21 MAY, 1983

[chimbleysweep]

21 May, 1983

I’m very tired, as it’s nearly midnight, but what a strange few days I have had! My plan worked, actually. Well, it worked better than I thought it would. I did not enjoy seeing Jack drunk at all, but he told me a lot of things about his home (his mother hurts him and I don’t know what to do), school (he rarely seems to attend a full day), his future (being a mechanic for his entire life doesn’t seem to bother him at all).

He said he was happy, but I think he meant happy with me. He did say something interesting, though. That I’m serious. I mean, that my relationship with him is serious and part of that is because we don’t have sex. But he still doesn’t understand why I say no; he thinks if he shows me how good it feels, I’ll give in. I don’t think I’m ready and I know it won’t feel very nice the first few times, anyway. I’m perfectly content as is.

I couldn’t gather anything else. But oh my gosh. He thinks we’re serious. Over five months, not yet six, and he thinks we’re serious.

Of course, he was drunk.

But I do like it when he utters more than one word. There’s a lot going on in his head, he just needs to learn how to siphon it all off. I’m going to try this again soon. I think Jack would like it if I did, as well. He quite enjoyed the liquor. I didn’t even have to ask him if he wanted it. I didn’t have to tell him to drink any of it, either. That does, admittedly, make me feel a little bit better about myself. But worse for him. His mother is a drunk.

And then, this afternoon, I went over to check on Jack and his friend Roman was there. That was terribly awkward. He didn’t immediately beat Jack or me over the head with anything, but I don’t exactly want to be in that situation again. I had to cut my visit short right away, to save face. Jack’s face, I mean.