Mark

It has been a while since I have written anything of any substance.

That is not to say that that is what this entry will be: of substance. However, I do think it will be a substantial update, if nothing else.

Where to begin? Every time, I have asked that question, out loud, journal-entry style, the answer is always the same: start at the start. Where then, is that start, I wonder. At the start, where the hell else? But I am not going to back all the way up to elementary school just for this little entry. No, I’ll pare it down to just the things that matter at the moment.

Holy crap, now I realize how far behind I am.

Well, I’ll refine it down to several more manageable topics, then.

Lessee, gotta pick me some names, first – the list of names serving as a list of topics.

Local girl
SF girl
Another (that name was chosen over a year ago, now)
MRH (that’s not a girl’s name, but the name of a project that will just get a brief mention at the end)

Mkay.



Local girl (yeah, yeah, I prefer “girl,” to woman, even though she) is 41 or so, and contacted me on a dating site a couple weeks ago, I think. Even though I am on this dating site, I had recently, just before she arrived, I believe, changed my status thing to just looking for friends, shutting off the options for “dating,” the option for casual encounters never having been opted for. Ya know, as if.

Local girl is not like me. Local girl is plenty smart, however, so after several emails back and forth, eventually I trusted her enough, even though she’s not “that kind of girl” to allow her access to this journal – to read all about me, as it were; to read the kinds of things I just will likely never put on a dating site – least of all when I’m not really looking.

It’s the first person, ever, who I did not know inside, first, and who did not know me inside first, but with whom I have shared my photos, to allow to know this side of me as well. Although I had not really made that kind of judgment, I was not thinking even real-life friend, much less girlfriend of this person. Associate, perhaps, at that moment, might be something close to what was in my head at the time I sent over the links to this journal.

This is what I meant in my recent entry when I hoped aloud that I had not overestimated my trust. I don’t know how much of this journal she read, and I did not ask. I assume enough to know, in any case, and I am now satisfied that she will keep my secrets.
Leaving aside Vanessa’s accusations of (and perhaps my own admitted) biggistry (which is like bigotry, except somewhat different), local girl is taller than me by several inches. That might have otherwise played a role, however, given that, as I said at the top, she is not “like me,” it will certainly not play any kind of major part in “elimination” from a non-existent list of potential girl friends, or mates, or partners, or whatever.

As I say over there at that dating site, I’m not looking at the moment, any old way.

Still, we might become friends of some sort or another. Since I have no real life friends, and therefore, no working definition for such a thing, and since she is local, I can’t predict, nor do I desire to, where that might end us up. Smiling. She must have some of these, for she seemed to apply her own working definition of “friends,” and directly inquired as to “when we should meet,” because friends do things together.

I said “not now.”

I suppose it is also conceivable she could come to dislike me, perhaps a lot, who knows?

“Not like me,” and “missing that ‘one critical part’”…

“Not like me,” well, that surely is not always a bad thing at all. Even in this case, it’s not a “bad thing,” but it is definitely A thing. To say I have reviewed the possibilities of...having a partner…who is not “like me,” and is missing that one critical part, I’m positive would be an understatement, for I have, time and again, even as I have grown in many respects, and the answer is always the same: critical apparently means critical.

The absence of this part, which either exists or does not, and may not be merely created or learned, would undoubtedly always be an elephant in the room. Funny, that: the absence of something being the presence of something else.

It’s its brightness that so blinds; or, as my grandfather, the minister, used to say, “the peace that passeth all understanding.”

Even if one was inclined to endeavor to learn the part, no matter how they might master the skill of sympathy, the absence of empathy would remain.

Which brings me to the next section of this multi-faceted, but one-tracked mind, entry: to empathy.

Earlier, someone at that same dating site, of an age similar to mine, and a pleasing appearance as well, talked of her “ruffled little girl panties,” and for a moment got my heart in rather a twist. This quickly unraveled, however, with the explanation she rendered for her ownership of these: “…sometimes, I indulge his fantasies..”

While not discounting or doubting the tenderness and sincerity in sympathies offered, the gap between sympathy and empathy is as large a gap as that between indulge and imbibe. The former gives, yes, and in the best of cases, freely and not out of any sense of obligation or expectancy of favors to be returned; but the latter, oh my, the latter drinks, drowns, consumes it all ravenously, with a watering mouth, and splashes it all back, with the brilliance of splattered paint on an unending canvas, or the dappled, penetrating, surrounding sunlight over an eternal landscape, or soft, deathless rain over an everlasting ocean.

