Hurt

Olek and I have been together close to two and a half years now. We've been through a lot in that time. I would even venture to say, if there were a way to graph our satisfaction with our relationship over time, it would be mostly positive.

But no meaningful long-term relationship is going to be entirely positive (yes I'm hand-waving here). There are things I do that bring him grief; and things he does that bring me grief. One in particular is especially troublesome.

Sometimes, he purposely tries to guilt me, make me feel bad about something.

Now, in most of my other relationships--probably all of them--this isn't a big deal. If someone's trying to hurt me, either there's been a misunderstanding, or that person is no longer worth my time. But when Olek says something like that, it hurts deep.

My first impulse is to ignore it. Because I know, academically, he doesn't really mean to hurt me, that he was just thoughtless and lashed out unthinkingly. But because I can't let any problem between us go unanalysed (for fear there is a worse problem), I'll keep thinking about it. I'll keep digging. And the amount of energy I put into it amplifies the hurt.

Then, I'll start self-berating. "Holy shit Charlie, you're so fragile, how are you even still alive?!"

That usually subsides quickly, but is replaced with wanting to hurt him back. Not to actually hurt him back, but thinking about it. "Well fuck you, maybe I'll just go have sex with Petro!"

I have to mention something here, because I don't think I've ever mentioned it before on this blog. I've come to believe that I am polyamorous by nature. By this, I mean: I can love more than one person at the same time. I don't believe that there is a "best" person out there for me. I don't believe that I ought to love someone intensely forever; the fact I love someone now is enough, and though I may not love them as much in the future, that does not diminish my love for them now.

However, Olek is pretty strictly monogamous. We've talked semi-seriously about having threesomes with another woman, but Olek says such an arrangement would have to be either so casual as to be dismissive of the third person, or she would have to be a paid escort.

I've mentioned Petro before, but I don't think I've ever named him until now. Petro is a suitable name, I think; I used to think he was made of stone. And one day I will have to post about our encounters.

Back to the story at hand...

So I'll think to myself how I should hurt Olek back for hurting me. There are many reasons why I wouldn't actually go and have sex with Petro, but the one that's important to this story is: I would absolutely hate to hurt Olek.

Then, the fear of hurting him begins to set in.

For me, the greatest hurt typically comes from being lied to, being tricked. And so I would hate, for example, to trick Olek into thinking I'm monogamous. I would absolutely hate for him to go about thinking I could be satisfied with monogamy if the fact were that I just couldn't. I am deathly afraid that I will be fundamentally unsatisfied with monogamy, and that I won't find out until Olek and I are married (or something), and that it will crush him.

I've been hurt by someone who didn't know enough about himself to know what he wanted. Actually, that's a little unfair to say. JM both actively withheld truth from me (and told lies), as well as told me untrue things simply because he didn't know the truth. But imagine asking your partner, "Why do you love me?" and getting back, "Oh, probably for these reasons."  I'd have preferred, "This question caught me by surprise and I'd like to take the time to find you an answer that respects the depth of your question rather than say the first thing that comes to mind" but hey maybe I'm weird that way.  (I'm being facetious; I think that is a good preference to have, though it may be unlikely to happen!)


...post abandonned

Olek: two years

Olek and I will be celebrating our second anniversary this month. We came together under very unorthodox conditions, as you may recall.

I went to his place tonight, to bake goodies to give to family.  He's had a cough for about a week and I just got smacked with tonsilitis again recently; and we have an intense final exam coming up soon (neither of us is prepared!).  But it was so good to get away from most of those stresses, even if for just a few hours.  I love that we can do this; that we can be together and actively enjoy being together.

To give some more context, I've had the worst two months of my life yet.  Family problems, physical ailments and injuries, stress from school, having to miss work and not making as much money...  Had a few pretty scary panic attacks along the way, too; almost got to the point of convincing myself to end it all.  Almost.

And still I can let myself be myself--actively be myself--and enjoy Olek's company.

When we'd finished baking, cleaning and packing everything up, we went to cuddle in his room.  We hadn't see each other in days--we usually see each other at least five days a week--and wanted to just enjoy being together, not necessarily sexually.

A year ago, we would have battled our lust awkwardly, never quite taking one side or the other, teasing each other, followed by regretting it slightly; teasing some more, wanting to undo it.  It wasn't damaging, just awkward.  And yet, today, we just let it progress, slowly, but there was no awkwardness.

We lay together, still clothed, our bodies pressed up against each other.  Our fingertips touched one another's face, caressing softly, both feeling our self and the other.  I kissed along his neck, giving him goosebumps; a long, wet lick up the side, followed by small nibbles and more kisses.  I held his arms down while I continued, gently; always feeling his responses to my touch as I nibbled his neck and pulled on his hair.

"If you had a cock, I would love to suck on it," he said breathily.  I moaned into his ear, licking.

"Can I lick your breasts?" he asked.

I sat up and removed my shirt.  His hands slid up my thighs, my torso, unclasping my bra and removing it.  Gently, he rolled me onto my back and pressed my breast into his mouth, sucking.  I love the way he licks my nipples: soft and flickering, but ravenous, with a hunger.

"One day," I managed between breaths, "I want--"  I lost my focus, temporarily overwhelmed.

"Yes?" he asked wickedly between mouthfuls.

"I want--I want you to tie and hold me down while you lick my nipples."  Not a secret between us.

We came to a natural end--sometimes my nipples just get too sensitive to receive any more pleasure.  We talked about taking turns being tied down while the other sucked on nipples or cock.  I moaned appreciatively.  He lightly slapped my bum.


It surprises me sometimes how far we've come and what we've incorporated into our intimacy: hair-pulling, nibblings, spanking, a little bondage and not-quite-flogging.  I don't think we're a "kinky couple", but I love that we can express ourselves with these actions--they're not taboo, they're not necessarily scandalous or dirty.

Some kisses make me feel like a special princess.  Some kisses make me want to thrust my nipples into his mouth.  Some kisses make me want to bend over and take it.  Some kisses do a combination of the above, and some kisses do something else entirely!

Similarly, sometimes a little spank makes me feel special; or sexy; or naughty; or empowered; or "on the receiving end".  If I hadn't experienced it, I might think that spanking can make only one kind of reaction ("You're naughty! *spank!*").  But for me and Olek, it's another tool for expressing ourselves.  And after two years, it's a lot less awkward than when we first started!  We're only getting better and better at communicating and expressing ourselves to each other.

Andre - Part One

I promised before that I'd write about Andre. It's a bit of a long story, and there's no definite end other than the fact I haven't seen him since this past summer.

A lot of this is stitched together from fragments of memories and what I recorded in my journals. Some of the timeline is confused. Some details are added in retrospect, some details have been forgotten. This is an exercise I try to perform with myself every year, remembering that summer in all its beauty...


We met in Kingston, ON in July 2009. At that time, I was still "with" JM, a boy I'd met on the bus to university.

Quick summary: About four days before I left for Kingston, JM and I made out in a bathroom, and then decided we liked each other enough to try to keep in touch while I was away for the next four months. We agreed to "keep things open" though, considering how little we knew about each other and how unfair it would be to claim we were "in a relationship". The first weekend into my course, most of our course went out drinking. GK, a man from our course, danced with me, and then started kissing me. I wasn't sure where I wanted to go with that, so I stopped. About a month later, I went drinking with some Reg Force guys. CV, a Reg Force line tech, and I shared a cab back to shacks. He walked me to my room to make sure I'd be allright. And somehow we ended up on the bed and he was licking my nipples. He wasn't doing a good job, so I flipped him over and showed him how it's done. By that point I had sobered up a little, and gently convinced him to leave.

This brings us to mid-late July.

My father had taken ill. Mom called me on the weekend to tell me. My roommate saw me shoving my face into a towel, trying not to let Mom know I was crying. It was bad. Dad had some kind of infection and his body was so deep in shock that he lost his vision. The doctors had given him a "50/50" chance after looking him over. They didn't know what was wrong, they suspected a blood infection.

I went home for a week to visit him.

While I was at home, I took the opportunity to visit JM as well. We were both virgins at penetrative sex. (I had touched a penis (sexually) twice in my life and he had received a blowjob once.) We went to his place and I told him I wanted to have penetrative sex. He asked if I was sure, I confirmed, and he went to fetch a condom. When he returned, he was limp, and despite all efforts, we couldn't get him stiff enough to even get the condom on. We shrugged it off. In retrospect, it was the best thing that could have happened (but more on that later).

My father got slightly better, and I returned to Kingston to complete my course.

While I had been away, another course arrived. And on this course was a man named Andre. He looked to be, at least in his thirties. His smile was young, but the lines, the greying hair, and the sadness you could sometimes see on his face or in his eyes, it all contradicted with his seemingly youthful attitude to life. He struck me as a man who had experienced "the finer things of life" and decided he wanted it simple afterall.

As it happened, I wasn't far off. He was thirty-nine that year (as a Gemini, he'd already had his birthday by then), and used to be a salesman. I wouldn't find out until later, but he had been a very successful salesman and had enjoyed wealth and the experiences it availed; staying in luxury hotels and ordering any dish on the merest whim... But he got sick of the lifestyle, quit his job and joined the Army. I'd also find out, he had three children.

But none of this mattered, partly because I didn't know at the time, and partly because it just didn't matter anyway. Well, to be honest, I was curious about his age, so I stole a glance at his military ID.

He introduced himself to me when I returned to Kingston.

"I don't think we've met."
"I'm Charlie."
"Well Charlie, I'm Andre."
"Hi Andre."

It was bewildering to me at the time why someone would introduce himself that way. I was flattered but confused at the structure and....forwardness.

Thinking back now, I can barely remember how we got to know each other in those early days...

One weekend, we went to see the Kingston Symphony Orchestra perform Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture at Fort Henry (which I thought was extremely poetic).

