Full-on diary entry! Yes, it's gawdaweful late or gawdaweful early, either way, I'm writing. Being the clever Jax that I am (and seeing that Caleb has a horrific download going on this machine) I'm writing this up in Word before posting it. Reasonable. Logical. And I keep being tempted to write bad poetry. I won't though... wrote one poem over the weekend. Wrote it on the palm pilot. Wrote a LOT on the palm pilot, in fact... want to see?

We now proudly present: Exerpts From Jax's Palm Ramblings!

- Friday Evening, around 8:00 -

I'm sitting in Happy Garden - it's a chinese restaraunt around here, the one I agreed to meet ????? at. dammit, I'm going to have to come up with a name for the boy. I can'tt keep calling him a ridiculous string of question marks, and I AM going to write about this. I have Mistress K's permission to do so as long as I don't reveal names, or anything that might give away their identies. It's like dealing with superheroes.

Anyway, I'm here, waiting for... Tash. *smirk* Why not, it's a good and appropriate name. Tash, then. I'm sipping tea, debating ordering BBQ pork to much on, and thinking that just maybe I made a mistake, that he's not coming.

What in the world will I SAY if he doesn't show up? I know what I'll do - order BBQ pork, put it on the card, and leave. But how do I break the news to Mistress K? It would most definitely suck.

The batteries are running low on my Palm Pilot, which is what I'm writing this on. I'm going to close for now, will write more when I actually know what the hell I'm dealing with.

Commentary is going to be in italics, just because the italics tag is amusing me at present. Anyway. About five minutes after I finished this, Tash walked in... introduced himself... and we sat down for dinner. Or he sat down anyway, I stayed where I'd been sitting, perfectly happy.

Now let me make a few things VERY clear. Tash is around 40. He is a businessman, not some gothic prettyboy who is still too young to be useful as anything other than a decoration or a fuckpet. He's got a quick mind and quite a bit of life under his belt. He is, in short, not my normal prey. So why am I sitting there talking to him? I asked myself that question quite a few times during the evening, again several times over the weekend, and once more when I arrived home and got bitched at, effectively, for being a prostitute.

I'm not. Yes, I enjoy being spoiled, I like the idea of new toys when I need them, fancy dinners, expensive desserts, being pampered, maybe even being paid if necessary. But that is NOT why I'm doing this. I'm not randomly fucking some guy I don't know.

Hell, I'm not fucking him at ALL. That was the first rule laid down - no sex. I get off if, when, and how I feel like, but there's no penetration involved, and he keeps hands and eyes off me unless DIRECTLY ordered to do otherwise.

Yeah, I know perfectly well that to some extent I'm trading my skills for things, toys and food and amusement. But realistically, why the hell not? I'm enjoying myself. I'm getting something that I honestly, seriously NEED and haven't had in too bloody long. I'm having fun, I'm getting to know someone who is actually likely to be a decent friend, D/s aside. I'm doing someone else a favor, someone whose situation I can completely understand. If I could have found someone in Melfort... daya. I would have been in heaven. Anyway. On with the show...

- Saturday afternoon, not really sure of the time -

Hehehe... new batteries, wonderful things. I've got batteries, five books, a vibrator with interchangable sleeves (two of 'em, but one of them doesn't work well as a sleeve, it was poorly desgined - makes a great dildo, though). I've got a letter from him in my email box at home, a letter that made my entire day brighter - more on that when I'm home and have re-read it again and am not typing a rather ditzy diary entry into my Palm Pilot.

For now... I'm watching Tash spread out the blanket I allowed him on the floor, the pillow placed at one end of it, getting ready for bed. His wrists are still cuffed together and attached by a short length of chain that had once been a choke collar for a dog. He's not overwhelmingly cute. He's not a movie star, not a fashion model. But gods, he's beautiful, for exactly one reason: he is submitting. Completely.

I think I have missed this.

I hurt him, this evening... no, not horribly. Not this time. I'm still baiting my hooks, so to speak... I don't trust him to come back for the real thing if I let him see too much too soon.

But I did torment him, quite a bit. Had him begging for mercy. Had him begging to be spared. Had him simply whimpering wordlessly, too lost in sensation to even find words. It was delicious.

