfortable around me than when I was far more feminine but in the closet around everyone, which was funny. I think he almost fainted seeing me the day I first drove my bike to work, walking into the studio in my leather (and I just crossed my eyes at him for a second, HA). For whatever reason, though, that also seemed to fix him, and he's been a little nervous but nowhere near as annoying these days, which has turned out to be lucky, since Nathan is so frustratingly unpredictable.

I have to choose between a pathetic little rat who hides his disgust behind decorous politeness (and thinks that makes him a good person) but knows what the fuck he's doing and can be expected to do his job, or an overgrown child that does the bare minimum and says the first thing that's on his mind regardless of how polite or smart it is but doesn't think I'm damned to a humiliating, torturously painful death or to second-class citizenship for who I like and love and fuck (and is still far too enjoyable to look at and listen to-- play, that is, not speak). What a joy.

Seeing Jack once or twice a week has turned out to be perfect-- enough time between each visit to think about what else I can do with him, how I can improve on what I already do with him, talk to people and go to places to get extra inspiration/advice (and enough time for him to recover from whatever we do together, too, if applicable, but there are always faded marks of some kind left over, and I LOVE that there are, and he does, too). I get feedback from him, too, of course, and that's always the most helpful. What he likes to get hit with and where and how, things he likes to be called (and doesn't want to be called), things he'd like attention drawn to (things he'd like ignored-- and sometimes this has changed; sometimes he doesn't want me touching anything up front, and he's particular about how he likes to be touched there... a very clear example of why you do all the talking first every time[81]), various other little fantasies of his that he's less and less embarrassed to share.

I should really take Jack to LR, sometime... I do see other guys around his age there, now. I very much want LR to live through this, and that's a good sign-- that I see new people, new younger people, alongside many of the regulars (still too many missing). And it'd be nice for him to meet some of the guys (and gals, if they're around!). ...And maybe I can tell him about Cryssie. Show him some of my dresses, even. Ugh, he might want me to wear them, though. And I haven't been in the mood for that for quite some time, and I don't feel like explaining all that to him. So maybe not.

It is odd to think, sometimes, about the idea of someone born female ASPIRING to be a faggot. I mean, straight women enjoy it as a sort of abstract concept, but Jack is obviously extremely literal in those aspirations, and the way he looks up to me can confuse me or fill me with a quiet panic. Sometimes I can’t help but think, like-- oh, you wanted to volunteer to get the shit kicked out of you and your life ruined or fully ended? Sometimes I can’t understand it as anything other than suicidality or naivete, even if I obviously enjoy his company otherwise.

...But sometimes, Jack feels my scars, now, when we're laying down together. The first time he touched them, even after we talked a little about them, I couldn't help but tense my entire body. He didn't pull his hand away immediately but he paused it there, didn't move, until I relaxed again. So I feel his scars, now, too; the ones across his chest. Neither of us say anything about it. It's like a sort of attempt to understand the other without words... and maybe I do understand, more, now: he took what was holding him back and cast it out of him. Something I've never been able to do. I have, at least, been able to claim my sexuality with a relative certainty, but even that took years and various dives back into denial. Jack was eighteen and he knew he wanted his tits gone enough to save up for it to happen. Hell, maybe he was even younger than that. What the fuck. I can’t imagine being that certain about ANYTHING, and especially so young. Maybe that’s another thing I envy about him.

*

Everything with Jack and my speed planted a thought in my brain that wouldn’t leave me alone even after everything about it was solved, and despite how sick it’d make me feel in the aftermath of thinking it. Well-- it’d turn me on, then make me sick. But it'd keep poking at me like some itch that needed scratching. Fully gave into the thought with him this time, felt even more sick after, threw up as soon as he left, not quite so guilty now but still uneasy.