Andre drove a European SUV: leather upholstery, sunroof, digitally controlled seats you could move by pushing buttons... I'm not a "car-person", but feeling that engine was one of the most exhilarating+luxurious+empowering things I'd ever felt. Plus, he was a decent driver, though he'd be a jerk sometimes and speed up just so someone couldn't pass him.

We took photos around Fort Henry. I enjoyed making canon-penis poses. At one point, I got dizzy looking down a flight of stairs. Andre offered me his hand.

The orchestra played. It was beautiful. And there were cannons and fireworks, and it was brilliant.

Andre loved it so much, he also went the second night. Back at shacks, I didn't know where he'd gone. I think I might have known he was going again and maybe was under the impression he wanted to take me again. Whatever it was, I wanted to get a hold of him, so I wrote him a note and stuck it to his room door. It had my phone number.

My roommate, since she lived nearby, had gone home for the weekend. Later that night, Andre came by my room.

"I knew you'd write me a note. Well, that's not true--I had hoped. I had really, really hoped you would write me a note today." We talked briefly. I don't remember anymore. Somewhere in there, I may have mentioned I like giving and receiving back rubs, but a lot of people seem to think it's strange to do that with a stranger or even acquaintance, so I have nobody to receive from. Andre said he'd be fine with that.

One night, a bunch of us went to a pub to hang out. We talked and talked and talked. We came back to shacks and talked. Finally, we got sleepy and began leaving. Andre said, "Goodnight, sweetheart."

Some nights later, a bunch of us went drinking. It was the night that started everything in motion.

It was a mess trying to find a good place to drink, but we did, and eventually Andre and I cabbed back to shacks. He asked if it was "backrub time", so I obliged and spread a sheet over a spare bed. He lay himself down and I started on his upper back. Somewhere in there, his shirt disappeared and I didn't fight it except to say it would be rough without oil (I didn't have any).

Then he started playing with my feet, giving them a little massage at the same time. Eventually he rolled onto his back and we just started talking, trailing our hands over eachother a little.

He told me he had liked me from the instant he saw me, that it was magnetic, he was drawn to me. I had gained a lot of his respect very quickly, which was very strange because he is often skeptical of people and others often have to do something extraordinary to earn that level of respect from him.

He also wondered why I "chose" him--reminding me of PMK from my BMQ/SQ. What about him made this--snuggling--allowable to me?

Andre said he'd been single for a long time, because he's very picky and doesn't want a girl whom he can just pick up at a bar--he doesn't want sex, and if sex is so easy, there's almost no point. He doesn't think he could sleep with a perfect stranger. I half-agreed, telling him a little about my history...

We continued laying, skimming our hands across eachother and chatting. I mentioned again that in my head is a remnant of the "shy fat girl" personality from earlier years. He then went on to extol my virtues, including that I'm smart and attractive. I laughed only a little. He gave me such praise, it was so painful: "I am so lucky. The luckiest man in the world could not ask for what you are willing to give me",  "You're an angel",  "You're a doll."

I brought up--it was on topic but I can't remember now why--how I thought penises are gross. I lied a little though: my curiosity was beginning to at least equal and perhaps surpass my repulsion, for most things; I exaggerated how much they freaked me out. He posed a question to me: "So if I were to place your hand here on my pants, what would you do?"

Initially, I didn't understand. "I'd probably punch you in the face and throw you out of my room."

He laughed. He meant in a mutually permissive and exploratory way. I told him I didn't want to find out that night. I was thinking about JM.

We snuggled a lot. He took off my bra from under my shirt. I refused at first to let him kiss me, but then allowed him to kiss me so long as he understood I would never kiss him in return. He would try to touch my breasts and I would deny him. "It'd be worth it, breaking my thumbs, for just a touch."

We found a position where we'd support the other's head with the arm closest to the other.

"I'd rather use the strength from lifting my head to instead lift yours."
"I like that," I said.
"Are you comfortable?" he asked. I paused.
"I could become comfortable," I replied.
"You mean it?" He sounded eager.
"Wait, what?" I was confused. "What do you mean?"

Somewhere in that confusion, I explained, "I have someone back home. Now, you and I can either have something entirely physical and that would be the end of it, or continue as close friends." He said he'd much rather take the friends part.

"We're being intimate right now, not necessarily sexual. ... Last night, after I said goodbye, I went back to my room and just lay there, thinking I should go back. But then I thought, if I went back and knocked on your door, you'd ask, 'What do you want?' And I wouldn't know how to reply. 'To spend more time with you'? 'To be in your company'? 'To get to know you better', 'to just hang out with you'? I just didn't have an answer."

We continued until we both drifted off. We slept in the same bed with one sheet and one blanket.

He'd snore, though; and I'd freak out lest someone hear us and suspect a man in my room. I woke a few times: 0600, then 0700, then someone's alarm went off and I started. Around 0730 we both woke up ("I love waking next to you, feeling your warmth, your skin, your muscles") and started touching eachother some more. It got sexual fast, I guess that happens easily in the morning. He made his way to my breasts, my nipples, started sucking on them, using his tongue to circle around them. He tried his teeth a few times, but I'd recoil, and he got the idea. I'd wrapped a leg around him, and he had a thigh between my legs, which I started grinding into. Then he shifted so that he was pressing his crotch into my thigh.

I could feel him getting hard through his pants when he pressed into me. He started moaning, said, "Oh yes" a few times and--I'm not sure if he came. I didn't feel a wet spot, I think, but he was wearing pants... I just remember his hips bucking slightly, his grip tightening, I think I heard him say "Oh god", then he slowed down, then took a few moments to himself and went back to work on my nipples.

I showed him my preferred technique, which unfortunately ended up burning out my left nipple for a while. We cooled off, laying with eachother, calming down and regaining ourselves.

Then he realised he had to take a leak, but it wouldn't make sense for him to come back to my room after--too risky. We parted ways and he called me Sweetheart again.



JM and I fought over this. I found it stupid, considering we agreed to keep things open. Had I been honest with myself, I would have admitted that I didn't like GK or CV and that's why I didn't continue with them. But I liked Andre. He was a gentleman, he didn't take and he was always..... curious, gauging my responses. He made me feel like he was listening to everything.

At the time I was undecided, but now I just hate the way JM would rush in like he knew everything about how I wanted to be touched all the time. I hated it.

I told JM I didn't want to lose him over Andre, but that I needed companionship out here. It's very hard to not have any friends in a strange city. (I would later realise AB had been a friend to me, and we would become better friends... And then I would become angry at her because of just one little trait that pissed me right the fuck off. And then we'd be good again.)

I don't think I can fully explain what it's like. I'm sure someone would be able to explain it, but I think it's extremely difficult, partly because what happens is...your perceptions change, and you begin to take things for granted, and because of that, you don't think it's worth mentioning those details. I don't think I could catalogue for you all the assumptions and biases and expectations I've developed from being on course.

In any case, I told JM I wasn't about to ditch this amazing relationship with Andre just for him. I agreed not to pursue "intimacy" with Andre again. But that would prove impossible...

Math Jokes

My Favourite Math Jokes

There are a LOT of math jokes out there, but I thought I'd like to collect my favourites together, if for nothing more than my own benefit. I am re-telling them as best as I can remember, but perhaps one day I will add sources (or speculation).

---

BAR JOKES

Infinitely many mathematicians walk into a bar.

The first orders a beer; the second orders half a beer; the third, a quarter; an eighth... Before the next can even open her mouth, the bartender says, "You're all idiots!" and pours two beer.

Hidden joke: A good bartender always cuts you off before you reach your limit!

---

Three mathematicians walk into a bar.

...

You'd think the second one would have ducked.

---

STORIES
great for speaking aloud


The Really Shitty Hotel

For some reason, a Mathematician, a Physicist and an Engineer have to share a room for the night, but the only place available is a very shady hotel on the wrong side of town. But since there's nothing else, they bunk there.

It's a really shitty hotel. Partway through the night, a fire breaks out in a corner of the room, and for some reason, only the Engineer wakes up. She says, "Oh shit, a fire!" and looks about the room. She sees a garbage can, picks it up, dumps it out, fills it with water, dumps the water on the flame. Sure enough, the flame goes out. She then pours douses the ashes for good measure, and promptly goes back to sleep.

It's a really shitty hotel. A couple hours later, another fire breaks out in another corner of the room, and for some reason, only the Physicist wakes up. She says, "Oooh-hoo-hoo, a fire!" and takes out some instruments, a calculator and starts measuring the flame and garbage can and calculating. She fills the garbage can three-quarters (plus or minus a tenth) full of water and dumps it on the flame. Sure enough, the flame goes out, and she promptly goes back to sleep.

It's a really shitty hotel. A couple hours later, another fire breaks out in another corner of the room, and for some reason, only the Mathematician wakes up. She rubs her eyes and squints and says, "Ooh-hoo-hoo, a problem! Let's see now..." She looks around the room. "A-ha! A garbage can!" She picks it up and inspects it for holes. Finding none, she rushes to the bathroom. "Let's see, let's see." She turns on the faucet and water flows out. "A-ha!" she exclaims, "there exists a solution to the problem!" and promptly goes back to sleep.

---

A mad scientist wanted to freshen his stock of brains, so he went to his local dealer. Lawyers' brains were on sale for $50/kg. Doctors' were $90/kg. Further down the aisle, he saw that Mathematicians' brains were an astounding $5000/kg.

He asked the clerk why this was.

The clerk replied, "Are you kidding me? Do you KNOW how many mathematicians it takes to get a kilo of brains??"

---

Train Ride
(This one is great for telling aloud, just make sure to make the "knock-knock" gesture, too!)

There's this convention over in the next city, so a group of mathematicians and a group of engineers have to share a train together. And mathematicians and engineers don't get along very well. As they're all boarding, some mathematicians notice that, out of all the engineers, only one of them has a ticket. Of course, all the mathematicians have their tickets. And the mathematicians start laughing: "Those stupid engineers! They're going to get booted off the train!"

