Hardly Ever Heard

If you search for tenderness
It isn't hard to find.
You can have the love you need to live.
But if you look for truthfulness
You might just as well be blind.
It always seems to be so hard to give.

It’s been nearly a month since marcus and I spoke. Well, I’ve spoken to his voicemail and his answering machine, but not to the man himself.

Those of you who follow this blog and those of Jefferson and marcus already know this; marcus wrote about it weeks ago. You probably also know that it’s not the first time marcus’s feelings for me got the better of him. It’s frustrating for him to see me with Jefferson, more frustrating, I think, to read about it when he wasn’t there at all.

It’s become a topic of little discussion between marcus and I, and between marcus and Jefferson. Jefferson and I talk about it often, mainly because it frustrates me.

Originally I wasn’t going to address the marcus issue publicly. I still think better of it.

But the fact is that I’ve been hurt by his unilateral decision to cut off communication with me. And that affects my life. It affects my ability to write. It’s started having an effect on how much I choose to share about my relationships with him and with Jefferson.

Censorship?

Self-censorship?

I’ve done that. I did that for months before my visit to Jefferson in July. We talked about who would be affected once we wrote about love. We knew it was a risk. So we made sure to prepare the way with certain other people, just to give a heads-up that it was coming. Because we don’t want to hurt those we care about.

Still, some people choose to see this relationship as a threat. Even though we write about it openly, there are things which are, and will remain, private. That’s the way it needs to be, otherwise we are just another experiment, documented for the voyeuristic masses.

In the last few months I have been less and less inclined to write the actual mechanics of every sexual encounter with Jefferson and with marcus. I think that my reluctance comes mostly because I don’t want to be taking mental notes when I could be drowning in the experience. And like I said before, some of it is just too personal.

Those are the things I choose to keep private. The problem is that there are things I’d like to share but am cautious about. My relationship with Jefferson is evolving, as it should, and I want to document that. But it’s troubling when each time we’re together or writing separately about those experiences, the backlash starts. The drama starts. It really is exhausting.

I know that if I saw marcus today, face to face, we could talk about it and settle things, one way or the other. It just makes me sad that he can’t bring himself to talk to me. I love him, and this limbo sucks. I want to give him his space and to be understanding and everything, but the last thing I want is for our relationship to quietly fade away, unresolved.

I am grateful for the comments people send. I appreciate the encouragement on the blog and in private conversations with Viviane, Dacia, Jordan and others.

I know that the people who fret about the stories about Jefferson and me are going to continue to do so; I can’t help that. It mostly comes out on Jefferson’s end and he’s fine with it. They can choose not to read and should know that I don’t write to gloat or hurt or spite.

I write to fucking write.

This blog and the relationships herein exist because I choose to write honestly about my life. I never realized how rare that is. Honesty should work. Some people appreciate it. For others it comes at too high a personal price. For that I am sorry.

It’s not going to stop me from writing what I choose. It can’t, because then there’s no point to any of this.

When I feel like writing about being in love, I will.

Art? Just did that.

Sadness? Beatings? Jealousy? Kids?

Hang on, they’re all coming.

Fucking?

Yeah, I feel like writing about fucking now.

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