Waiting is Not For Pussies

Wednesday, May 11, 2001

It was our first “official” date.

Mouse was cute, dressed in black, skinny, and taller in a way that almost bothered me. She was mostly baffled, talking to me about her drawings. I was mostly relaxed, sitting back in the chair, checking the time. Looking at her nervous hands, her fingers playing with the tips of her shirt, I felt somewhat ashamed of my naughty thoughts, but I couldn’t help myself. Sex screamed at me from every direction. We were at a free STD clinic after all.

I didn’t plan on meeting new girls, at least not for a while. I held back from digital match-making and for the most part shyed away from anything more physical than a hug. I was focused on getting school work out of way, organizing the apartment, hunting for a job, and basically trying to live like a normal human being. Unfortunately, my logical side signed up for a part-time position.

In about a week, I somehow found myself engaged in kink-related conversations with a several girls and women. When you live my kind of lifestyle, you talk about sex and kink at the same rate other people talk about the economy, politics, or the weather. The fact that I was effectively punishing myself with tighter isolation seemed to have helped this situation somehow..

Slowly, day after day, my ego started shading the “you suck at life” skin. I got angrier. I started to write more frequently. I changed my eating habits, usually making my own food. I started to run more often and lifted weights. My skin got tan from walking outside most of the day instead of staying indoors behind the computer. “Heeeeeeeeeeeere’s Johnny!!” I said to the mirror one day, grinning like a circus freak. When you let a crazy guy like me have his own space, he redefines the term crazy.

But something changed.

Even though I was hungry for new victims, I felt something different this time. I was in control. My recent close encounters were only close. Not only I had the patience, but I found out I enjoyed torturing myself with the wait. This process was starting to be fun.

So there I was in the clinic with Mouse. We both knew that the test results were the last official barrier between “happily platonic” and “it’s complicated.” After that, I could do whatever I wished with her. Right then, I was looking forward to long talks over tea and hookah smoking. I was looking for confessions, pain and cure. In a way, I realized, nurturing her like this was even more selfish of me than anything physical I’d like to do with her. I felt good about holding back my perverted thoughts.

The clinic did not offer all the tests they usually do, which meant waiting even longer. Good. I’d like to handle more of my needs. Down below, my other not-logical part was twisting in pain or in arousal (or probably both) as I considered a couple of naughty ideas. I’m pretty sure it said “go fuck yourself.”