At this time, an engineer comes running down the train, shouting, "Guys, the guard's coming; he's coming to check our tickets!" All the engineers pile into one bathroom. The guard comes along and checks each mathematician's ticket: "Ticket please!" The guard goes up to the engineers' bathroom and knocks--knock, knock. "Ticket please!" One ticket comes out. The guard stamps it; it goes back in.

And the mathematicians' minds are totally blown--what a good idea! They decide to copy it for the ride home. So, on the way back, out of all the mathematicians, only one has a ticket. Out of all the engineers, not one of them has a ticket! And the mathematicians start laughing: "Those stupid engineers! They're going to get booted off the train!"

At this time, a mathematician comes running down the train, shouting, "Guys, the guard's coming; he's coming to check our tickets!" All the mathematicians pile into one bathroom--all the engineers pile into another bathroom. The last engineer, before going into the bathroom, goes over to the mathematicians' bathroom and knocks--knock, knock.

("Ticket please!")

---

Careers

Two young students, both very good at math, realise they don't know what they want to do when they grow up, so they decide to see a guidance counselor.

"We don't know what to do when we grow up, but we're very good at problem-solving!"

The guidance counselor happens to have the perfect test for them. The test consists of two parts.

The first student is brought into a room, and in the room is: a table, a kettle sitting on the table, and a stove. The problem is this: boil the water in the kettle. "Well that's stupid," the student says, but he picks up the kettle off the table, places it on the stove, turns the stove on, and in a few minutes, the water boils.

The second student performs the same test with the same results.

"Excellent," the guidance counselor says, "you both passed the first part. Now for the second."

The first student is brought back into the same room, only now, the kettle is sitting on the floor. "WTF?" the student says, but he picks up the kettle off the floor, places it on the stove, turns the stove on, and in a few minutes, the water boils.

The second student is then brought into the room. He stares at the kettle which is now sitting on the floor. "Hey," he says, "this looks familiar..." He walks around, viewing the kettle from a different angle; he's very obviously thinking hard. "Wait a second," he says. He picks the kettle up off the floor, places it on the *table* and exclaims, "Aha, a problem I have already solved!" He then picks the kettle up off the table, places it on the stove, turns the stove on, and in a few minutes, the water boils.

The two students report back to the counselor. "How'd we do?" they ask.

The counselor turns to the first student. "You can be an engineer," the counselor says proudly, "because, when faced with a new problem, you found a unique and practical solution!" The first student beams and goes away. "You, however," the counselor says to the second student, "will only be a mathematician, because you can only reduce problems to ones you've already solved."

---

Renee Descartes walks into his favourite bar and takes a seat. The bartender asks, "Will you have your usual today?" Renee Descartes ponders a moment.

"I think not," he replied--and promptly vanished.

---

Talking to Mathematicians

Q: How can you tell when the person talking to you is a mathematician?
A: He looks at his shoes.

Q: How can you tell when the mathematician talking to you is an extrovert (ie: outgoing)?
A: He looks at *your* shoes.

---

Theorem:
All positive numbers are interesting.

Proof:
Assume the contrary. Then there exists a lowest non-interesting positive number. But, hey, that's pretty interesting! (A contradiction.)

---

I used u for
∫ e^x dx.
At the time, it felt right, but it was so wrong

---

Q: What did the successful mathematician do when she got constipated?
A: She worked it out with a pencil.

---

"Let epsilon be a large negative number..."

---

MATH/ART/SCIENCE SLASH

"What're you doing?"
"Oh, just curve sketching..."
"... Are those nipples?"

---

Said the portrait artist to the physicist, "What a coincidence! I'm studying black bodies, too!"

---

NERD LOVE AND PICK-UP LINES

"I'd love to be one-to-one and onto you."

---

"Come be my epsilon-neighbourhood!"
(give me a hug :3 )

---

"Hey there, wanna find my points of inflection?"

---

"Wanna hold my z constant?"

---

"Can I take your derivative--cuz I'd love to lie tangent to your curves."

---

"Let me be your secant, cuz I'd love to touch your two points."
ALTERNATIVELY
"Can I be your secant--I don't think I could just touch you once."

---

"I bet I can fill your concavities."

---

"I've got something you can integrate."

---

"Baby, I can last all night, just let me do it once and once more."

---

"Baby, I got the perfect gift for you, it just won't fit in the margin that's all!"

---

"Hey, I got some great ideas for that Three Body Problem."

---

"Hey, I gots a bit of a Sphere Packing problem here..."

---

"Wanna see my tight closures?"


...more to follow as I think of them, will tag under "jokes".

Catching up

A lot has happened since my last post. For starters...

• finished my training in Kingston, ON
  
• broke up with JM, got back together, broke up, got back together, and finally in December 2009 broke up for the last time.
  
• met Olek in Calculus, started seeing each other casually, then as we got to know each other through the next few months, fell in love. It's a long and complicated story for me to tell. Maybe in another post. But together we're now the happiest we've ever been.
  
• got a job at a Tim Hortons working overnights, until I can go to Kingston again in July
  
• ...

post from 3 June 2010
Feet

Summer of 2009, I went to Kingston, Ontario for my Apprenticeship training as a Signals Operator. It was four months of good, hard work. Towards the beginning of the last month, we had a short navigation exercise in place of our usual ruck march. I had two teammates, JP from Alberta and PE from PEI (strangely). One person would be the Radio person, carrying the radio, making radio checks, that sort of thing. Another would be the Navigator, leading the rest of us. And the last person was deemed the Safety person, making sure everyone got water/shade.

The Radio person would carry the radio in their rucksack. To make things easier, we swapped rucksacks.

Now, PE is a pretty humble (maybe even simple) but strong/convicted person. If something makes sense to him, it's sort of absolute in his mind. If it doesn't make sense, it doesn't really matter, so long as he knows what to do. I think we decided to put the radio into JP's or my ruck. We had three rucks: Radio, EP's and Spare (either mine or JP's, I can't remember). To switch up the roles, we would just switch rucks.

For one branch, I carried EP's, and it was entirely too heavy. I know mine was just a hair under the requirement of, I think, 11kg. I can't guess how heavy his ruck was, but 11kg was just right for me, being a rather petite Chinese girl. His was too heavy for me, and that should have been the end of discussion right there. I should have demanded we switch the radio, but I didn't. However, partway through the route, I asked to take a break.

I think JP was navigating at the time. He said no, so that we could make good time. I then asked if we could walk slower. Again, he said no. And since I didn't draw the line earlier, I should have drawn it there. But there's something about the military attitude that tells you anything less is weakness and weakness doesn't belong.

I don't know why. Nobody takes me seriously. Maybe I trust too easily.

So we continued, and I fell behind. JP and PE would stop periodically and encourage me to hurry up.

After the navigation exercise was the Battle Fitness Test (13km ruck march in 2hr 26min wearing 24.5kg; then fireman-carry a soldier of similar height/weight for 100m in 60s; then shovel out a box of gravel into another box [roughly 2m by 1m and less than 1m deep] in 6min).

Aside
I just finished reading this blog entry about a navy PO doing a BFT.

"The pain to an extent, the mental discipline of ignoring the pain, the running, the walking, countering the increasing desire to quit, counting breaths, were all variable within my realm of control. Leg spasms and Charlie-horses, however, were outside of that realm of control and threatened to ruin everything."

That's something I can really appreciate. It's not just the physical exertion, but the mental exertion to block out the pain and keep going and refusing to quit. I've done two BFTs in my life so I can't tell you if it gets harder or easier.

And after the BFT was the 2-week field training exercise (FTX).

That was the hardest month of my life, physically. And I wasn't sure how my relationship with JM would survive. (There's another story for another day, the story of Andre, a man I met in Kingston. Thinking about him and how he'd impacted my life helped me through that month.)

I managed to get to the base hospital once after the FTX and spoke with a nurse of sorts. She told me I had a "metatarsal drop". Basically, there's an arch where our toes join our feet, sort of like the undersides of our knuckles on our hands. And that arch is what absorbs impact first when our feet touch the ground. But for my left foot, one of those toe bones had fallen out of the arch, so that now, all that impact would go on that one knuckle-joint. She asked how old I was, and then recommended I get out of the military. I wanted to scream.

Fortunately, she did give me some spongy cushions to put in my shoes. It might help, she said. Maybe.

Thankfully, they worked, though they were so awkward to use, that I only wore them every second day, and that worked out fine in Kingston.

After




post from 7 Feb 2010
Math

I feel like I'm going through a sort of second adolescence.

When I was a teenager growing up, I was trying to figure out who I was. Now, I have a clearer idea of who I am, but I'm not so sure where I will fit into society.

I guess this started a few days ago when I went to talk to a program advisor on campus. I thought I was taking the correct courses, but turns out I'm not. So I'll have to change my program, maybe. If I'm lucky, they'll let me use my current courses.

I talked to a Math Advisor, who happened to be my Multivariable Calc professor! I told him I'm not certain what I like to do with Math or where even I could be employed in the future.

(I must pause for a moment to address this: In my mind, it seems very clear that I'm going to marry Olek, he'll be an Actuary and I'll be--whatever I'll be--so he can ring in all that money and I could potentially be a career housewife. It's an interesting image to have so clear in my mind...)

As I was talking to my prof, I mentioned that I love Math but don't terribly enjoy working with numbers. He remarked that it wasn't so uncommon as those who love literature but dislike spelling. I said I might have been interested in going into either Academia or Pure Math, except that I'd need to be much better at it. And then he said something that sobered me up:

"If you're the kind of person who wakes up with a problem you came up with that night, and decides to spend all day solving it, and enjoy every moment of it, then maybe Academia is for you. But then you're competing with hundreds of people just like that, and you'll have to be the best of those. Then you move onto Graduate Studies, and you'll have to be the best of those. Then you go to find employment and--do you see where I'm going with this?"

I may have the love of math, but I don't have this competitiveness.

