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2001-08-30 / 7:18 p.m. ~Sex, and phones, and Customer "Service"�and a hitchhiker~ Sitting on the guard rail, arm raised, thumb extended as cars go by. Yesterday too lazy, too tired, too high, or too hot, to even extend the arm, much less the thumb. On the entrance ramp. Won't get a ride like that. No, he won't. Maybe he's like a bird, only visible during the day, off to his nest in the woods at night. It's happened before, so it happened again today, a voice on the phone, a certain tone, timbre, something which triggers heat inside me, and I'm not just asking for an address, I'm asking how do you want it? What do you want me to do? My voice barely escapes my mouth, almost tumbles across my lips, yet it comes out smooth, and between every word, in every pause, is pure desire, pure fantasy, wanting this voice, imagining we are doing even more than just an address update, no, no, we are doing the mystery dance. He sounds just as I do, and I wonder if he even knows. With every question I'm breathing softly in his ear, he must be able to feel the heat of my breath, the feel of my tongue on the folds of his ear. It was only that voice, today, only that one, that seemed to respond to the way I was feeling, that seemed to somehow pick up on the undercurrent, get carried along with the swell. It's a mood, it's coming along again, and I suppose if Nelson does decide to call this weekend he may very well benefit, but he was right - I am harboring anger towards him. How could I not? If we had real sex it would be rough, like the night Terrence came back from Argentina. I did what I wanted to do, regardless of what he wanted. Was he even there? And when it was over, or was it before we began?, he told me the answer to my question. Yes, he'd made love with the one he had traveled so far to see. Yes, my lover had been with another woman, so I took him for my own pleasure, roughly, without concern, selfishly. It was only days after Nelson and I last had "phone sex" (and let me say right here that phone sex is just weird - it's not sex, it's masturbation, it's really unsatisfying, for me, but I enjoy getting my "phone lover" off) that I met the one-night-stand. The joy was in doing everything to him that I'd described to Nelson. It was a chance to make it real. That was the last time. Last November. Almost one year. Insert a large and heavy **sigh** right here� Actually, there was another voice, today, it was the way he said his name, "Franco". He rolled the "r", the "a" was "ah", and it was beautiful. I think it was "Paul", "Paul Frrrrahhnco", and I wanted him in that second, wanted him to say my own name, not Joleen, my real name, and it would've been beautiful. If I talk to Nelson again I am getting him to speak only Spanish to me. And I will call him by his second name, "Omar", and I will roll the "r"�Omarrrrr. Again, sitting on the guard rail, second day, end of day, sitting, arm outstretched, farther this time, thumb held high, he still won't get a ride. Cost of the War in Iraq
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