1 FEBRUARY, 1984

[chimbleysweep]

1 February, 1984

I remember worrying about Valentine’s Day last year at this time. I thought I would have to please him by going out of my way to do something. I worried that he would expect extra heavy snogging or more. How silly. If I had known that, over a year later, we still haven’t had sex, that Jack is still waiting so patiently for me, I would never have worried at all.

I leave the worrying to now, as I’m fairly certain that the time is drawing near for me to take the last step. He loves me. He won’t leave me after I go. I adore him. We need each other. There’s nothing wrong with having sex with him. There’s nothing left to wait for. Well, I guess I have to wait for me. I don’t know what could possibly be done to make me feel less worried about it. It’s not as though he’s going to laugh at me. He loves me too much for that. We’re far beyond that sort of childish immaturity, I think.