We went out for brunch to a place called Beaches, across the river in Vancouver. Washington's weird. But the food was good - I had Mahi Mahi, a weird fish-thing. He had something involving either chicken or beef, I don't remember which. I do remember that we decided against dessert. Planned to get it tonight. *snicker*

Perhaps I should say, he assumed that my vague answers were indication that we would get it tonight. In truth, I had a package of coffee, there was a coffeemaker in his hotel room, and we had already gotten delicious teryaki and tempura and potstickers at a marvelous little Japanese restaraunt in the Rockwood area. Heaven.

We drove over to the Vampire game... live action role-playing again, folks. The entire household except Cal's father is addicted. But anyway, we went there. We looked. We saw. And Beth had no vicodin. So I am out... on Monday if I still hurt, I go to see the doctor. I think I will still be hurting. I wish I could be sure that the hurting was honest pain, not addiction. I can never be sure, and that bothers me.

I saw Caleb there... I missed him, still miss him. Oddly enough, it's not painful yet. I spent last night with him, I'm not willing to give up more than one night away from my boy. But the pain I'm feeling isn't just physical... and it isn't about love. It's lust. Hunger. Craving, for vicodin and dominance and power and someone else's fear.

No letter from Mistress K when I checked email. No letter from Kadin.

It's the second one that bothers me.

Why? See, there was a request from him, to authorize him again on ICQ. This means that SOMEWHERE, there was a kitten online. No letter...*shrug* ...see, before I left, I' written him a letter. And another one the day before that. He hasn't responded yet that I know of. This... gah. It bothers me. It shouldn't, but it does. This is why I understand Mistress K's frustration with Tash - he hates writing daily emails. Hell, I don't even ask for daily emails... I know that's not possible for kitten. But even a quick note when he's online, that would be enough. Just something. I am tired of finding out after-the-fact that he was online and that he didn't say three words to me. Bugs me.

I was rambling about today, wasn't I? Pity... not much to say, now. I'm tired. I have two new Terry Pratchett books. And now more than ever I want Kadin here. Fuck online play. Fuck this using someone else's toy. Fuck vanilla love, fuck sweetness and light, fuck it ALL. I want a boy in my arms, his hands bound behind his back, eyes closed... I want himwhimpering, sobbing, terrified... I want him to press back against me as if I am his only salvation, I want to feel him tremble and shiver, begging me to protect him, to spare him, to help him... I want him to cry for me. I want him to hurt for me. Iwant him to exist for me.

I know. It's a lot to ask of anyone. How do I explain to you, to anyone who reads or who matters to me or both, that this is what I NEED? It's not... not a game. Not a joke. Not some part-time fling.

It's gotten to NEED stage. It's at the point where if I don't satisfy it soon, I'm going to be torn apart by it.

It's starting to hurt a lot.

Comments again. Here we see what is getting to be a serious problem. See, Kadin has not only been online, he's been online at least twice that I am aware of. No email. Nothing but a short MSN message. I don't WANT to be upset with him. It's not fun, it's not pleasant. I don't want to expect him to submit instantly to torture when he arrives... he'll be confused enough and stressed out enough already. So what do I want? I want him to at least pretend to pay attention again.

I... gah. At a loss for words here. I guess the best way to say it is that I don't want him to be worrying about leaving, about moving, about changes... just about me. And saying it like that makes me realize how truly idiotic such a wish is. *sigh* I knew I wouldn't get to go without guilt for long. Somehow it finds me.

I'm really NOT horrible, I swear... at least, I don't try to be. I let people know up front (excepting poor Tash, but there was a reason for that) just what kind of a bitch I can be. I make sure they KNOW that I am spoiled, that I want to be spoiled. I don't try to hide it. So how come people always act so surprised and shocked when it turns out to be true? It bugs me, that no one seems to believe me when I try to explain myself. They assume I must be joking, then somehow blame ME when it turns out I wasn't. I don't get it.

Saturday really did go well - other than seeing Beth and not getting what I needed, it was one of the best days... no guilt. No stress. Nothing. Just... contentment. I needed a day like that.

Anyway, onward...

