Saturday, December 24, 2005

222. Dick

Slidell, Louisiana

If you'd told me a year ago I'd be spending Christmas Eve in a place like this, doing what I've been doing, I would have told you you were out of your mind.

Come to think of it, I was out of my mind--literally--this time last year. So maybe I should change the subject.

Today I did pretty much what I've been doing for the last few months, which is pretty much whatever the volunteer coordinator of the moment tells me. This time that meant we distributed toys, clothes and other gifts to families in the area for hours, along with hot meals, which was both exhausting and totally exhilirating. It doesn't look much like Christmas around here--few homes are decorated in any way--but people are doing what they can to rebuild their lives.

After the sun went down, Oliver and I had dinner at a little place that just recently reopened. Nothing fancy, but it was exactly right. We didn't exchange gifts of any kind, unless you count some incredibly hot blow jobs. (God knows I counted those.)

And then, as he does almost every night, he left without a word of warning. At first that routine was kind of intriguing--where was he going? what was he doing?--but tonight it just kind of sucked. In all the weeks we've known each other, I don't think he's spent a full evening with me more than four times.

But I'm not about to complain. When he is aound, he's the warmest, gentlest, most attractive man on the planet.

Or one of them, at least. (Okay, so Bruce was never that warm or gentle, even on his best days. But you know what I mean.)

I wish I could give this entry some kind of Christmas Magic-y ending, and all would be right with the world and my little place in it. But that would be a lie. Things are hard, very hard, unbelievably hard, for the people of this area right now, and I'm spending my remaining energy with a guy who vanishes every night at midnight. Still, things could be worse, as recent events have taught me.

So, ho ho ho. Ho ho fucking ho.