I've also had to come to terms with an unusual presupposition I've had. I've had to finally realise that I am, in fact, not a prodigy. I'm not specially gifted at any one thing. Instead, I am somewhat gifted in several areas.


Dad told me a Chinese fable. Here's what I recall from it:

One cannot look at two things and see both clearly.

One cannot listen to two things and hear both clearly.

In the animal kingdom, there is an animal [a lizard, I think] with no talents except one. He cannot run or jump or swim, but he can fly. Yet, in the animal kingdom, there is an animal with five talents. He thinks he is so smart, that when a predator comes, he can do any of these five things to get away. Yet when the predator comes, he cannot decide quickly enough and is eaten anyway. But the other animal, the one that is so dumb that he can only do one thing, when the predator comes for him, he does the one thing he knows how to do and flies away.

I get the point.

I think I'll go into education. It's a humble profession, but I'm not a terribly humble person. I always want to teach everything--I want to tell everyone everything... I always assume everyone wants to know the things I know. But that isn't always so, and I gotta learn that.

Though I might just work consultation... Or any odd-job, really...

"People who are good at math are often good problem-solvers. And some employers just look for that," my prof had said, "not just at the degree."

I wouldn't just be doing math at my job... My prof said that there's a shortage of science teachers... I wonder if I can fill that role...

For Education, I'd need two "teachable" subjects... Math and...?
Comp Sci (I already have some credits...)
Physics (that would be a BITCH to get a degree in...)
Art (if there's no one else)
Music (if there's no one else)
English (a degree I really don't want to have to get)



So, now to think who I'll be to the world...


It's so strange--I mean, I'm so young... And I've found someone whom I want to be in my life--the rest of my life... I want to make him waffles for breakfast, exchange kisses on our way to work, eat last night's leftovers for lunch, come home to each other, make dinner together, exchange stories about how our respective days went, eat together, maybe have a drink and relax and fall asleep together.

...post abandoned

Wax

My life has been ENTIRELY TOO INTERESTING lately, but I took a break today. And this is all I want to talk about:

Brazilian Wax

So, the first time I had a Brazilian wax was this summer while training in Kingston, ON. I went to an Aveda spa, can't remember which, and had this fantastic aesthetician work her magic on my twat (yeah, what is it about me and aestheticians?).

Then, this past October, I went to Calgary to visit friends and family. We wanted to go swimming, and I realised I'd been neglecting my kitty. I picked up some Parissa Hot Wax from the drugstore and took it to the place I was staying. Unfortunately, I was staying with my brothers, so I sneaked into the kitchen late at night, heated the wax over the stove, sneaked back to the bathroom, waxed myself, and when the wax would harden, I'd sneak back to the kitchen and repeat.

It was TERRIBLE. I guess this is why spas play relaxing music.

I had wanted to wax my armpits and give myself a full Brazilian... On my first application, I scalded my armpit skin, and applied the wax too thin, so it didn't come off entirely! It was terribly awkward!

Then I was brave or foolish enough to try my kitty. I didn't get very far. I tried maybe two applications before I couldn't bear the pain anymore. Unfortunately, I'd gotten some of the wax stuck in the other hairs, so had to pull those out by hand just so I didn't have green wax stuck to my pubes!

Overall, my first attempt with self- hot waxing was an utter failure.


However, anything that I'll try once, I'll usually try twice.

Today I felt rather adventurous, and attempted again. I had the kitchen all to myself, with no parents or siblings around. This time, I let the wax cool until about the consistency of honey before applying to my armpits. Worked like a charm. I completed both armpits with minimal resistance.

Then, I felt adventurous. I stripped further.

I guess I was more relaxed this time (and warmer, too!) so my bikini line went without much resistance, either. I felt more adventurous.

I'll admit, it felt weird putting a warm liquid substance on my twat and trying to convince myself it wasn't sexual. I did the whole procedure standing up, one leg on the kitchen counter, sometimes using one hand to pull on my butt or lips.

My labia were a little awkward. But, honestly, hot wax feels just.... Ooh, warm and wonderful on my twat. Just... Once when I was holding my lips apart, my grip slipped and my lips closed, the warm wax touching my clitoral hood. My reaction:
1. Oh, oh wow that feels nice;
2. Oh shit, that's going to hurt pulling off.

Fortunately, (and for WHATEVER REASON) the wax didn't stick, and came off easily. Yeah. Okay, enough of that.

Waxing my asscrack was a also awkward. I kept feeling around to make sure I'd gotten it all. I doubted myself once, and waxed the area again. Unfortunately, I slipped again, and my butt cheeks sandwiched the wax between them. That was difficult to remove.

At the very end, I still had maybe a half centimetre of wax left, so I decided to wax my legs, just to see what would happen (I've never waxed or shaved my legs, since the little hair I have there is also very fine). The wax was too thin sometimes and left little bits on my legs. Other than that, it would have been fine.


All in all, not a bad experience. For eight bucks, I waxed my armpits, my entire kitty, and patches of my legs. I'd definitely do this again.

Final note: if I ever decide to wax my face, I would DEFINITELY use a different wax. The popsicle-stick wooden applicators are just too clunky to get my eyebrows.

--Charlie

100

I've had some issues since this is the 100th post--I mean, I was hoping I'd have something brilliant to post, but I don't have anything particularly brilliant, and I've let that stop me for entirely too long now. So!

I've been having these issues with [who I am] and [how that relates to JM]. Because.... He has issues with my short hair and being mistaken as a guy (and thusly, we look like a gay male couple).

"Girlfriend"

I feel myself freaking out again. It's the word "girlfriend" that does it to me, I think. I really don't know why! It's just a word! "Just" a word, huh.

"Boyfriend" bugs me, too. Lover, sweetheart, my boy, my man...

These just have...images associated with them, and I don't enjoy those images. "Girlfriends" have always been this decorative creature hanging about boys' necks who are very dependent and cute but not terribly self-sufficient. And I notice that I tend that way when I think of myself as a "girlfriend". I'll get over it eventually, but in the meanwhile, I just need to get away from becoming that.


Publicity

That's another thing we've got bugging us: publicity.

I have short hair. I look like a guy--I'd guess maybe 90% of people on the street who see me think I'm a guy without a second thought, and 5% think I'm a guy and bother with a second thought. Maaaybe 5% think I'm a girl. Maybe.

So when I'm in public with JM... well, in all honesty, we were only in public for maybe two days in total, but MAN what two days!

A few incidents happened on the bus: people giggling and pointing; an old man who was outright hostile to gays ("Are you gay? You're holding hands... Michael Jackson was gay... he died..."); general snickers and odd looks; a few turned-heads when we walked down the street (IN THE GAY VILLAGE, OF ALL PLACES, but there was an event going on, so maybe there were more "foreigners").

JM has expressed his discomfort at this. It bothers him. Moreso, it bothers him that it bothers him. He doesn't understand why it bothers him so much. He said to me that he wants to get to the level of comfort that he can say, "This is Charlie, I fucking love her and I don't give a shit what anyone thinks."
(dated 5 Jul 09)

Montreal

I went to Montreal this weekend. AB and I stayed in the gay village, there's this fantastic bed and breakfast in the heart of it all; gorgeous. (The only thing that might make it better: JM.)

We went to Unity, which is a huge gay nightclub--two levels indoors (or is it three) and a terrace-type bar/smoke pit on the roof. There were also a lot of men (AB wanted more girls, who could blame her). There were *also* a lot of gay male couples.


Charlie

I've mentioned before, I'm sure, but there's a part of me that's definitely, undeniably masculine, and I'm suspecting there may be part of me that's actually, well, male.

Aside: Coursemates

Two of the girl coursemates think it's so sad that, at the age of 20, I'm confused about who I am. I guess it is sad, but no sadder than anything else, I think. I just wanted to put this out there while it's on my mind, because one of those girls is not worth my time.

I remember when I first came to Kingston and JM and I would chat for hours and we were under the agreement that four months is a LONG time and whatever happens, well, happens. I remember thinking he ought to find a man while I'm gone, because a gay man could give him more pleasure than I could (well, even if I were physically with JM).

And I wonder... What if tomorrow I woke up and I had a penis? What if tomorrow I woke up and my body was male? What would change? Anything? ... Well. JM's already seen me naked, so I guess some things would change. Aside from freaking out and wanting to get medical attention and figure out wtf just happened, if I decided this was a gift from God and wanted to stay in that body... then what? Some things would be different (penetration for one thing) but I'd also be able to practice what I'd do to him, on myself.

Aside from sex, what would change? Image...


JM, again

He's such a sweetie. He's an intellectual--which is awesome!--and he's not shy/introverted--which is so rare, he's definitely a keeper--which balances my social shyness and awkwardness quite well. He has some traditional/classical views, he's chivalrous (he bought me a dozen red roses when I went Home to visit for a week), but he's very, very open and comfortable about his sexuality and can be very forward.


...post abandoned


post from 5 Jul 09
Dream

I had this dream last night, and I've had it at home, too.

I'm walking with a friend (AB last night, and someone else the other time) through downtown at night, and we're trying to find a place or go somewhere. We end up in a building, it's very tall with lots of glass windows, glass automatic doors and escalators. There's also a lot of security: cameras, sensors, that sort of thing, because it's got some classified stuff inside.

My friend asks something like, "Are we there yet?" or "Where is it?" so I take lead and start navigating through the escalators (we're usually going downward) and automatic doors, careful of the security. Suddenly, an alarm goes off, and I book it to the outside, ground level. The dream ends when I'm outdoors.


Interpretations?

I'm not sure! When I hear that alarm, I panic and just bolt. I've always thought it was my friend who accidentally set off the alarm and I just want to get away from him/her and any trouble. Were we not supposed to go through that building? I'm not sure! Maybe.

I'm actually really not sure.


...post abandoned

Tease

Dom and Sub

So now that I've been spending more time with JM, who likes to make known he likes to be in control--also in bed--I've been wondering about "tops and bottoms" or "subs and doms".

