February 11, 1992: A Diary Entry

8:30 A.M.

He asked me what I would say if he asked me to marry him.  I almost died.  That is so sweet.  So my romantic side said yes.  The practical side had absolutely no say.  I told him that I’m so scared because I can feel myself falling and I know what it’s leading to.  I said that I was going to love him – I told him that.  It must’ve been the rain that made me talk.  He said he wants to get to know me better still.  Talking about wary.  This thing he wants to talk about so bad in person so he can see my reaction is driving me crazy.  HE brought it up again last night but refuses to tell me over the phone.  However, I got two hints – it’s in his head (which one I’m not quite sure) and he’s had it for a long time and hopefully I can be part of the solution.  I guess that’s kind of three but he thinks he only gave me two.  He wouldn’t tell me what it had to do with ’cause then I’d know what it was – he said.  Does it have to do with sex?  God, and he has to know how dam curious I am.  Maybe he’s uncomfortable ’cause he doesn’t know everything there is to know about the anatomy and the pleasing of a woman.  If it’s something that simple then I’ll laugh.  Hell, I can show him all that.  We don’t even have a chance to see each other until Friday so I have to wait and guess.  He’s so damn stubborn too.  I begged, I pleaded, I threatened to withhold (not in exact words but I believe he got the general idea) but still he would not budge.  I kind of respect that; I wish I were immovable but if certain people look at me in certain ways, I’ll do anything.  Of course Henry’s one of those people but I don’t want him to know yet.

I wonder if I should tell him about my sexual obsession.  Well, he knows about the visual part of it by the stuff I have at my house but I don’t think he has any idea about the physical.  I like sex, a lot.  I’d give up food for sex.  If I had my choice, I’d have sex at least once a day, sometimes more.  The thought sometimes grosses me out but doing it more than makes up for that; I like the skin touching skin, the heavy breathing, the sweating.  But I get this way more so for someone I care about.  The sex is so much better; more personal, more raw.  I let the other person see more of me; know the real me while clothes are striped away and nothing is guarded.  Should I tell him what he’s in for?  I think it’d be only fair.

10:08 A.M.

Just remembered.  I asked Henry what he wants from me.  Help.  That seems to perfect for me.  To mother him, to let him grow and change.  Yet it worries me too.  There will be a point when he won’t need my help anymore and I’ll have to let him go.  But hopefully that won’t be for a while.  I asked if I helped him, could I get what I need from him?  He said yes, probably, most likely, yes.  But what do I need?  Love, caring, someone to be there for me.  I like it when he calls me a little girl and when he says my name.  His voice so deep and smooth.  After I told him that I’m going to love him I got a tight feeling in my chest.  He said he felt “funny.”  I find it interesting that just by saying something or hearing it, it can be measured physically.  Love, or whatever this is now, is wonderful.  More of me wants this so bad than that little part that wants to run.  It’s been two years since I’ve felt this way but now it seems more pure.  I don’t feel nearly as much insecurity or competition.

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