The Cramps said "Life is short and filled with stuff.".
There's more stuff in my short life so far than I ever imagined could fit. Good stuff. Very good stuff.
Kinda spooky how much is happening (or trying to happen) at once, though.
A couple days back Puppycat and me seemed to have caused the same cyclist to have 5 separate accidents... Seriously. We were schtupping up a storm in this secluded, wooded spot and he was trying to casually cycle by to take a look... over and over. Poor man kept ramming his mountain bike into trees as he passed, gawking. This is why we tend to keep our public sex kinda private.
Day after that had a strange date with this amazing guy. I'm far too crushed out on him to be much use for anything, and even getting to see each other on time becomes an awkward, constant comedy of errors. Ever get into a pattern of perma-flustered shyness where there just doesn't seem to be an exit in sight? I'm a little surprised he continues to tolerate it; more than a little curious what he's feeling. We're eerily well matched, in some ways (two switchy, pervy, very slutty and exaggeratedly gentle bi tops who hang out more with women than men) but there're ways I think we confuse the heck out of each other, too.
Way more suited than any guy I've dated in the last decade or so, and there haven't been many. Maybe that's why the stakes feel so ridiculously high. Most men run away 'cause they presume I'm straight or presume I'm closeted; get more physically or verbally intimidated the more I tone down my presentation, etc. This guy is about a foot taller than me, doesn't show any signs whatsoever of intimidation, and kisses great. Did I mention he's a perv?
We walked for a couple hours in the downpour, visited the most beautiful rundown industrial spots I'd ever seen in Toronto, and made out for a bit in this really odd "who's driving?" kinda way. Dunno if we'd get further if we talked through taking turns about initiating/leading touch, or if I'm just totally outta practice with men and messing up some obvious signals. EEEP!
Yesterday I submitted a rough, ragged version of an essay on queerness, zombies, public sex and sloppy scientific processes to an anthology I really wanna be accepted to. It's about a month overdue.
Also spent about 4 hours in Puppycat's stairwell last night bent into all kinda twisted shapes. With my clothes on, no less. It's OK- most of the other folks were nekkid. The HNL (see previous post ) was helping me to shoot a pair of lovely perverts for a fun series that one of those perverts is launching June 7.
Today my body's still intact. Not needing a week to recover after grueling photographic gymnastics is a very good sign; gives me hope and is kinda necessary right now, 'cause I've got so much to do. I've enlisted friends, lovers and strangers to try to help pull together my reapplication to a graduate program I tried for last year. Again, I've skewed my chances toward the 'not-bloody-likely' end of the spectrum by taking so long to apply. The deadlines are upon me. Wish me luck?
On monday we have a houseguest from Oakland staying for a week.
She and I have been flirting and trading art for a few years. She sometimes babysits for the Cinnamon Girl's other steady boyfriend, and they met when she toured through there a few months back. She's dated a client/friend of mine, made dinner for my ex, and knows a whole lot about what makes me tick but we've never actually met. She's here to take a massage workshop.
Perhaps there'll also be some kissing.
And so on. Much stuff. I have 3 projects I want to shoot in the next few weeks, must to get to Montreal again, and really want to see some work at Inside out this year...I think I need a stunt double.
There's more stuff in my short life so far than I ever imagined could fit. Good stuff. Very good stuff.
Kinda spooky how much is happening (or trying to happen) at once, though.
A couple days back Puppycat and me seemed to have caused the same cyclist to have 5 separate accidents... Seriously. We were schtupping up a storm in this secluded, wooded spot and he was trying to casually cycle by to take a look... over and over. Poor man kept ramming his mountain bike into trees as he passed, gawking. This is why we tend to keep our public sex kinda private.
Day after that had a strange date with this amazing guy. I'm far too crushed out on him to be much use for anything, and even getting to see each other on time becomes an awkward, constant comedy of errors. Ever get into a pattern of perma-flustered shyness where there just doesn't seem to be an exit in sight? I'm a little surprised he continues to tolerate it; more than a little curious what he's feeling. We're eerily well matched, in some ways (two switchy, pervy, very slutty and exaggeratedly gentle bi tops who hang out more with women than men) but there're ways I think we confuse the heck out of each other, too.
Way more suited than any guy I've dated in the last decade or so, and there haven't been many. Maybe that's why the stakes feel so ridiculously high. Most men run away 'cause they presume I'm straight or presume I'm closeted; get more physically or verbally intimidated the more I tone down my presentation, etc. This guy is about a foot taller than me, doesn't show any signs whatsoever of intimidation, and kisses great. Did I mention he's a perv?
We walked for a couple hours in the downpour, visited the most beautiful rundown industrial spots I'd ever seen in Toronto, and made out for a bit in this really odd "who's driving?" kinda way. Dunno if we'd get further if we talked through taking turns about initiating/leading touch, or if I'm just totally outta practice with men and messing up some obvious signals. EEEP!
Yesterday I submitted a rough, ragged version of an essay on queerness, zombies, public sex and sloppy scientific processes to an anthology I really wanna be accepted to. It's about a month overdue.
Also spent about 4 hours in Puppycat's stairwell last night bent into all kinda twisted shapes. With my clothes on, no less. It's OK- most of the other folks were nekkid. The HNL (see previous post ) was helping me to shoot a pair of lovely perverts for a fun series that one of those perverts is launching June 7.
Today my body's still intact. Not needing a week to recover after grueling photographic gymnastics is a very good sign; gives me hope and is kinda necessary right now, 'cause I've got so much to do. I've enlisted friends, lovers and strangers to try to help pull together my reapplication to a graduate program I tried for last year. Again, I've skewed my chances toward the 'not-bloody-likely' end of the spectrum by taking so long to apply. The deadlines are upon me. Wish me luck?
On monday we have a houseguest from Oakland staying for a week.
She and I have been flirting and trading art for a few years. She sometimes babysits for the Cinnamon Girl's other steady boyfriend, and they met when she toured through there a few months back. She's dated a client/friend of mine, made dinner for my ex, and knows a whole lot about what makes me tick but we've never actually met. She's here to take a massage workshop.
Perhaps there'll also be some kissing.
And so on. Much stuff. I have 3 projects I want to shoot in the next few weeks, must to get to Montreal again, and really want to see some work at Inside out this year...I think I need a stunt double.
Send me that essay, Mister!
Montreal eagerly awaits your return.
xox
When are you hitting Montreal again?