I was a few months short of my twentieth birthday when Lorenzo first gave me speed-- well, amphetamine pills at that point. The housewife variant (and he did get me cooking and cleaning for him too, the fucker). If they weren't dex they were something similar enough to it (and I don't know why it felt different when Shann gave them to me, it didn't make me sick or make me remember things I didn't want to remember... I mean, Shann's generally a good person, for one thing). Luis had left for New York and took my heart with him. I couldn’t understand why it was so easy for him to let me go. I thought he loved me, but it was like he loved New York more, and I was despairing at the impossibility of competing with an entire city to the point that doing any sort of classwork was unthinkable. Doing near-anything was unthinkable: I was rotting in bed in my dorm room, feeling so worthless, unwanted, tossed out the window like used up trash and so frustrated with myself for it, yet the frustration didn’t help me stop rotting. Meeting Lorenzo for the first time since high school, buying those pills from him, using them, feeling alive again-- all that made me trust him too damn much. Looking back, I know that was on purpose.

I gave Jack the pure shit, no fucking around. He’d stolen it already, and the thought was: why not let him sample it after he went thru all that trouble just to get it? I think I was also hoping that there really was a reason to steal it beyond just fucking with me; the memory of it all still gnawed at me even after it was technically all settled. I hate the idea of anyone fucking with me that way, or even the idea that they’d be comfortable trying. I would NEVER dream of doing anything close to Jack what Lorenzo did to me-- it wasn’t much. Just a bump, and what would be a smaller one for me, but starting small’s always best for anything. And he asked good questions, didn’t just take it and snort it like nothing, and I wouldn’t have let him (and I took my own bump after he took his). I sat with him as he came up, he gripped my hand on the way there, and I told him he should send all that tension and those wired-feelings downward and I could think about doing a little something to help relieve them for him.

--And ugh, he really was so fucking hot. I had no idea how hard that little dick of his could get (SO fun to play with). He wanted to fuck me so bad, get fucked by me so bad, but the poor thing was tied up, sweating, panting, moaning, begging thru grit teeth; I already thought he was sexier than he’d ever been just being submissive for me, but THIS… this was another level of beautiful, an even closer step towards perfection. --I can admit all that, even now. I did fuck him eventually, after teasing him quite a bit (in various ways~). Asked him while I fucked him if he understood exactly what he stole from me now, and doesn’t it feel so fucking good-- he yes-Sir’d me there, but he was so into it all he didn’t need to.

All that and it still made me nauseous as soon as the bliss wore off. It felt so good, but it felt too close. Jack was as responsible about it all as he could be, isn’t nearly as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as I was the first time I used, both of us are operating under the mutual understanding that it’ll be an occasional sex drug for him (would never want to jeopardize his job the way I dropped out of school for it all)-- but I can still sometimes almost see Lorenzo smirking at me behind my eyes. “Doesn’t it feel so fucking good?” Yes-- no-- yes-- no, yes, but not the way it felt good for you. You fucking hurt me on purpose, you wanted to fuck me in whatever ways hurt me, and not to make ME feel good. You wanted to hurt me the more afraid I was of you, the more disgusted I was by you. You fucking got off on my fear and disgust of you. I never wanted you the way Jack wants me. Nowhere close. I wanted what I thought you were giving me, I wanted a way out of myself, I wanted a way out of everything. I was desperate and looking for any kind of fucking help I could get. Jack’s ready and willing, he has a job already, he has an apartment already (as sparse and small and sad as it is), he has a fucking life and he made it for himself, made HIMSELF for himself in more ways than most people could ever dream of doing for themselves, and as envious as I am of those things (despite being in the position I am now-- it’s strange) I’m also so proud of him for it all.

Still torn. Still nervous about the power Jack trusts me with, the closeness he wants, the sorts of darkness we’re standing on the edge of, looking out over, trying to tame together. So many things are just cutting so close to the bone nowadays. I want to do something good with it. He wants me to do something good with it. In the heat of the moment I don’t feel the burden of that, just the excitement, the thrill, the desire. Those things have stayed in the aftermath, too, but they linger with a dread, a guilt, a fear. I don’t know what side to trust more. White-knuckling it like everything else.

