Every time for the last month, when I try to write in this stupid blog, I get a headache. Whenever I think too hard about what's going on it just fucks me up and I can't keep typing. I want to talk about what I've done and why I'm doing it and why it feels good, but I just can't. You guys kinda know me a bit, right? I'm not that smart. I can't deal with this. But even idiots like me need to live their lives, need to make choices.
I started sleeping with Wes in March. I made that decision a long time ago. Honestly, the first time I met him I thought "If I was into guys I'd like this dude." Then I thought "Hey I guess I kind of am into guys." And then he told me he'd help me out with some money if I just let him... well...
He said he was just doing me a favour, that we were getting really close and he wanted to use his money to help me, but we know what the real deal was. He wanted to control me. All those nice dinners (which I didn't eat because I hardly never eat) and wine and champagne, all those dresses he bought me which I only wear for him. Those long looks... and I knew if I didn't let him in, the money, Clara's medicine, and MY TRIP could be gone.
No, I couldn't handle it at first. It was too real. I drank, and it reacted bad with my drugs. Just talking about that with him... admitting to him I was a fucked up person and that he should probably find someone else... was so hard, because I don't remember the last time I had that kind of conversation. But he stuck with me and it was worth it.
I remember lowering myself onto his cock for the first time like I was slipping into a hot tub. It was good, and not... and it takes a while to go from bad too good, and then it gets great, and then... it stops.
You guys... he is not good at sex.
I've fucked him, I don't know, three times a week for a month and a half. And I'm pretty sure he's just bad at it. At first I thought it was because I wasn't used to it. I didn't know how I was supposed to feel about having this thing inside me because I won't even use tampons or a dildo when I play with myself. I tried to get into it, to bounce extra hard when I was on top, but he just kept drilling like a fucking jackhammer when all I wanted was something... I dunno, softer, more delicate. I'm starting to "get" women, which is weird since I've been one for so long now. He never does foreplay, never eats me out, he can hardly even last, he always wants to come on my chest.
I thought maybe it was just this body... that after all the anti-depressants and alcohol and just generally feeling like shit, maybe Clara was broken down there, but when I finally got the guts to really get "in there" myself, I found that, yeah, oh wow, everything felt good. Some nights I can feel myself just starting to get into it, but then he finishes.
I don't want to talk about some of the other stuff I've had to do for him, specifically, but it basically amounts to: he picks me up, we talk and pretend like we're going out, maybe share a meal or a coffee, find ourselves back at his place, and start going at it. I thought it was going to be really passionate, with kissing and cuddling and stuff... and I dunno why I'm disappointed it's not like that, but it seems very mechanical. Then when my boredom starts to show, I have to start pretending like I'm really into it, making all the moaning noises I would want to hear if I was the guy, so he doesn't realize how badly it's going and cancel our deal.
I also feel like everyone in the house can tell. They think I'm a slut. Why is it so stressful doing something I thought I was supposed to like? I never asked to be a girl, never wanted to look at a guy that way, but I do, and I have this guy who obviously likes doing it with me, why is it so lame? Now I realize why chicks don't wanna bang every guy they meet... ugh.
I just need to hang in there another month or so.