Author and Columnist
Tonight she had me. Mind. Body. Soul.
This has been one of the entries that I have been dreading.
She had you. You did not have Kate because she didn't care to give much of herself to you.
You were used and are gushing about it.
Who is this she that makes Xen coo? Why, Kate, of course.
No "of course." This was a disaster. Any other woman -- the stranger from the concert -- would have been a better match for you right now. Not Kate. Not ever again.
I went to her dorm tonight.
Stay the hell out of Kate's dorm! Have I not been clear on this point? I am sure that I have been clear.
Which, of course, made me less that happy as she is one of my best friends.
It made you sad because you wanted to fondle her into a relationship.
However, she did an hilarious impression of a boy who was pretending he was an egg frying. She also verbally created a cowboy movie based upon track three and four of a Tortoise album. Which caused me to have a very gooey nougat center, it was so damned charming.
I guess you'd have to be there. And you were, but I suspect it was your glands more than your brain that found this funny.
Undoubtedly, I was looking at her with very "receptive" eyes. I would call them bedroom eyes, except I was not in a bedroom (though on her bed).
Desperate eyes. You looked easy, so she seized upon it, and you applaud her.
I was trying not to press it. But I really wanted to hold her for a moment, just feel her in my arms.
I hate this situation and how you keep pressing -- which you were beyond a solitary doubt from me. A welling of foreboding builds in my chest. You don't want merely to hold her. You want to have sex with her in hopes that it will be enough that she will change her mind about not being your girlfriend.
It is an awful thing for you to do, and it is a brutal thing that she encourages because it feels pleasurable for a little while.
You romanticize being used.
I confessed to the horse, just loudly enough that Kate could hear every word I was saying, that it is very difficult to be around Katie and not want to hold her. Kate told me that she could hear me, I told her she was supposed to, I was just being cute rather than awkward.
No, you were being exceedingly awkward. How can you think using a stuffed animal as a conduit for advertising your easiness is cute? Kate wants confidence and aloofness, not relational sluttiness barely masked beneath Poly-Fiber.
This is aggressively not to say that I want you to be someone Kate wants. I would rather you be awkward and free on your terms than touch her ever again.
With every break I take in this, I will resist saying that I resent every second you think you are enjoying.
We talked some more, mostly about witnessing our parents injured and the one time I thought my mother was a zombie that was trying to kill me.
This is a small oasis in this sea of my disgust. Let us tell the zombie story.
I couldn't have been much older than six if that. My mother had a hangover after a night of hard drinking, something she rarely did, to my recollection. She moaned in pain from how poorly she felt. My older brother Dan assured me that she had become one of the undead. I snatched a look at her -- not her prettiest -- and she groaned again. That was all the evidence I needed to begin screaming -- hardly the friend to any hangover -- and hid myself weeping in one of the rooms in the house. My mother dragged herself to stop me, not understanding why I was doing this. I was unable to articulate myself through the agony of the grief that not only had my mother died, but she was now going to kill and eat me.
I do not recall how my mother convinced me that she was not one of the shambling dead. Talking to me wouldn't have been enough, as I did not know the rules to which zombies had to adhere.
Now, back to a more likely horror.
I ended up resting my head on her thigh and gazing up at her. I must admit, it was one of the more comfortable positions I have undergone (underwent?) in a very long time. It was also a very intimate (though still potentially friendly) position.
This is not remotely a friendly position. I also do not know how often I can assure you that this disgusts me, how you are degrading yourself. You have had a few attempts at dalliances with other women, but you return to Kate's lap when you are just a friend who wants to be more.
I began kissing her fingers, hand, and wrist. She condescended to allow.
I am far more than condescending about this. Any other woman and I would remember the echoes of the fluttering you feel. With Kate, you are kissing poison.
When I kissed her earlobe (seemed like a logical progression at the time), she asked me not to, that we shouldn't.
You shouldn't. You have volition here. There is no sensible reason to do this.
I put on my bravest, sad puppy face and explained to her that I did not have any illusions that I could seduce her into being with me.
You are nothing but illusions and are lying to her, as I believe you know that you are lying to yourself.
I revealed to her that I wish to show my affections for her by kissing and holding, that is all.
I doubt she believes it, but you still tell her a lie. You can't possibly believe this either, as I am sure anyone reading this would have clocked your intentions correctly.
So back to her lap I went while she took two phone calls. During a rather long one with her mother, she mouthed the word "Sorry" to me. I wish I could relate it to you with the adjectives worthy, but the mouthing made me smile widely. It was also surprisingly warm and sexy in an equally indescribable way.
Yes, you were in her lap, trying to unbutton her pants. You omit this, but it is an important fact that would better give context. You are not kissing a friend. You are trying to get to third base with your ex.
She tipped over on her side and allowed my kisses to trespass where they may (with the exception of her lips, to which I swore I would importune entrance. No thief of kisses, I! Oh, yes, and I did not kiss where there was clothing barring me availability. Because I am not a cad, you see).
There is a sort of joke that sex workers do not kiss on the mouth, which might be true. If someone will not even give you a peck, why do you think your lips belong anywhere more intimate?
So I, in record form, played the trump card. I will not get into what this entailed here, because that would be impolite, however it succeeded in earning me more time to kiss her.
I suspect this would be you overly propositioning her and getting her pants off.
Oh, yes, and it seemed to make her exceedingly happy. I also assured her that I would do just about anything (within reason and my personal ethics) for her and with her.
*Ahem*
Yep.
My lips are sore from the length and intensity of it. [...] No pain, no gain.
No, pain. No gain.
I promised her that I would remain happy about tonight and not regret it.
Another lie because I regret it, and I suspect the following entry will entail how much you do.
I have decided that it is undoubtedly best not to overthink this. I shared a very tender evening with a woman I love endlessly. That is all.
You, a neurodivergent writer with a romance fetish, are incapable of not overthinking this.
I know that I would date her in her present state.
You did not even manage the span of this entry before going back on being content with this hookup alone.
Alone with her, I think I could stay compelled for years.
You will never be alone with her. Otherwise, there might have been more than lust and desire. She has her friends and outside influences, including men with whom she does much more than she just did with you. The moment you are out of her room, they swoop in. There is nothing wrong with that; it is what they are supposed to do. Kate is figuring out who she is. They are a massive part of that.
She doesn't want to be alone with you beyond an attempt to give her an orgasm.
See, that wasn't too much thinking, was it?
Maybe if you thought more -- not deluded or convinced yourself, but thought -- you would act with more consideration and keep yourself safe. .