*

I've been avoiding the most direct, personal work with the plague lately-- sending money to people and causes who need it, but no hands-on help with nursing or anything like that-- and I could say I was too busy for it, and I have, and I HAVE been very busy, but the truth of the matter is I've still been avoiding it for other reasons. Even thinking about it, sometimes. It instantly exhausts me, makes me want to lie down and never get up again. There's so much pain around me and I can't endure just a little more? I really do hate myself. It's not just the pain, though-- it's having to do my job. It's not being able to hold that particular pain (among others) and do my job at the same time anymore (barely being able to do so to begin with). And Jack's been wonderful, but it's not like I can just dump all that on the kid like it's nothing. But now it's yet another thing I lay in bed and think about instead of falling asleep. I wish I could will myself free of times like this, be as much as everything and everyone needs, nothing more and nothing less, but I've never been able to-- almost NEVER when I'm clean, and even now I'm struggling. And I feel just as guilty each time I fail to pick myself up. Jack thinks I'm a lot cooler than I really am, still[82], too. That can be helpful some days-- something to aspire to.

Then again, some of the reasons he thinks I'm cool are... questionable and confusing to me. How horny he sounded when he called me "SO fucked up" that one time. Some of the fantasies he's wanted me to act out with him. I've declined some of them, actually. Thankfully he's been okay with that. ...God, I think he really has had to deal with too many of the things I also had to. I remember having some of the fantasies Jack has about me, with Greg. With Ricky, too, even earlier. I never asked them to fulfill those fantasies, thankfully, I was very ashamed of them. ...At the same time, Nate could very easily fulfill those fantasies and that idea's always filled me with disgust (now, imagine if he could learn to use that recklessness in harnessed, short bursts for me...). It all seems so arbitrary sometimes, what'll turn me on and what'll make me panic. You'd think all the SM stuff would be terrible, on either side, but it hasn't been. The opposite, really. It's extreme, but it's a highly controlled sort of extreme. On the masochistic side of things, people are hitting me, but it's when I want them to, where I want them to, how I want them to, and I say stop and they stop the instant I say stop. If I cried and begged my grandfather to stop hitting me, he would've probably just hit me harder (and called me a faggot for crying). So it's more cathartic than anything. When I'm the one doing the hitting and fucking, it's even more clear to me how we're both in control, in our own ways. And the SM people were the first people who ever saw my legs and didn't act fucking stupid about them, and I didn't know how much I needed that until I got it. I would do anything I could to not think about my thighs until this year. There were times it was like I'd completely forget about the scars there until I happened to notice them. So I wouldn't notice them. Then I forced them into being noticed, and I couldn't handle it. Now I can, at least. I think. I can see them as a part of me, anyway.

Anyway, sometimes I do worry about Jack because of these things. Even some of the things he wants me to say, sometimes. Calling him an "oozing collection of holes" isn't as extreme as some of the other things I've had to decline to do, but I still had to ask him first if he thought I thought of him that way (even things like calling him a "dickless pussy-faggot"-- in the midst of things that's something more easily agreeable than "oozing collection of holes", but I did still worry, later). Because I don't-- I mean, of course not in those vulgar terms, but even otherwise. It was something I had to get used to at first, but then I got used to it. If anything, these days I think of him as a guy that was born with a hormone disorder or something. He needs somewhat frequent reassurance that his differences don't bother me. And I do get it. But... ugh. Sweetheart, it's been a few months, now. Why would I stick around if I was bothered by you? Why would I keep having sex with you if I was that disappointed in your body? Why would a gay man keep having sex with someone he saw as a "fucked up woman"? I really do need to tell him about Cryssie. Maybe after we hit LR.

PS: Decided to defer to Jack regarding speed– won’t offer up-front, but if he wants to use it before sex, I’ll give it to him. Which I have again, now, but not every time. He enjoys it, but says the rush of it works better for some scenes over others. Whatever his reasoning, it feels better this way.

*

What the FUCK. WHAT. THE FUCK. I cannot fucking believe my stupid fucking life.

We were using a very nice studio, I thought, and so we all thought. None of us had any problems. Things weren't going smoothly, obviously, but they were going. And now the fucking FBI's raiding the fucking place because the owner's a suspect in some white collar crime of some kind, and they're not letting us in to even get our fucking tapes, and FUCK I wanted to fucking throw things. I did kick something. Unfortunately for my toes.