I have a general idea in my head of dominatrixes whipping their submissive partners, and both getting off from their respective roles. But I'm wondering more broadly about "tops" and "bottoms". The more I think about it, the more intricate it seems.

Here's my thinking so far: tops need bottoms more than bottoms need tops, and this actually gives the bottom more power overall.

Even from the standpoint of single masturbation while the other's gone... Top can only imagine doing things to Bottom, who isn't there, so Top can't really get off on that. But Bottom can do things to hirself and imagine it's Top doing it--it doesn't really matter WHO is dominating Bottom, even if it's Bottom's imagination.


Me and JM

(Actually, I really should be explaining Me and SW first, but this will work, too)

So JM is SW's friend, but I'd actually met JM before knowing that! We were on the same bus one day and started chatting. It was great.

Now that we know eachother better, we've been hanging out more. He came to my going away party (I'll have to blog about that later) where we all got buzzed at my place later, and we're all flirty drunks so that was interesting (two mostly-straight guys, a bi girl and a gay man... Hoo boy). So JM and I flirted with eachother--a lot. It was a bit funny to see him restrain himself though: he'd start to say something, then stop and tell himself not to. Hehe.

I showed everyone around my house and we hung around in my room because it's in the basement and my folks were sleeping upstairs. Then I brought out my (brothers') complete collection of the original "Transformers" comic books. JM took a moment, blushed and looked away, then said, "I'm sorry--drinking makes me... um..." "Emotional?" MB suggested. "No, um, horny actually," JM finished. Hah! Awesome.

By the end of the night, JM was apparently very horny and trying his best not to make a fool of himself. It was great. And we decided we'd have to see eachother again before I'd left.

We got together last night.

We went to a Burger King and he got me a bacon double cheeseburger (in repayment for the last time, when I paid) and we chatted. For some reason, I ended up blathering on about my first and second boyfriends and how destructive they were to me. I dunno why I started talking about all that.

Somewhere in there, I bought bus tickets, and he saw a Cosmo magazine and decided it was a good way to change the theme of our conversations that night.

"'Fifty dirty-licious fantasies your guy has' [or something]" he quoted. After a moment to size me up, he offered, "Want to know mine?" Then, "Haha, no, I'm just kidding."

I took myself a moment to size him up and said, "Not in public."

So later, when we were out of the store, we chatted/flirted some more. At one point, there was some dog shit on the sidewalk and I walked very deliberately around it, then giggled at how huge/thick it was and how big a dog it must've been to create it.

"Fido's pretty big," JM said.

I looked his pants up and down. "Apparently!" It took him a while, but he laughed.

We got to a bus shelter and waited for the 11.

"So, now that we're out of the public, what are your 'dirty-licious' fantasies?"

"Oh, you're bold," he said somewhat to himself. I guess I like that recognition. He does that a lot--talks about me to me--and I think I like it.

"Well, you offered," I said under my breath.

"Well, I like to be in control. And public places--not getting caught, but the risk of getting caught, like if we were doing in the bush or behind a curtain. ... How about you?"

Now that I think of it, I do have a "fantasy" that would have gotten him stiff/er. But I couldn't think of any at the time.

"But I do have a weird relationship with pain," I conceded, and went to describe it.

After a while, he reflected, "I think I like that--not that I myself would get off on pain, but I think I like the idea of someone else..."

We continued flirting after we got off the bus and waited for our home buses. I think he was starting to get stiff, and I was definitely aroused. We talked about cougars (aka: cradle robbers) and long hair (I told him about how long mine used to be, and that it was very smooth and thick and how I loved the cool feel of it on my skin--"Damn, thanks for that," he said).

"Damn you're a tease," he said, "but it's okay, I like it."

He went on to tell me about this girl who used to tease him so much that one day, in the middle of a shopping mall, he started whispering in her ear for about five minutes, telling her all the things that she made him want to do. Not that it made it awkward, but just, "Damn, now that I'm horny, I want release. You bastard!" Haha!

We spent the next twenty minutes teasing eachother so bad. We're so cruel.


Me

I used to think I'd be a top. In fact, I still think I'm a top at heart. But I think I'd also enjoy being a bottom for things like orgasm control. I love being teased. But I also love teasing. I dunno. It'd be interesting, being with JM.


But right now, this keyboard is really bugging me so I'm gonna stop this post here.

--Charlie

Army Crush and Thoughts

So, Charlie has an "army crush".

He just happens to be two years older than me, too. But I... I don't know what to make of anything, of any of him.

Well I'll start with the superficial first. He's damn hot, and he has an accent, and he's "crazy" (there's some story about how, after having stepped on a nail, he dug it out with a knife rather than go to the hospital) and has at least one eccentric hobby (it involves a wheel).

What's under that? I have no clue. There's something.....strange, or different at least. He did a tour and came back. That in itself is gold. He told me once that he had hoped it would change him, that he would win huge medals or awards or make the news or at least come home in a box. But, no, nothing has changed, except maybe he's a little disappointed now.


We talked a little tonight. He makes idle conversation, and he seems to be aware of chivalry (let the girl win the first game when you're playing pool; open doors for others; let others through first in a narrowing, things like that).

Then he told me something strange: He likes to "mindfuck" with people--to tell them insane batshit crazy stories, because they'll believe them. Like, when he was overseas, all he did was eat Pop Tarts, but people don't want that, they want to hear outrageous war stories, so he'll make them up for them.

He also said I need to drink--at very least, have a drink in my hand to show "support" for those who do drink, or show that I'm one of them, something like that. He said to get a beer next time.

"I don't drink beer, I drink hard--I don't drink, but when I do, I drink whiskey, vodka... Beer is too light, I flare up--I'm Asian..." (I ramble.)

Somewhere in there, he said, "I like to live dangerously," in his thick accent--it gave me shivers. I wanted to seize the moment and say something uninspired and crazy and spontaneously and profoundly... Silence. Too long a silence--too thoughtful or appreciative to be honest. So I put on my "army accent" and asked, "What sort of crazy shit do you do?"

A pause. A hesitation, sizing me up. "Ehhh, that's a not so good question to ask me." There was a suggestion that I ask something different. He went on.

He'd had two beer, and perhaps it was showing. It's hard to say--but social drunkenness and my empathy is another topic for another day.

Twice, he made comments I couldn't hear, and then explained they were jokes, then quickly added that they weren't very good ones so it was okay. Before I left, I told one of my favourites:

"Infinitely many mathematicians walk into a bar. The first orders a beer. The next, a half beer; the next, a quarter; an eighth. Before the next can speak, the bartender says, 'You're all idiots!' and pours two beer."

He laughed--he got it and found if tunny, I was impressed! He'd said he'd taken Calc (and Stats I, Physics, Chem, Linear Algebra, and maybe Comp Sci, because he knew a bit about Java or C and object orientation and functions...).


There's something in me right now that seems to crave companionship. I'm alienating myself and convincing myself there is no one for me and that I should get used to this fact. But instead of motivating me toward independence, it depresses me and right now I just want to scream. Or jack off--but the basement is bug-infested, and jacking off won't solve anything. Does screaming solve anything? Crying?

My own caring undoes me, it seems. If I could either overcome my problems, or not care for them so much, I think I might be happier.

Well, I'm going to get a snack.
--Charlie

Story from Summer of 2008

I feel like writing about this past summer, 2008. I think enough time has passed that:
a) I have a clearer, more "objective" idea of what happened;
b) anyone who cared at one point has stopped caring by now;

This story contains explicit scenes of (hetero) sexuality.

This story takes place at the beginning of my SQ--the end of July or the beginning of August 2008. The fifty-odd of us had just spent a month together as a course, living in the luxury of separate rooms with television sets and lock-able doors.

About a week prior was the BMQ grad party. A bunch of us went to a bar and danced and drank and some guys went to the conveniently-close hotel to stay the night. I had drank a few and was slipping past "tipsy" and into "drunk", and I was dancing very closely with PMK. Annnd he slid his arm around my waist.

Aside: I'd never, NEVER in any of my, well, three relationships, been treated "like a lady". My friends and (past) lovers have always treated me as a respected person, and not like a sexy feminine figure. They might have thought of me sexually, but I wasn't treated this way, which is not a bad thing! All I'm saying is that this feeling was ENTIRELY NEW and felt....well, new and good!

When 0200 rolled around, and the bar closed, we were so close to getting a room together. The only thing that stopped us? No rooms were "available". Whatever.

The story takes place about a week after that party.

We got some time off. I went to see strippers with some guys (and gals). PMK showed up sometime. Then we all went back to the shacks. I'd had a few drinks and was tipsy--not drunk, just tipsy. I and another girl, KH, crashed on PMK's bed. Eventually, KH got up and left, and some guys came around, making some fuss about how I was passed out in his room. Someone said something about waking me up, and when I hear my name and "wake up" in the same sentence, I do. So I got up, made a drowsy exit, all the time asking, "What the hell are you talking about?" and followed the crowd.

Somewhere in there, IM pulled me aside and said that PMK was calling for me, that he wanted me, and that I should go see him. I didn't believe him (he was probably just trying to see what would happen), but somehow he convinced me to go.

The way the rooms are set up, the door opens inward and the first thing you see walking in is a desk-table-thing. To your immediate left (or right, depending) is a sort of door-less closet, and past that, hidden by its walls, is the bed.

I tapped lightly on PMK's door. He stuck his hand off the side of his bed, palm up, and waved me in with a simple bend of the fingers. So I shuffled in shyly and crouched at his bedside. We made idle chatter.

In retrospect, I think he was just chatting to get me into bed--not a bad thing, but at the time, thought he was only talking to make me more at ease, since he was already comfortable and confident about everything.

"There's no way you're comfortable sitting down there," he said.