But I digress, and only those who know, really know, regardless how many words I add in. Only those who can empathize can ever really know. I’m good with that. I’m as good with that as never knowing how we came to be, and why.

So, to return this entry and again, to empathy. On the 5th of June, two days before Local Girl wrote me, I received an email from SF Girl. She was responding to the story I had written for someone else and posted at ASSTR. Without directly quoting the letter, she said, in so many words (actually less than a couple dozen), she could empathize with me, and wanted to talk via messenger.

This, we subsequently did. Several times. By the second conversation, in stark contrast to my declination of a present meeting with Local girl, I said, “we must meet, if you ever get out my way.” By the third conversation, we made love, or fucked, or cybered, or whatever you want to call it.

Over the next several days, all my orgasms were shared with her.

All very lovely; one of these, even, shared on camera, another via voice.

Addictive, yes, at least.

This is why I get a grip, and temper myself, and begin to limit my interactions with her, else I’d drown in a river that can’t lead to an ocean. This sentiment is expressed in this snippet of conversation with her, from yesterday

SF Girl: I miss your cock daddy
Mark: it can all be quite addictive, can't it, baby?
SF Girl: hi there
Mark: at least how it is for me, anyway
SF Girl: yes it is
Mark: for me, damn, it's like, it’s like, well damn, I get to have everything I've long dreamed of, in a sense
SF Girl: for me it is a comfort zone
Mark: everything
Mark: yes, it's a refuge, a retreat, a shelter
Mark: and like, fuck
Mark: it's fucking her - which is not to say fucking..her, but you know what I mean - it's her, it’s fucking her
Mark: fucking obsession, or whatever
SF Girl: yup
Mark: this is why I can never fall into a zone..of staying..that way
Mark: cause I just freeze
Mark: and I know what it means to me, and, right or wrong, can only assume it is something similar for "her" too
Mark: so I have to at least pretend it is NOT that big a deal, lest a) I seem silly, or b) I admit it is, and am crushed at her departure; or c) I admit it is, and she is crushed at my departure
Mark: for I seek real life, ultimately
SF Girl: yes

– when, in the absence of this knowledge, I might have gladly seized her upon my lap, at 7 (not AM or PM) or so, and clad in loose blue jean shorts and placing each of my big hands upon each or her tiny round cheeks, dry humped her little body against mine until I soaked the inside of my jeans with cum.

So fucking lovely.

She’s 47, by the way.

5’-1, perhaps waifish, but definitely a woman.

But anyway, she is in SF, is quite happy there, and I do not have any notions about anything more than us, here, occasionally.

If she said, however, that she was coming through my state, tomorrow, I would say, “oh good, lunch or something, then?”

So, in terms of “meeting,” it is not that I dislike Local Girl, not at all, for I have enjoyed our communications thus far. It is only that I don’t know her, and she can’t know me, not really. Whereas, SF girl knew me in an instant, and I her, in that same quick instant. That makes any meeting safe enough, always.

I am delighted to know in my heart that if their physical makeup were switched, the meeting paradigms would remain the same.

Empathy, sweet fucking empathy.

Speaking of meetings, the last Internet person I met in real life, Another, wrote me a note several days ago. Probably somewhere between all that empathetic cumming, actually. It was nice: she missed me, thought of me often, reminisced nostalgically about the short time we spent together, and wished aloud I lived closer, so that we could do things, together – coffee, drives, walks, lying together on a bed for three hours, aching for one another and lying to ourselves about our destination…

I never wrote about that first meeting in any detail, about those hours in Room 301, but they are still as permanently etched in my mind as they are hers.

God.

I wrote back in a day or so, let myself get carried away with music and beauty and us when we were together, etc. This is what I meant in my last entry when I said that I hoped I hadn’t gotten carried away.

She replied a day or so ago, and I know now that if I did get carried away, that it was not overdone, not so far as she was concerned, anyway.

Vanessa, and probably (if they knew) another one or two of my friends at lj disagree with my willingness to speak with her, to write her, to not temper either my love or lust for her, considering that she cheated on me while we were together and ultimately left me for the second of those.

I don’t know. Although she has a valid point, or points, I don’t see things quite the same way. I don’t know. It is very hard for one like me to discount, or to downplay, or to reduce feelings for a young girl who would suck her thumb while I fucked her, hard and soft. I can’t. I can’t because there is so very much more to that scene than would meet almost anyone’s eyes but mine.

