D Day come

2pm. saturday, july 29th.

no word from the facination.

he's in town this weekend. that lovely long-haired surfer photographer. somewhere in OR right now. that aussie accent. that focused nikon attention. closer now than ever. and still impossibly far.

e askes, 'are you gonna fuck him tonight?', reference to the writer. meeting him in portland for drinks, darts, and a show. i'm waxed. i've lived off molassass/lemon/cayenne pepper water for the last 3 days. why not? but no desire. my mind is elsewhere. on another. and i've cultivated enough distractions this month. but if there's pot... well, who knows.

2:30pm. saturday, july 29th.

we tried to keep up hope of contact. we tried, in all our supportive friend ways to assure me that this one... there's a good feeling about this one... sad thing is good feelings don't always work both ways. or maybe, he's preoccupied by other good feelings. good 125lb blonde busty good feelings.

ah well. there's still time. i emailed him my phone number. maybe. right? maybe?

and so it is. another unfulfilled opportunity.

and me, without falafel.