I need to give Elayne a call.

We have all had them. The confusing, perhaps contradictory feelings that plague the average person every now and again. I’m not mad, not upset. Not jealous, not fuming. A little uncomfortable, perhaps, but certainly not a feeling that I can’t ignore if I choose to do so.

I wonder, if I were the typical person, would I be a little more distraught about this situation? Then again, I suppose that all depends on your definition of “typical” and your perspective, all that jazz. And that’s certainly not the point of this little entry that I am writing now, so I think that we’ll just ignore the point altogether.

What do you do when your significant other, your sweetheart tells you that (s)he wants to do porn? Yeah. That’s what I thought, too. What do you say to that? I think the idea was planted in his head when we visited Good Vibrations a few weeks ago and we saw Buck Angel on the cover of a tranny porno DVD. He says that he wants to do it because of, essentially, the same reason that Buck Angel wanted to do it. There are not many FTM’s in the porno industry nowadays. Transsexual porn is considered a joke. Something that is more for giggles than the actual purpose of getting people off like straight, gay or lesbian porn is. Perhaps that has something to do with the whole “chicks with dicks” phenomenon. ‘Course, FTM’s don’t have a fun rhyme to describe their porno flicks. But I suppose Angel’s “real man with a real pussy” slogan works well enough.

It isn’t that I’m wholly opposed to my boyfriend doing porn. Perhaps a month ago I might have been worried about him running off with some sexy motherfucker that just swept him off of his feet. However, I am a tad bit more secure in my knowledge of Dawson’s feelings for me (something that I’m sure he’s grateful for). So what are my apprehensions with him getting into the sex industry? I’m not quite sure. The sex that he could potentially have with other people will never be like the sex that we have with one another, sex that actually means more than just physical pleasure. So I’m not really worried about that. I guess… It’s difficult to describe. I treasure Dawson’s body. It’s more than just a body to me. It’s something beautiful, something special. More than just a plaything. In essence, I’m being a little greedy. His body is mine, and having someone else touch it isn’t the most pleasurable thought I must admit.

I think another small fear of mine is the other reason why he may want to do porn, which I haven’t really thought of until just a few minutes ago. Because I’m the one that took his virginity, I wonder if perhaps Dawson still craves the knowledge of knowing what a real cock feels like inside of him. Something that I cannot provide for him, unfortunately. I suppose he does have the right to know what it feels like. It’s a sensation that cannot really be describe. I guess… it just makes me feel monstrously inadequate that I cannot do it for him.

Of course, that’s just me being a little paranoid, perhaps. Who knows.

While looking at the WikiPage on Buck Angel I also managed to catch a glance at his wife’s page, Elayne Angel. I’m sure she’s supportive of her husband’s decision. As is any spouse of a porn star, right? I wonder what they think, what they feel about their spouses engaging in sex with others. Were any of them jealous at first? Are any still jealous now?

Dawson says that I should do tranny porn with him. Not that I would mind, but I certainly don’t have the body for it. Not Dawson’s body, anyway. I am absolutely disgusting compared to him.

But that’s beside the point.

Dawson is the type of person that will do what he wants regardless of how anyone feels. If I were truly upset about it, he would attempt to talk me out of being upset rather than just not do it at all. It’s not that he doesn’t take into account other people’s feelings per se, he just doesn’t want to feel like anyone is holding him back. He’s already gotten in contact with a company that produces tranny porn. He is a motivated boy, which is more than I can say for myself.

I would never want to stand in his way. I love him and want him to be happy. As long as his choices don’t endanger his health I cannot bar him from doing what he wants. I will support my baby’s decisions. Even if I kind of wish that wasn’t his decision.

Sweet, sweet success.

I have to admit, life is a tricky thing. It is only when you stop searching that you actually find what you are looking for.

Just when I had almost given up on the search for employment, I returned home today from Dawson’s house slightly dejected. I had come home hoping to have received some messages on my phone, and there was nothing. Nothing at all. Highly unfortunate if I do say so myself.

Another day doomed for simply sitting around and doing nothing? Perhaps. That is what I was expecting. A little after two o’clock, literally seconds after hanging up the phone with Dawson, I received a phone call. I got excited the moment that I looked at the caller ID and saw who was trying to contact me. A man’s voice came to me from the other side of the line and told me that he was calling to set up an interview with a Ty. Whoa. Hey. Hold on a second. I totally think that my name is Ty.

Hoorah! ‘Tis me, indeed!

We set up an interview for seven o’clock. To say that I was eager is a bit of an understatement. I called Dawson the moment that I hung up with my new potential employer and excitedly shared the news that the chance that I was getting a job had gone up exponentially now that someone had actually responded to my application. Being the amazing boyfriend that he is, Dawson was incredibly supportive and very confident that I would get the position that I craved so desperately.

Hours ticked by. I did some quick laundry, took a nice shower, combed my hair and made myself look extra spiffy. With another special dash of spiff. Very important for job interviews, you know. Dressed myself in my nicest button down and made my way to the interview.

I got there about five minutes early, which I suppose is a good thing in the employment world. Better to be early than late, yes? Yes. The manager retrieved his paperwork and when left the small store (which is located in a corner of the mall near my house) and out into the sitting areas in from of the store. “So, where should we sit? The tables or the lounge?”

I did not really care where we sat, but I gave him an answer since you never really want to say to your potential employer that you do not care about… anything. “The lounge,” I replied. There was really only one reason that I chose comfy leather armchairs over uncomfortable wooden chairs at a tiny little table. The lounge had armchairs. Duh.