He has a fascinating voice. He'll sing sometimes, just for the hell of it--he'll take his words and give them notes, any notes, or he'll make sing-songs when addressing others in front of others. He sometimes throws in a chuckle, a rueful or disappointed chuckle. But sometimes his voice takes on a highly sensual quality--it makes me very aware of his body, his physical feelings, and my own.

This time, his voice had a chuckle, not rueful but playful and inviting. It made me nervous and shy.

"I'm quite comfortable here, actually; actually, I can be comfortable almost anywhere--" I started abstracting, I probably started going on about how I could sleep anywhere at any time, but I could wake up at the sound of--

I stopped. I realized my chattering and accepted his invitation.

We chatted some more, idle chatter, time-filling, oppressive chatter, made to imitate closeness, to justify this indulgence.

Silence.

"I'm going to take my shoes off." Off they went, paired neatly together, just out of the way, beside the desk. Good job. I slid back into the bed. He had laid out his arm, and I fitted the bend of my neck into his thick arm. I looked over at my shoes. How orderly, how tidy and neat and--

"I'm going to take my glasses off." I folded them away and tucked them into one of the shoes. Back to his arm. He rolled to his side, drew his other arm around me, drew me close to him, gently pulling my body in.

"I want you to know," he began, "that I'll only go as far as you want to, only as far as you're comfortable with."

Something sparked and stirred in me. Excitement, gratitude, desire? Relief, anticipation, comfort...

We chatted more--or, he talked, and I drank his words.

"I'm a sensitive guy," he said, "not 'sensitive' in--I mean, my nerve-endings are closer to my skin, so I feel more, that's why I'm so touchy-feely." And, "I don't know if it's a matter of pride, but I like to make the girl come, too. I guess it's pride. If I don't, I feel like I failed somehow."

"This is crazy," I remember saying.

"What is?"

"This, all of it--being on base, on course, the whole frat policy..."

He chuckled. "There are worse things to get in trouble for."

We snuggled. He touched my nipples through my shirt. I drew breath, he paused. There was noise outside, and we realised how early it was. We agreed to continue in an hour.

An hour later, I poked my head outside my door and then tiptoed back into his room. He slept with his fire blanket, crazy guy. I slipped into his extended arm and he drew me in, touched my face, my arms, kissed my mouth.

There's something about mouth-kissing someone I don't know very well, it feels strange. I mean, mouths are for communicating--among another things. And mouth-kisses are two "communicating" -type body parts, interacting in very close proximity... They should be communicating! So, I dunno, these kisses make me nervous.

His skin was rough, I think I like it rough; textured, work-worn. He was--not quite "aggressive", but assertive and willing to go after whatever he wanted. He'd grab my ass--repeatedly--tighten his grip around a cheek either just to feel how it felt in his hand, or to turn me on. It gave me such a hard-on.

And he'd switch up our positions, too: he'd take top, he'd concede; take, concede, take, concede... And sometimes I took, and sometimes I would concede.

He lay me on my back and set his mouth to my naked torso; manipulated my nipples between his lips and teeth; and I thrust my hips up into his legs, down into the sheets, up again and grinding my clothed crotch into his clothed member. At some time, I managed to pull him off. "If you keep playing with my nipple, I'll scream from sheer pleasure." He chuckled, but backed off.

I lay him on his back--somewhere in there, his shirt disappeared or rolled up to his neck and shoulders and I pushed his elbows back down beside his head and pinned them there with my arms--and played my mouth on his chest, took his right nipple between my lips. He'd draw breath, move, and moan, and talk a little dirty. I moved to his left, and his hands took me by the shoulders and hefted me up to his face so he could tell me between breaths: bite me, use your teeth, harder. I took my teeth to the blunt of his nipple and he started grinding his hips into mine. Did I mention that he talks dirty? I think I like it.

"Fuck yes."

Eventually he said, "I can't stand it anymore. Take my cock in your hands," and he reached into his army-issue boxers and pulled it out.

Now, I should probably mention, up until that point, I had never seen a penis--I mean, up close and personally, where I could touch it and see it respond. There was this one time, a boyfriend sat in a chair and I undid his jeans and groped around for a while, but that was under silk Sponge-Bob boxers, denim and a sweater, and I didn't have to see it.

When PMK "whipped it out", there was a moment where I seriously thought it was some ridiculous, over-sized silicone imitation--why one earth would it lay so huge and limp on his gut? I think I laughed.

Giggling, I took it in my hand. What do I do with this? I tittered, apologised. "I've never done this before."

"Well, it's always good to try new things."

"How... How do you do it?"

He showed me. He closed his hand around it and moved slowly, pulling up gently, down gently; up slightly tighter, down gently... His fingers guided my timid hand and placed my digits around the limb. I remember my thumb just barely reaching my fingertips on the other side. Up gently, down gently, up tighter, down gently... Now you try. His hand closed around my own, moved us both, then let me continue.

I remember vividly the feeling of loose skin, like an over-sized wrapping for sausage--is that where sausage came from--and it moved with my hand as though gliding along some hidden shaft beneath. But I suppose that makes sense... Why didn't I know more about penises? It bothered me somehow, that this was so alien to me--yet it bothered me equally to take this alien organ and manipulate it in my hands... So much loose skin!

I got into the rhythm, got a feel for the pressure; started trying variations. It was enormously gratifying to feel him harden in my hand, and to have my hand pulled along, closer to him in a growing erection. I pulled down on the skin just by his head, exposing so suddenly a pink tip, and I twisted it in the palm of my hand. He grunted. "Fuck yes. Oh, babe--oh baby..."

At one point he said, "Slow down," and it caught me off guard. I slowed. We snuggled; kissed mouths, petted. He was all breath and sweat.

"This is so unfair," he said.

"Unfair?"

He went on to explain that he likes to give as well as get--so that "the girl" gets some attention, too.

"The reason I asked you to slow down was because I was about to come, and--and I didn't want to 'surprise' you." He kissed my neck. "Do you want..." I was so hot for him. "Do you want me to make you come?"

Some part of me was begging for release, I wanted him so bad, I was so insanely crazy for him, I might have done anything, I might have gone through with anything.

"I'm," I tried to put words together. "Hell no. I scream and I'm huge mess when I come."

He laughed, half with mirth, half with unbelief, as though he couldn't believe his good luck--as though he wanted to ascertain his good luck. What a tease--though he probably thought the same of me. We kissed. There was a suggestion of a chuckle.

"Why do you have to be so damned loud..."

From there, we began to settle down, drift into a calm. We chatted idly--and I was forever wanting to hold onto him past this month, past this course.


And that was my first, and at this date, my only one night stand. We didn't really have "sex" (in my opinion, we had sex), and it wasn't just the one night (it was two, but only one should be remembered), but a one night stand anyhow.

There's something very reassuring about entering that kind of (largely unspoken) agreement: You are you, I am I; you want, I want; we're just going to give into our bodies for this one time, no complications, no strings attached, you and me, fulfilling our bodies, together for this stretch of time.

Anyhow, there's my little story. More to follow, perhaps, some other time.
--Charlie

Opinions

So it turns out I have some weird ideas about my image as a woman, and I never knew I had these ideas! One of them I had mentioned before: Hetero penetrative sex.

Charlie on Pregnancy (personally)

Right now, I can't see myself having children--in the future, even. Sure, aside from being beautiful and wonderful, there's probably a lot of fulfillment and pride and other great things... But me--Charlie--pregnant? I feel that would only propagate the idea that women are factories for creating more humans.

People see pregnant women all the time and--though maybe this is a bit of a stretch--the sight of a pregnant woman causes people to stop and think about pregnancy and creation of new humans. I think it's MUCH more rare for someone to see a non-pregnant woman and think, "Oh look, there's a woman who isn't pregnant!" and think about women and how they could be non-pregnant.

Another thing: in a couple joined in civil union, there's an expectation to have a child--by birth or adoption, or what have you, but there's a cultural expectation, I think. And if a couple goes long enough without children, the norm is to ask, "Are they infertile?" "Don't they want kids?" "What's wrong with them?"

Whenever that question--"What's WRONG with them?"--is asked, there is usually a lot of assumption going on. Here the assumption is: it is normal to have children, it is normal to want to have children. Thus, a couple that has not conceived must have either some physical defect, or some mental defect for not wanting to procreate.

So, by becoming pregnant, I further the image and idea of women as carriers of new humans; and further the normality and expectancy of pregnancy in women. So.... Charlie won't be pregnant--at least, for a LONG time!


Charlie on Hetero Penetrative Sex (HPS)

HPS is gross and unfair. As a woman, there is no sex organ (long enough) I can use to penetrate--invade the internal space of--a man's orifice(s). As a woman, I cannot derive the same physicality of pleasure that a man can derive, by sticking a body part into someone else.

There is an invasion of personal space--even if there is consent, in HPS, I as a woman would be receiving the (repeated) entry of another person into the confines of my body.

I guess I want to "level the playing field". There is this sex toy I've seen, the Feeldoe (http://images.google.ca/images?q=feeldoe), used for girl-on-girl penetrative sex. One end goes into the vagina of the penetrating woman, who holds it in place with her muscles. There are little nubbies that ride along her clit (which is the female analogue to the male's head of the penis). The other end goes into the woman to be penetrated, like a penis would in HPS. I like this idea--especially about stimulating the clit, because it simulates (maybe) the feeling of penetration--ie, the nubbies on the clit imitates the sensation that the head of the penis gets from being inserted and withdrawn repeatedly.

Woots.



Thoughts

I used to be mysterious. I used to be so involved in myself that I didn't care about anyone else--and people were drawn to me! I guess I started taking that for granted, because I'm beginning to lose more of myself to others. Well, I was worried I had, but maybe that worry isn't as justified now as it was then.

I used to be such a Scorpio. I don't mind Scorp--except for the crazy sex drive. It drives me nuts sometimes and I need to keep it in check.

But now? I don't know what's happened. After the Summer of Eric, I deconstructed myself and tried to start anew. I don't know how much I rebuilt after tearing down, but it seems to have held so far. I'm a bit wary right now, though, that perhaps the foundation was less sound than I'd thought. It's always hard to.....remake oneself, since we are continually adding new bits, and perhaps even losing old bits.


