exposed cerebral cortex of a proletariat bike slut

new house. writing like crazy. reading. writing. kickboxing the shit out of dudes at my gym.  driving across the state. driving back. drunk. sober. pounding my bike so hard against the pavement I lose control of it and end up bloody. planning, organizing events for BAP next summer. writing.writing.writing. friends, surrounding myself with friends.

none of it is fucking helping. none of it can eradicate Abraham’s cock from my periphery.  It helps, but not enough.  I dream about him. I can’t stop thinking about the police, wondering why they don’t care about attempted rape.  I can’t stop thinking that I’m blowing this way out of proportion, it’s not a big deal.  He didn’t actually stick his dick into me.  He just held me down, put his hand down my pants, jacked off next to me and washed me with lube, right? no big. Nief was just waiting in the next room, no big, right?

He picked such an odd time to quiescently, swiftly walk out of my life.  I think we both knew that our friendship was on its last legs, after such an extended time of knowing one another…so much about each other..but I didn’t know that the time he would pick to leave would be precisely the time I needed my friends the most.  Although in retrospect, I should have known.  The caveat, the reason I could never fully trust him again, was in fact because he left me crying after I told him that I had stripped at a club.  I could never trust him because he was so conditional.  But I never thought that one of his conditions was attempted rape.  In time I’m sure I will come to realize that its a good thing, that I needed something big in order to fully detach my feelings from him.  I don’t think there is a prompter way to stop loving someone than when they exit your life when you are assaulted.  Sharply painful, but better than a slowly dissipating closeness I suppose.  I hope it doesn’t taint all the fond memories I have of him, but it’s difficult not to let the sadness seep in.  Knowing that had I been assulted sooner, he would have left sooner.  Perhaps if Abraham would have lubed up his cock and held me down the first night I met him, over two years ago, it never would have happened.

I’m trying so hard not to let that experience affect the next, but it seems almost impossible.  The colliding experiences of losing trust in men has accumulated into a complete disillusionment of men, which is so unfair to the current one.  Although I have given him fair warning..being a complete psycho, telling him that I’m too much of a clusterfuck for any sort of relationship, then wanting him so bad it hurts..

at least he knows.  And at least he wanted to comfort me after I told him, he just wanted to hold me..his texts while I was waiting in the cold times square police station were really the only thing keeping me from breaking.  His calm intellect, his uncanny awareness of my every thought and feeling..I could get used to it.  If I can learn to trust him.  If he can prove to me that it isn’t going to be conditional this time.  I’ve told him so much already…the nude modeling didn’t even phase him.

time. time.time.writing, kicking the shit out of guys at my gym, pounding my delapidated bike into the pavement, cooking, reading. I’ll get through this..