“That was a test. And the only test you’ll have at this interview.” Ew, tests? I hate tests. Luckily, this one was I passed. He told me that most people chose the table and chairs because they apparently gave off the impression of professionalism. The lounge was considered too personal. He, however, liked the lounge. Why? It was comfy. Duh.

I was asked the typical interview questions. Anyone with a job knows how that goes. He then placed a cup and a pen in front of me and told me to pick one. I chose the cup. Mostly just because I was thirsty and it made me think of water. I was then told to “sell” him the cup. Hooray for thinking on one’s feet, yes? Of course I made up some bullshit about how the cup was of a special design that allowed drinks to stay colder longer. ‘Course, it was just a typical plastic cup. But perhaps he enjoyed my innovativeness?

After the interview, we went back to the sore and told me that he was offering me the job on the spot. As you can imagine, I was quite excited to hear such things. Even now my fingers are still tingling knowing that I managed to impress someone enough to give me this opportunity.

You are now reading the blog of an official working boy.

Well, you know. Once the background check goes through, anyway.

I hope they don’t find out about that piece of chocolate I stole when I was four. Think it’ll count against me? Hm.

Call me a doctor. Eh… nevermind.

I have been having a lot of stomach issues lately. I don’t know what is causing it, but it’s starting to worry me a bit. Not enough that I feel like I should really tell anyone or see a doctor, but enough where I am counting down the days until I decide that I should do the aforementioned things. It might have something to do with the fact that lately I have been eating a lot less and doing a lot more. Physically, that is. The sudden change in calorie intake and calorie usage might have my stomach a little confused. I feel hungry all the time, I’m getting a lot of those side cramps that one gets when dehydrated, and sometimes it feels like my organs have moved and are out of place. That last one sounds a little weird, I know, but I am not quite sure how else to describe it.

Maybe it has nothing to do with my change in eating habits or activity level, perhaps I just have some weird bug? Or maybe my body is freaking out for no reason. While improbable, it is still likely. After all, I am no doctor, who am I to try and discern the etiology of my “condition”?

Whatever is going on with my body, I hope that it subsides soon. I’m supposed to go on a 10-15 mile run/bike ride with Dawson later (Dawson running, me on the bike) and the last thing I need to do is vomit all over the place while trying to maneuver my way around power walkers and serious bikers.

Something tells me that it wouldn’t really be all that attractive.

PS: I hate being rushed.

By tonight, we’ll shed this clothing.

It feels like it has been months since I’ve last updated my blog. It isn’t that I’ve lost interest, far from the case, I simply actually have a life now. Having a life and being busy living that life doesn’t leave one much time for pondering and wondering, and thus nothing gets written down. However, for at least the next ninety minutes I have some time to myself to simply write about everything that is flowing through my mind (or, perhaps, nothing that’s flowing through my mind) and chronicle… something.

Yes. As you can see, I have not lost my eloquence. I’m just that skilled.

There’s something that I’ve actually wanted to write about for the longest time, but of course I have no idea how I should write about it and I do not know precisely what I’m going to say. However, considering that this has become a rather large part of my life at this point in time I think that it would be good to store it away in this lovely blog of mine in hopes that perhaps whomever reads it will find a little bit of interest.

I must warn you though, the topic of which I am about to discuss is slightly mature. But only slightly. And by “only slightly” I mean completely. So, if you don’t want to read a post about sexytimes then I suggest you click off of this page and browse around some of the more user-friendly posts that I have lying around.

However, if you would like to join me in my little rant about sex, then go ahead.

Yes. Unemployment does truly fail.

The older I get (that makes me sound like I’m far older than 19, doesn’t it?) the more I realize that sitting around and doing nothing for the rest of my life is definitely not an option for me. I remember when I was younger and I used to revel in days where I had absolutely nothing to do. Those days were like heaven to me. I could hide up in my room all day, or lie out aimlessly in the grass, or sleep the day away if I wanted to and it was okay. I had no responsibilities and no obligations to do anything at all. And now? Now I feel like without those responsibilities, without those obligations I am a complete waste of life. I am nothing more than an empty shell taking up space that could be used more efficiently by someone who’s actually accomplishing something. Anything.

I see everyone around me doing things, moving in their lives. Even if it is just one step ahead of me, they’re still ahead of me and getting somewhere while I am just remaining completely and utterly stagnant in my unimpressive little bit of life. It’s not that I’m jealous of anyone who is doing something. I think that I’m just disappointed in myself because I’m not doing anything. It’s not that I want what they have. I never want what other people have. I simply want to do something to make myself feel semi-proud. At least reasonably so.

I have been trying to get a job for the last few weeks, but nothing, nothing, nothing is coming my way. I have applied to a number of places and still nothing. I know that I shouldn’t let myself get discouraged, I should just keep applying and hope that eventually I get a call from someone. I am at the point where I really do not care where I am working, what hours I am working or what my wages are. I just need money. I need to stop relying on my parents’ help for simple things; such as paying for gas that costs $4.25 per gallon. Sure, it’s expensive, but I should at least be able to pay for that myself. I get money from my parents, I get money from my boyfriend. I am so tired of being a leech. I need to do things for myself.

Of course, in order to do things for myself someone has to take the initiative to hire me, and that doesn’t appear to be on the top of anyone’s To-Do list. Luckily, I do not have any major bills to pay, I do not have anyone to take care of monetarily other than myself. Getting a job and making money is not a necessity as far as living goes, but I need a job in order for me to simply be happy with myself. Besides, I need to pay my boyfriend back for all the money he’s lent me, and I need to buy him this absolutely gorgeous ring that I found the other day.

I need to show him that I can be romantic. Somehow.

But mostly, I just need to be happy with me. And right now? I’m not.