So, this guy...

So this guy, he's an interesting fellow, something like Neek, but more...compassionate. Neek is a justified asshole. SW is.... he cares.

Hah, I'd mentioned to SW... There's a scene in Heroes where Peter meets Matt for the first time, and Matt tries to read Peter's mind, but Peter starts mimicking his ability and there's this feedback sound like you get with mics. I imagine that's what SW meeting Neek would be like!


SW

I dunno! I've already told him I like him; and he's said he likes me at least a bit more than as a friend... But he doesn't want to get into a relationship until he sorts some stuff out--which I think is noble and honest of him.

But... I dunno?

I feel very comfortable with him--which is good and bad. I trust him entirely too much for not knowing him. And, I guess this is where the "mysterious Charlie" thoughts come in--like, I used to be him. It's pretty freaky. Had I decided that [things] were important to me and decided to pursue them, I might have turned into SW. Crazy!

But that's another thing, he's young--not much younger, mind, but...maybe young enough. And I think I'm sick of waiting for people to grow up. But I'm waiting for....something anyway, so I may as well wait for another thing? I don't know...

Besides the familiar "me" in SW, there's something else familiar about him--something that reminds me of Eric vaguely. Not that SW is necessarily similar to Eric, but something reminds me of him. Argh.


Relationships?

I've been thinking about polygamy again, and--if I'm honest with myself--I can admit that I'm a jealous person. I also enjoy positions of authority and power--not necessarily for the sake of dominating others, but it feels....good within me. Like, "I am a full human being, I am as I am, I am fully myself, I am wholly myself, I satisfy/sustain/fulfil/enjoy myself..." -sort of thing. But I do also enjoy being in positions of power so I can better care for others, and I suppose, for security...

SW is a giver. I am a giver. But I think SW is more practised in giving and enjoys it more than I, so he would hold that position more easily.

Giving is easy--in some respects, I'm talking very generally in terms of what it requires of character to give. Receiving is less easy. Receiving requires grace and...a knack for making the other feel appreciated. I lack grace, generally. About the most graceful I can get is Milonga del Angel (Astor Piazzolla) on a good day and when my fingers are sufficiently warmed-up.

But that skill of receiving is perhaps more useful? In giving, I make the other feel good. In receiving, I can get AND make the other feel good. ...My old self would take advantage of this. Me, I don't know.


I've been sitting on my arse too long. Time to do something else.
--Charlie

Relationships, Fruits and Poetry

Mutual Agreements

(Note: for brevity, "agree to" means "agree to give best effort to")

If you agree to stay in contact with me, then I agree to respect the time we are away from each other.

Alternate wording:
If you agree to not avoid me, then I agree to not suspect you're avoiding me.

If you agree to not have [what makes our relationship unique] with someone else without my permission, I agree to do this also.


So this person I like...

Sometimes, I can reduce my problems to a simple one: Act or Do Not Act.

Right now, (I think) I have an opportunity to get into a stable relationship. This would be awesome, except that I'm going away for the summer. Also, I don't know this person very well yet. Oh, and as usual, I'm thinking too much further than I am.

So I need to find out if this person:

• would be receptive to beginning a relationship with me;
  
• would rather a long-term relationship than short-term; and
  
• would be willing to go four months without me.

Are relationships really so easy? Is it really just...agreement?

"I agree to pursue a relationship with you. I agree to do this. I agree to do this. I agree not to do this... Allright, so it's settled!"

I mean, there's got to be something else...right? Love? Attraction?

Those aren't mandatory, are they? Familiarity can develop into attraction and perhaps love.


I often define cheating as: to share [whatever makes our relationship unique] with someone else without permission.

But what, realistically, could this [whatever] be?

Sex? Ability to communicate? Allowing eachother access to.... to what? Is like a password? ...

"You hold a piece of me now, and you may do with it as you please. I hold a piece of you, too, and it is similarly mine to do with as I please. The hope here is that we will take these pieces and treat them as we would ourselves--or better. At worst, we do this for fear the other will do something nasty in retaliation to our inattention."

Hmm...


What is it I even think I want?

An open relationship?
To come home to someone after Kingston?... To fool around with girls (or guys) in Kingston and have someone to come home to?

That's pretty selfish...

But if this person also wouldn't mind this... Then it would only benefit us both. Else, we'd just not pursue the relationship. Right? ...Right?


Action

One of my friends said that guys who like a girl will tend to like that girl for a while (if they *truly* like her anyway). So waiting out is a very safe action.

However, if the feeling is mutual (ie: he likes me back), then waiting will be frustrating for the both of us. But not that frustrating, I'd imagine.

My biggest problem, I think, is that I'm too forward and too fast about relationships. I want too fast.


Sadness?

When I'm with someone--or fantasising to imitate reality--I get sad, and suddenly.

Why do I get sad?

I think part of it is a feeling of...ephemeral-ness, that this wonderful moment is fleeting. "Everything is wonderful now, and now is over."

Do I believe I'll ever find...fulfilment in a relationship? I don't think so... Why is that?

I think I've stopped believing in that sort of fulfilment. I think I now believe in "making" the relationship work--that both/all parties have to make concessions, that people don't "just" fit together. I dunno, maybe there is someone I "fit" with, but what are the chances I'll meet this person? Slim. More likely, I'll find a person I want to be with, who wants to be with me, and we're both willing to make effort to be together. I just have to make sure I do make an effort...



In other news!

Food

I've discovered dates--the fruit! Also, figs!


Unrelated

I've also rediscovered D. H. Lawrence's poetry:

Figs
by D. H. Lawrence

The proper way to eat a fig, in society,
Is to split it in four, holding it by the stump,
And open it, so that it is a glittering, rosy, moist, honied, heavy-petalled four-petalled flower.
Then you throw away the skin
Which is just like a four-sepalled calyx,
After you have taken off the blossom with your lips.

But the vulgar way
Is just to put your mouth to the crack, and take out the flesh in one bite.

Every fruit has its secret.

The fig is a very secretive fruit.
As you see it standing growing, you feel at once it is symbolic:
And it seems male.
But when you come to know it better, you agree with the Romans, it is female.

The Italians vulgarly say, it stands for the female part; the fig-fruit:
The fissure, the yoni,
The wonderful moist conductivity towards the centre.

Involved,
Inturned,
The flowering all inward and womb-fibrilled;
And but one orifice.

The fig, the horse-shoe, the squash-blossom.
Symbols.

There was a flower that flowered inward, womb-ward;
Now there is a fruit like a ripe womb.

It was always a secret.
That's how it should be, the female should always be secret.

There never was any standing aloft and unfolded on a bough
Like other flowers, in a revelation of petals;
Silver-pink peach, venetian green glass of medlars and sorb-apples,
Shallow wine-cups on short, bulging stems
Opening pledging heaven:
Here's to the thorn in flower! Here is to Utterance!
The brave, adventurous rosaceae.
Folded upon itself, and secret unutterable,
The milky-sapped, sap that curdles milk and makes ricotta,
Sap that smells strange on your fingers, that even goats won't taste it;
Folded upon itself, enclosed like any Mohammedan woman,
Its nakedness all within-walls, its flowering forever unseen,
One small way of access only, and this close-curtained from the light;
Fig, fruit of the female mystery, covert and inward,
Mediterranean fruit, with your covert nakedness,
Where everything happens invisible, flowering and fertilization, and fruiting
In the inwardness of your you, that eye will never see
Till it's finished, and you're over-ripe, and you burst to give up your ghost.

Till the drop of ripeness exudes,
And the year is over.

And then the fig has kept her secret long enough.
So it explodes, and you see through the fissure the scarlet.
And the fig is finished, the year is over.

That's how the fig dies, showing her crimson through purple slit
Like a wound, the exposure of her secret, on the open day.
Like a prostitute, the bursten fig, making a show of her secret.

That's how women die too.

The year is fallen over-ripe,
The year of our women.
The year of our women is fallen over-ripe.
The secret is laid bare.
The rottenness soon sets in.
The year of our women is fallen over-ripe.

When Eve once knew in her mind that she was naked
She quickly sewed fig-leaves, and sewed the same for the man.
She'd been naked all her days before,
But till then, till that apple of knowledge, she hadn't had the fact on her mind.

She got the fact on her mind, and quickly sewed fig leaves.
And women have been sewing ever since.
But now they stitch to adorn the bursten fig, not to cover it.
They have their nakedness more than ever on their mind,
And they won't let us forget it.

Now, the secret
Becomes an affirmation through moist, scarlet lips
That laugh at the Lord's indignation.

What then, good Lord! cry the women.
We have kept our secret long enough.
We are a ripe fig.
Let us burst into affirmation.

They forget, ripe figs won't keep.
Ripe figs won't keep.
Honey-white figs of the north, black figs with scarlet inside, of the south.
Ripe figs won't keep, won't keep in any clime.
What then, when women the world over have all bursten into self-assurance?
And bursten figs won't keep?


Peach
by D. H. Lawrence

Would you like to throw a stone at me?
Here, take all that's left of my peach.

Bloodred, deep;
Heaven knows how it came to pass.
Somebody's pound of flesh rendered up.

Wrinkled with secrets
And hard with the intention to keep them.

Why, from silvery peach-bloom,
From that shallow-silvery wine-glass on a short stem
This rolling, dropping, heavy glovule?

I am thinking, of course, of the peach before I ate it.

Why so velvety, why so voluptuous heavy?
Why hanging with such inordinate weight?
Why so indented?

Why the groove?
Why the lovely, bivalve roundness?
Why the ripple down the sphere?
Why the suggestion of incision?

Why was not my peach round and finished like a billiard ball?
It would have been if man had made it.
Though I've eaten it now.

But it wasn't round and finished like a billiard ball;
And because I say so, you would like to throw something at me.
Here, you can have my peach stone.