But fuck, this is the first project I've had this much input on with the band and so much keeps getting in the fucking way or going wrong. The year started out as a nightmare, got slightly less nightmarish, but hasn't really let up. And I can just see Walter's smug fucking face, "See, this is why you're not good on your own, Jules". FUCK you. Like I could fucking control the FB-fucking-I raiding our fucking studio. Ugh, and it gave me half a heart-attack, and probably gave Nate at least a quarter of one; I thought they were there for drugs and I'm sure he did too. At least there's that much (and I had all I had in my pockets, anyway-- hopefully the same for Nate).

Ugh, I need to take a deep breath. I can still do some work from home and I have. Maybe we'll be able to at least get our tapes tomorrow so we can find another place to work. And if not tomorrow, very hopefully within the week. Absolutely ridiculous. This shit would happen to me, though, wouldn't it. There wasn't enough bullshit I had to deal with. FUCK.

PS: Pam called-- nice, but brief. It's strange when older friends call or talk to me especially. It's like I have to remember who I am, or who they think I am. Even just being called Julie feels a little off. But she expressed her condolences over everything, asked how I was doing. Well enough. "I feel you." Yeah.

*

LR visit with Jack went well-- very needed distraction from work BS. Was a lovely time in the end but melancholic throughout, of course. Loss etched into every corner, current dreads and fears seeping into the usual joy, threatening to invade at the edges of it like old memories do to my mind. Had a couple rum-and-cokes in Rick's memory-- what I drank the night I first danced with him, not whatever sangria nonsense we got drunk off of the night he died-- and those relaxed me well enough. Jack's enthusiasm and happiness carried me the rest of the way-- ugh, it really is impossible to wallow when you see him dancing and singing. He's free like Nathan is, but not exactly. In his own way, I guess. Even with all he's been through. So I wasn't fully happy, but I could bask in his happiness, his liveliness, share it for awhile while sharing something of mine with him, and that was good enough for me.

Ran into Enrique, said hi to Pat. Introduced Jack casually to the former, and when I let him walk off to have some fun of his own, I told Enrique that Jack couldn't be anything too serious, but it's nice to have something steady for awhile in the midst of everything else; to have someone and something to turn to like that in a time like this. "Ah, you're gettin' into those Daddy feelings, now, eh?", he joked with me. In a way, maybe. Something adjacent to it? I wouldn't want him calling me that, at any rate. Sir's been fine-- more than fine, really. I understood what Enrique was getting at, though-- it's what the young guys I first got to sub for me were looking for. We age, we get insecure about it, we try to see what works that highlights and complements that age in a more seemly way. We age, and younger guys start to treat us differently. They look up to us. The age itself becomes something they play with. I was resistant to it for awhile, even a little confused, but I am thirty-six now. Nothing lasts forever.

Anyway, This was also the first time I'd been to a club while in a dominant/submissive kind of situation. --Well, it's the first time I've been in one of those situations anywhere. Sex with Ben often played with those concepts in various ways, but the rest of our relationship wasn't like that-- we worked together for more than half the year, things had to stay professional; it was just so different. And I hadn't ever thought about doing anything close to this until Nathan told me his stupid motorcycle story anyway. There are still things Jack and I only do or say during sex/sexual scenarios, of course, but the dynamic of it all still bleeds through just a bit to other parts of life anyway. It's in a satisfying way, at least, and it was here, as well-- it colored how we flirted with each other, how we walked through the place, how we existed with each other among everyone else. All of that eventually overpowered the melancholy. I told him it was fine to dance and play around with other boys, though-- I wanted him to really experience the place, after all. And I knew he'd be back, and when he was, I'd remind him why he'd always come back to me (--I have my fun with it, what can I say, I'm guilty, and I'm shamelessly guilty, because it revs him up so much). So after a nod and a yes Sir I got to watch him look cute n' sexy with other boys for awhile while I talked with Enrique, Casey. Just shooting the shit-- it was such a relief to do, honestly. I could feel and feeling didn't feel like being scraped across pavement from the back of a car[83].