- Sunday Morning, around 9:00 am -

Early morning. I'm getting ready to go to brunch at the Benson. I am soooooo spoiled. *grin* The Benson is this 'mazingly high-class, expensive, opulent hotel in the heart of downtown Portland - their Easter Sunday Brunch is reserved almost a year in advance, this is where Bill Clinton stayed, where most visiting famous-and-rich people stay. Their brunch is heavenly.

And expensive.

I'd explained to Tash earlier that after this weekend, spending drops to as close to nil as we can manage, that the hotel bill should be easily 3/4 of our total expenses other than the time in the distant future when we go to the opera, for example. I want to go to the opera, I've never been. He is an opera fan. This works nicely.

I woke up this morning to hear cute little half-snore half-whimper sounds coming from somewhere down by my feet. It actually took me a moment to realize that it wasn't Caleb and couldn't be kadin... and then I rolled over, sat up, wand watched the boy sleep.

*blinks* Boy. *wry grin* Boy who is easily 15 years older than me. But boy all the same, the nervousness and intensity and curiosity of someone younger than me. He's been a true pleasure to spend a weekend with, and I don't mean in a food and tourist sense, in a much more useful way.

I actually enjoy his company. *smile* I think he might end up joinging the vampire game if he can. It wouldn't surprise me - either that or BTL. He's a roleplaying geek, works doing interesting things that ~he~ says aren't very interesting but I find quite intriguing. He's not overbearing, and when he's trying can be deliciously obedient. He's learned that it's a GOOD idea to try. *smirk*

I slept tonight without a Caleb anywhere around. It's the first time in a while. And I didn't sleep as well as I had hoped. Kept rolling over, thinking he'd be there. Kept waking up, wondering where he was. Kept missing him. Tash is fun, it's been one of the most delightful weekends I've had in quite a while... but dammit, I want MY boy now. I want my boys, might be more accurate. I want Kadin curled at my feet, his head resting on my knee, looking up at me as I pet him. I want Caleb's arms wrapped around me, rubbing noses with me and smiling. I want Nick to walk in, to run over and hug him and pull him down until all four of us are sitting, talking, laughing... I want that a lot.

Part of me is tempted to add one more person to that happy dream, to sketch him in as well, perhaps sitting quietly beside Kadin, perhaps off running across the yard in pursuit of a rabbit or something, perhaps (and this is my favorite) lying on the floor at my feet, not really paying attention much, a laptop in front of him... but his hand curled around my ankle, not wanting to let go, glad for the contact and the company. I want him to still be the royal pain he is some days. I want him to keep a part of his spirit. I want him unbroken... but I want him to somehow be mine, too.

I'm greedy, I think. VERY greedy. I really do want it all. And maybe he will never be part of that perfect picture. Maybe Nick will be off doing something with his kitten, and Cal will be having coffee with Brandi, and Kadin will be babysitting for Grr.

*smile* And I'll still be happy, knowing that they are mine anyway, wherever they are, whatever they are doing. Knowing that they will be coming back to me, always. Knowing that the love I have for them is returned.

That, today at least, is easily enough to leave me smiling. And I think Tash already misses Mistress K. *smirk*

I don't really know how else to say this... I think I have learned, today, that my opinion of myself is so fragile that one person's words can ruin what again was one of the best days I've had recently. I worried about Caleb. Called to check in often. I worried about kitten. Checked email. I took the car to Happy Garden to meet Tash, made sure that he didn't know where I lived at first, got to know him and decided that my opinion of him was pretty accurate, that I approved of him and enjoyed his company and considered him trustworthy enough to know where I lived.

And I got bitched at. Bigtime. "Don't bring your johns around here, they make Robert nervous, it's not good business really, you don't know him."

Ok. Point one. I'm going to see him at MOST once a month, and I know that I won't see him at all in July. He won't be AROUND enough to even meet Robert, more likely than not. He sure as hell won't be around often enough to bother anyone. As far as I know, unless Deb has been bitching to Robert, he doesn't even know Tash exists.

