Talk

"dear diary,

in real life, well, those around have been talking about me. i guess they wonder why i live in the school, and not in a station like everybody else. and for some reason i don't seem very keen on the sheep that are such a great joy and interest to close to all other humans around. and i don't have a husband and a big bloody kitchen stove. not even a husband? oh dear!

some of those around me say i'm morbidly picky. others call me a tease, who keeps the few guys that i meet dangling and hoping, without ever offering them any fun. still others say i'm a lesbian, because i'm not married and have been seen kissing girls. well, i have. for fun. for the hell of it. for just going wild. oh, i can also feel a lot for them, emotionally, deep. but i don't have much desire sleeping with them. my eyes follow the guys. my fantasies follow them, too. i choose which party to go to from where he, or maybe the other he, will go.

but having one for myself isn't that easy. it takes more than having a beer together in one of the station parties, or hanging the fence together for a while, watching the others feed the sheep.

it takes trust. before he can touch me, before we can end up in the barn. a lot of trust. so it takes time. it may take months. young men don't seem to like waiting that long. especially as this is about all touching, touching at all.

i shy away from touch. oh, i yearn for it, in my dreams, in my fantasies, in my wishes. but for real, his touch, his hand upon me... my heart goes wild from joy... my lower parts go crazy from anticipation, excitement, and pure lust... and the autonomous nerve system, or whichever system it is, still hard-wired from bad days now gone, knows touch to be how rape begins, and sets red lamps flashing, sounds alarms, and rushes me into a panic room where i won't feel, won't be present, won't get more than unavoidlably hurt.

he who has touched me can't possibly understand why i flinch, turn aggressive, or just simply panic. sweet me. a hand. monster me.

i'm no prude. i don't have moral constraints holding me back. i just need to trust. before i do, i can't. my trust can't be forced; he has to earn it. pushing me rather works the opposite way, as it implies some sort of right to have me, and i've had enough of that for a lifetime. he can't talk me over, or cheat the trust by making me feel guilty, by flattering me no end, or by making me feel in debt. the only way is to deserve me trusting him. trusting him. trusting you.

up until that moment of trust, i'm afraid of you.

those guys patient enough, they still seem to expect a gradual development. some touching at first, then more touching, then kissing, naughtier touching, and so forth. like climbing a ladder, step by step, all the way to the goodies on top. but it doesn't work that way. not for me. my ladder has just one step. no trust, don't touch. trust. i'm yours.

that one step is high. it takes time climbing. but when up there, he'll find there are no more steps. he'll just find me, hungry to hurry straight for the barn. i want to, oh, don't i! not that i get many opportunities to. i'm still young. i look nice enough, i'm fit, and i'm reasonably clever and fun. i'm not unseen. but out of those that see, oh so few make the climb. it's no big help being talked about as a sheep-hater, man-hater, man-teaser, or just someone that can't work a stove in a station.

mia"