For the last few months I haven't seen my body as an extension of myself; I've seen it merely as a patchwork of hand prints, all different shapes and sizes. I'm not happy with that thought. I don't like the idea of allowing myself to be used. And I recognize that's exactly what has happened -- I've allowed myself to be used, either as a one-nighter or a substitute or an in between. And that's not to cast any bad vibes or animosity upon those I've been with, or to place myself in the role of a victim. That's just how it's been.

Tomorrow makes about three weeks since I've been hanging out with a particular gentleman. If it had been even a month ago, I probably would have let him fuck me by now. And though the issue has come up, the answer has been "no," albeit a hesitating no, a no-but-really-yes, a no-but-maybe-eventually. But a "no" I feel like I can firmly stand next to, a "no" that will be not only be tolerated but respected.

For once it's not a maybe-yes-but-really-no, or a yes-but-will-you-still-respect-me?, or a yes-but-who-else-are-you-really-wanting-to-be-here-right-now? I'm tired of being someone else's filler.

I'm not sure if this is some sort of self-actualization and initiation of respect, a more mature view on relationships and sex, or if I'm just not feeling up for it. For the most part, my sexual drive has pretty much been reduced to zero except when it concerns this particular quarter. I think the reason I've been feeling cynical towards sex and love is because I tried to keep it objective when I wasn't really dedicated to the idea; I tell myself I don't give a fuck but really I give all the fucks in the world.

nnnn.