Point two. Johns? Tricks? This brings back that whole 'prostitute' thing. Thank you, m'lady, for trying your best to convince me that I am scum. I appreciate it. Thank you for telling me what you think of me. For making it so very clear. Good for business? If this were my BUSINESS, you can bet I'd be getting paid in a LOT more than toys and dinner, that I wouldn't even be living here. I would HATE to expose you to such a low-class thing. Bitch. Yes, it pisses me off. I am half-afraid that it pisses me off because it's close to the truth... but honestly? I think it pisses me off because it's DAMNED INSULTING! This is someone whose home and work addresses and phone numbers I know. Someone whose girlfriend I know and talk to regularly. Someone who doesn't even live in this city. What the HELL is she stressing about? If I did this regularly, maybe... but I don't. This is a serious first for me, I thought it would be fun, and I really do get along with Tash well enough to think that it would be worth continuing. Where the hell is the harm in that?

Don't show him where I live? Ok. If I refused to tell anyone I met where I lived, to give them my name, to tell them anything about me, I'd have NO new friends. Sure, I might meet a few of Deb's friends, but frankly, I know enough of 'em. I want some people ~I~ can talk to, understand? People that I get along with. People who I'm not too normal for, people who don't upset me and leave me in full panic mode.

It's why I like Jeff's company occasionally. Why I intend to hang out with/play with/torment and torture/etc. Tash again. Why I'm still talking to Juliet's Scott even when everyone else decides he's an idiot. Why I have stared consciously avoiding most of the household except Caleb, staying the hell away from them.

I feel like somehow I got trapped in the wrong dimention.

I don't belong here.

I don't fit in.

She keeps bitching at me, Deb does, saying that I should clean up the place, paint the walls, put up pictures. That it's my home, that I should try to make it someplace I liked. That I should treat it as mine. And then when I DO, when I let a friend DROP ME OFF... no, he doesn't know the actual address. It's not on the house. It's not even easy to guess. He just knows how to drive here, sort of... and even that, apparently, is enough to scare the crap out of her and get her to tell me never to do it again.

This isn't my home. This isn't my house. This isn't MINE in any way... and I hate it. I honestly have no home, do you know how disturbing that is? I'm not sure I have had a home since... oh, maybe 6-7. I've lived in houses, in other people's homes, shared them... but never really had one that was mine. The closest thing was the apartment I shared with Rie... and even that didn't turn out too well. But at least she understood... she meets men stripping. Meets them online. Meets them downtown or on the bus or wherever. Brings them home, sometimes. Gives them her phone number. Talks to them.

And she's made a lot of good friends that way.

*shrug* Maybe I'm just oddly old-fashioned... maybe I'm delusional. But I'd always thought that when you considered someone an interesting acquaintance or a friend, it was ok to maybe let them know things like how to come pick you up so the two of you could hang out. Or maybe to tell them things like the nickname you go by that isn't even your legal name anyway. How the hell are you supposed to really get to know someone if you won't let them get to know you, if you chase them off and hide from them?

Deb keeps encouraging me to try to get past my panics, to make new friends and get out. The one weekend when I REALLY manage that, and even enjoy it, what happens? I get yelled at, scolded, told basically that I'm a slut, a whore, and an idiot. Gee, thanks.

I feel so good about myself.

And to think, it had been such a wonderful weekend, until I came back. Maybe this is home after all... it's what it used to feel like, coming home on the coast. Talking to my parents. Wondering why they couldn't see that it's reasonably safe for a 17-year-old to walk through a small coastal tourist town at night, on well-lit streets, without taking along her mommy or daddy. Wondering why they decided that the one person who kept me alive, who made me think that maybe life was something GOOD, was in fact a bad influence and someone I should be kept away from.

Wondering if maybe they wanted me dead.

I found out later they didn't want me dead. I figured it out. They just wanted me gone. I'm wondering if Deb wants me gone. I think she's finally figured out that her son is too good for me - didn't I mention that? Caleb is the closest thing to perfect I have ever found. I love him. I care for him. I care about him. And no, I'm not perfect... I've hurt him a few times, physically and emotionally.

I do that.

*sigh* I honestly hoped that maybe Deb would at least sort-of understand who and what I was... but apparently not. She just saw one of the masks and was shocked when it wasn't ALL there was to me.

I wonder when Caleb will notice that? When Kadin will? When Nick will?

I wonder what place I'll try to pretend next is home?

--- poem ---

expectations

dream drama

worlds spun of words

i picture the galaxy

condensed

brewed

perfect percolation

and served with a slice of

the special of the day:

life

my favorite breakfast

--- older poem ---

she lived

and I existed

I miss her smile