Woots!

--Charlie

Me, myself and hypothetical situations

Me

Today, I slept in, then I procrastinated, was late for first class, then I procrastinated, then skipped Discrete Math, procrastinated more, was late for my Comp Sci lab, murdered time, went to the gym for a little bit, then got started on my homework, took a nap, got a coffee and went to work again.

And I realized something.

I am still myself!

This comforts me SO much. I was afraid I was losing myself again: to the military, to socialising, to my physical drives... But when I sat down and powered through as much of my assignment as I could, it felt.... great! I found myself again!

What does this mean?

That I am most myself when solving problems? That I am most myself when...
...not thinking about myself?
...immersed in something different?

This makes sense. If I'm too busy being myself, then I'm not. If I'm not trying to be myself, then I can (be myself).


Earlier today

Earlier today, I waited for the bus (a later bus, because I slept in and procrastinated with making today's lunch/dinner).

As the bus pulled up, I heard running and shouting coming from the end of the block. There were about five teenagers running for the bus. I already had out my bus pass and was ready to board. They obviously wanted to catch the darn bus, and I was in a position where I could delay the bus long enough for them to get on. At the same time, if this bus were early or fast, I'd make an earlier transfer--earlier by about ten minutes!

I put one foot on the bus, looked up at the driver, looked toward the running teens, and the bus crept forward, bumping me.

"Are you on or not?" he demanded. "The bus is for everyone, not one or two people!"

I got on.

This delayed the bus enough that the driver couldn't ignore the running teens and was obliged to stop for them.

But I wondered why I had paused.

Was it just for the teens? Did I really want to delay the bus for them? Or was I just uncertain what to do? I think that would be the harder to face--that I was just hesitating and froze up.

Or, did I actually realize I had the power to delay the bus for a few seconds? If so, why did I hop on immediately when the driver spoke and nudged the bus forward?

I want to know what happened there.

I thought about this the entire ride to campus...

What if that were a helicopter transport? What if those were my troops--my buddies I shared trenches with? Or if they were under my supervision? If the transport had to leave--if the mission and circumstance made its withdrawal necessarily immediate.... what would I have done?

Would I have stepped off? Hopped on? Demanded they wait?

The most logical might be to get on the darned thing--mission before self...

But if those were my buddies, and I were insignificant, might I have stayed? Whom would that benefit? What if they were hopeless--if staying meant certain death? Would I have done that for them? Doubtful... But if staying weren't hopeless, would I have? Would I have stayed to aid them? ... Is it vanity to think I could make a difference--that my refusal to leave would actually sway Death and save lives?

What if they were two seconds away? Would I demand the transport wait? What about five seconds? Six? Seven? In a firefight, every second counts, I understand that abstractly... And situation will always dictate action... A difference of five seconds might mean a precision artillery strike or a well-aimed snipe at the pilot. Waiting for them might even mean watching them die; might mean I get dumbstruck and freeze and another troop has to haul my dumb ass onto the helicopter.

The worst part? Until I can make these analyses faster, the best plan is to follow the plan: get on the transport, don't wait, don't delay. It's the safest action more frequently than others.

...Wow.

--Charlie

Dreams

Dream

My brother K was giving me a ride somewhere, only he wasn't driving, we were sitting in the back of this mysteriously black-windowed car. He asked me the date. "It's the twenty third of January", I said. He asked if I knew what that meant. I knew it meant something, something sinister that might have to do with EVIL RUSSIANS, and he could tell I was becoming suspicious, so he suddenly tried to put me in a lock. I managed to get out, open the door, roll onto the street and run away to safety.

I remembered my dad's old office building, so I headed there. I needed the fifth floor, but to get the door to open on that floor, you needed a trick. There was someone in a parallel elevator, who was chasing after me and knew I was in the elevator, but didn't know the trick, so I got out while she tried to figure it out.

I ran into the old office, and put special locks on the doors to give me time to find something, anything, to help me and to figure out what was going on.

There was an old car, a special car with crazy technology. I grabbed some supplies and--then the dream switched genres--cast some buffs on myself. I was like a Gangrel in appearance, temper and animal lore, but I had different powers.

The Russian vampire baddies busted in while I was still preparing. I shouted (just like Erik in VTM: Redemption) "No!" and hurled myself out a window, casting a sort of mist-form spell. It turned me into an oily reddish vapour and I streaked away into the dusky sky!

"Damn," on of the baddies said. Let's call him El. He was subordinate to--let's call him--Gat. Gat told El not to worry, they'd have me soon. They just had to light these magical candles that would cause me to switch back to solid form from mist if I came near them.

Needing information, I decided to use a little-known trick to hide the red colour of my mist-form so that I'd be nearly invisible. I stole up to some Russian building where a meeting was happening, and switched back to solid form. On the lawn, I was nearly seen, so I dropped as low to the ground as possible and was about to switch form, when I noticed something in the grass.

Little red sparkles up ahead--I waited for the Russians to move away, then sneaked closer. Each marker, planted in the grass like a reflective marker to denote driveways from the road, had a number on it. Today was the 23rd, so I picked up the one that said 23. On it was written "International Trade Day", which "explained" the presence of the Russian vampires here. There was something magical about the item, that I couldn't figure out right then, so I pocketed it.

Using mist form, I recced the building, but found there were candles everywhere! I'd have to use a different form. Luckily, there were rats around, so I changed my form to mimic a rat, and stole inside.

I don't remember what happened inside, but after I accomplished something, I had to leave because I was getting low on blood and health.

I mist form -ed away.

There were these crazy wooden bridges that looped around and around. They were on the way to some Elder I had to see.

Unfortunately, El and some of his cronies were waiting on the bridge, and I hit one of the candles that burned me and forced me to take solid form. Darn, and I was low enough on blood that I couldn't cast it again.

Well, I still had my guile! As the candle notified guards, I hid on the underside of the wooden bridge, waiting for the first guards arrived. The first guard freaked out, and began talking with the next guards to arrive. While they were distracted, I grabbed the last guard, whose absence nobody noticed; and drank him until he fainted, but was still "alive".

Empowered, but not fully recovered, I began laying plans. I cast a small buff that let me sneak better and increase my senses. Then I hid and cast a shape-shift spell on the unconscious enemy so that he would look like me; then cast a berserker spell and finally a mist-form spell on him. Wild with berserker rage, his oily red mist form began streaking around the bridges, looping around and around them, and all the guards chased wildly after him.

I took this distraction to drain another guard, this time I drank him dry, and kicked his ashes into the water. Now I was at half-full blood.

The guards finally flagged down the berserked guard, and forced him back to solid form. When they saw my figure writing, they called over El. El believed this too easy, and wondered at "my" wild behaviour, since it was unlike my usual cool methodical manner. He spoke a word of command, dispelling any buffs on the guard.

At that moment, I resumed mist form and zipped away across the waters.

I had just discovered: El and Gat weren't the only ones looking for me. Kat and Ban were on me, too.

El cursed, but Kat and Ban looked on my mist form and muttered how I was clever, but would be caught. They also mentioned a property of an Item their Head Vampire (let's call her Val) had: it would allow its bearer access to water--to gain control of water--and had such devious uses as underwater breathing, walking on water, swimming in water without leaving a ripple, calling forth water fountains, etc.

I had overheard just snippets of their conversation when I realized the guard had been flagged down and decided to leave.


Over on the other side of the water, I touched down, weak from the exertion. My health was still low, but I had a bit of blood left. However, dawn was coming, and I'd need a place to rest.

I found an abandoned structure on the sandy beach, and headed for it.

I was so weak from my journey that I could barely stumble into the shadows as the sun began creeping up. I found some old plastic boxes that looked like they could provide shelter if I could just dig a bit of a hole. I fell to my knees and began moving aside the rubble so I could scrape at the sand. Two ravens hopped out of one of the discarded boxes.

I had on a charm that would make me appear as an animal to animals. Some wiser animals could tell I wasn't, and even wiser animals could see right through it. I wasn't thinking about that, though.

The ravens were oracles and shamans. One was visibly older and female, the other was a young male, her apprentice.

They asked me what I was doing. I told them in an off-hand way I was digging a place to rest for the day, after a long and tiring journey. The old raven nodded and told her apprentice to help. He objected, saying it there was no gain in helping a tired badger and they should just eat me and be done with it. The old raven silenced him and commanded him to help, and he obeyed.

I was grateful for the help. As we dug, I hit a black object. Curiosity overcoming my fatigue, I brushed the sand around it away. It was a figurine of a crow. The old raven hopped nearer to see.

"It is old," I said, "and I do not recognize it."

"This is a great portent," she said. She inspected it closer, then nodded deeply.

"It is yours if you want it," I offered.

"No, it is for you. It has told me I am to leave my blessing upon it and it will go with you on--your journey."

I was surprised she knew. I hadn't meant to lie or obscure the truth, just to simplify my story for this stranger. She looked at me understandingly--no need to apologise, it was allright. I thanked her, and we completed my resting hide.

"Will you be here when the sun goes down?" I asked.

"No," she said, "but you have my blessing, and this artefact will aid you."

I was too tired to inquire about the small statuette, so I merely nodded in thanks.

"You will not be able to say our names, nor we yours, so you may call me Pecan and I will call you--"

And that's when I woke up!

I don't know what to make of this...

ALSO, I had another dream prior, which involved my whole Driver course, but we were defending the Armoury--which became a great grey stone castle--from its parapets--which had trenches in them--from some sort of enemy! I and my fireteam partner, RP, blew up a big bunch of baddies, but I hurt my leg in the process, then DW hopped over to see how we were doing, and RP explained what happened. DW said he just blew up some other baddies and was off to blow up more and could've used a hand, but that RP should get me to safety first.

Whaaaa?

Dang! That was a few nights ago. And yesterday, I saw DW at the gym working out. Great guy he is.



Off to see my kids!
--Charlie