Immaterial things removed, the short conversation between us:

Mark: [Another] wrote me
Vanessa: oh?
Mark: yeah, three or four days ago
Mark: a note, I wrote back, she wrote again, yesterday, I think
Vanessa: saying?
Mark: I don't remember all what she said - acknowledged the specialness we had or have - ultimately asked how things were for me
Mark: her first note was just that she missed me, etc
Mark: it was nice writing-- I still miss her on occasion
Mark: acutely, when I do
Vanessa: i see
Mark: lol, [16, a young friend of mine] doesn't realize what a pedo I am
Mark: I told you I let local girl read my journal, yes
Mark: or I mean, gave her access/name
Vanessa: no
Mark: ah, yeah
Mark: its def not her, but she's not gonna narc me out, either
Mark: we might become friends, I don’t know
Vanessa: i see..
Vanessa: you're all over the place.
Vanessa: [Another, 16, Local Girl]
Mark: sf girl
Mark: don’t forget her
Mark: [16] is immaterial
Mark: local girl is out - she's 6' in heels for one thing, but that doesn’t really matter considering the rest
Vanessa: i still think [another] is a selfish lying cunting whore who doesn't message you for anything more than her own gain, had or HAVE, bullshit.
Mark: [another] has been out, period, and will stay that way - that’s just funning around
Mark: lol, check
Mark: um, what’s that leave?
Mark: oh sf girl
Mark: eh, she just got a big promotion - nothings ever gonna come of that cept online play and talk and trust
Mark: so yeah, I might be all over the place, but in the end, nowhere at all, really
Mark: nice to have people to write and talk to, but that's about it
Vanessa: i agree
Vanessa: as long as [another] is not one of them
Mark: lol
Mark: ehh, she is who she is - and like, if whoredom is a part of that, I aint gonna hold it against her
Mark: it aint like I am believing in anything for us
Vanessa: or if you write her and tell her to try to start thinking with her brain steada her cunt so she'll realize she's broken what you HAD and there's not much more to HAVE.
Mark: none of these are anywhere at all
Vanessa: mhmm
Vanessa: but that's the part of it that bugs me bout you.. not believing in anything for you, yet if she showed up at your door right now.. you'd be all over it. you're so strange, how can you like get ticked at me for wanting to be friends with [a former, for her] after all that, and then turn around and honestly say you'd fuck [another], who broke your heart, without thinking about it.
Vanessa: i don't understand you at all
Mark: hmmmm
Mark: I don’t know, I don’t know about "all over it"
Mark: I'd take love, yeah, if that's what it felt like, for a moment, why effing not?
Vanessa: but it's not love.
Vanessa: it's selfish
Vanessa: and love isn't selfish
Vanessa: it's her wanting to feel good about herself
Vanessa: it's got nothing to do with you or your feelings, it's just about what you can do for her
Mark: probably
Mark: I'm not going to begrudge her that, I guess?
Mark: what would be my reason?
Mark: my pain is past
Vanessa: [rolls eyes]
Vanessa: so what!
Mark: to cause hurt to her?
Mark: for what?
Vanessa: it's not
Vanessa: omg
Mark: lol...
Vanessa: it's not a matter of causing hurt, it's a matter of not sacrificing for or of yourself to give to the person that hurt you. you get nothing from it. in fact, all it is is a compilation of things taken from you, whether it's sex, or feeling pretty, or love (the genuine one that comes from you because 'she was my baby once' and not the selfish thing she would make you think is love. it's bullshit) it's not a matter of hurting her, it's that you should not be expected, she should not expect you, to make her feel good about herself. she's done nothing to deserve you making her feel good about herself. she's not a good person, so she has to sort that out on her own and be able to feel good about herself for HER, not from you or anyone else
Mark: ah
Mark: I see
Mark: I will keep this in mind in my response
Mark: seriously
Mark: okay, thanks
Mark: and goodnight, too

So, yes, especially in that final summation paragraph, it’s hard for me to argue with this. If I was to try, however, I would say, ehh, there are things I am selfishly taking in these communications, too – kind of like those who indulge in casual encounters do. But as I said at the end of the conversation, I will keep this in mind when I respond. In fact, it will probably become some sort of cornerstone of that response – for I do likes me some “straight up,” always. Cornerstone or not, however, some other things always remain the same.



Alrighty, a long entry.

I’ll wrap it up by just making mention, in regard to MRH, above, that I sent some of my one-sided recordings over to this person involved in a project she (I think it’s a she) calls The Melted Rubber Humans project, which you can Google, if you are further interested.

In short, I believe she is endeavoring to incorporate the sounds of sex, of feeling, of one’s soul, as it were, into musical and video productions – but I don’t know much more about it.

[ETA; the filename, 062008.64804, is all even numbers]