And then going home with Jack, having him drop to his knees the second I shut the front door without even having to tell him anymore, the sound of the door closing in and of itself being enough of a cue, looking up at me with those darling eyes of his... wow. Each time we're together this way I understand myself and I understand him more and more-- we both want to be good. We're giving each other a chance to be good. We're rewarding each other for it, but at the same time, the experience is in itself the reward. And I can act out what I come to understand better and better, I can keep giving him what he wants, I can keep fucking him more and more into the man he is.

And speaking of Ben, HA, imagine if he could see me now. He couldn't fucking handle this. He liked me strong but not *too* strong, crazy but not *too* crazy, horny but not *too* horny, emotional but not *too* emotional. Anything too much and he was back to truck stop hole for another god knows how many months. I was so fucking nervous around Jack for so long and it turns out he accepts parts of me that Ben never would, accepts/shares fantasies I was sure made me terrible, things I would've wanted to punish myself for imagining in earlier days, and what's more, now that we've done them they don't seem all that extreme. Like... there’re people at SM clubs that get hung up by hooks like a rack of meat. Like, right through the skin of their backs. Impressive that they can withstand it, but decidedly not my thing, even to look at. Too close to a slaughterhouse.

Anyway, I did get to tell Jack about Cryssie, after we'd had our fun and cleaned up afterwords. I couldn't get too detailed. I just said that she was the first person I'd ever met that could be described as transsexual, or at least adjacent to that. That she taught me quite a lot. Showed me the ropes around a lot. Helped me see myself outside of the Valley's eyes, and more through my own. Through hers, too, but that was still a comfortable thing; it was collaborative. And she never wanted anything in return. --Well, rent, once I could actually swing it. But I met her after getting away from an evil fucking freak, and I was always expecting people to want something from me. Especially after they did things for me. But she didn't, and she was just an amazing person, generally. Braver than I could ever be (Jack said that I'm a better person than I think I am, and he often says things like that, but he doesn't understand how bullshit that is). --And of course, Jack knew Joe, but Cryssie is how I knew Joe, before he was even Joe! So much comes back to her... I am glad I can still come back to LR. I'm glad I could share it with Jack.

PS: Something I keep thinking about, lately: a few years ago I dreamed of being able to disappear into the crew if Walter (and everything else) destroyed my voice. Just two years ago I became terrified and livid even thinking of the idea of being seen as a freak. I tried so much to build myself up in a way that cast so much light outwards that people would be too blinded by it to squint thru and see any bits of shadow. Now I dream of disappearing into a sea of freaks.

*

[81]There's an odd sort of comfort in those talks, too. I think for the both of us, but I'm only assuming on his part. Just knowing what's coming next, having such a say in it, more of a clear understanding that you'll be listened to. If there's any recklessness at all it's in very harnessed (no pun intended) bursts. It's interesting-- this sort of sex requires an intense kind of trust, and trusting is usually very difficult for me. I don't know. It's different, somehow. When it's a club, I'm usually around seasoned, experienced guys and that's who I learned how to seek out and go to 'til I got confident enough in everything myself. And then with Jack and myself, we just know each other well enough by now. ...Nathan and I know each other on so many levels.

[82]Not to say he thinks I’m cool in a hip/current way– he definitely teases me for some things, but that just comes with the territory; he’d say “rad” instead of cool half the time for example, and probably laugh at me for even saying “hip”– it’s a cool-older-guy kind of cool, but even that...

[83]Casey’s also amused by my sudden turn down her alley – leather and kink, that is. She says it’s getting increasingly popular; we thought about all the awful things we and others have lived through and are still living through that could often find no other catharsis outside of sexual/physical metaphor– I love having smart friends, ugh. I would not have thought of those words on my own but hearing them all together like that made so much click for me. Songwriting with others can be like that, too; it’s always been one of Jeff’s saving graces. Maybe that’s why I like learning like that instead of reading books by myself: the collaborative aspect of it all (well, and less concentration trying to make sense of letters).