Sarah-Katherine and I took a bus ride to nowhere, up in the charred hills over Berkeley. The fires did lots of damage to lots of rich people's homes, and that's tragic, or so I've heard.

Then we came back to town, where she sold some of her zines to Comic Relief, and we walked Telegraph Ave. Yacoob, a vendor I very slightly know, gave her a free pair of earrings when he saw that she was with me.

It's a kindness that startled me more than Sarah-Katherine. I've worked next to Yacoob a few times, and we've chatted and I've watched his table while he peed and he's watched my table while I peed, but "free earrings for your girl," he said? That's a $5 value! I don't think she's my girl, but thank you, Yacoob. You're a prince among vendor scum.

People's Park was all gussied up for Sarah-Katherine — flowers in bloom, no rowdy kids, picnics on blankets, and even the cops were nice. It wasn't much like People's Park at all.

Then we ended our day in a lingerie shop, where Sarah-Katherine bought some slinky stockings for her photo shoot. Judith wasn't with us, but she knows the shop's proprietor, and she'd arranged a casual job interview for her there. You know, "just in case" Sarah-K decides to move here. I'm all for that, of course, so "my girl" and the proprietor chatted a while, as I admired the porn and leather.

♦ ♦ ♦

It's been frightfully hot here the past few days, and across the country I guess. The heat has melted most of my sense of humor and I'm perpetually caked with dried sweat, but I haven't had any inclination to snap at Sarah-Katherine, and she hasn't snapped at me yet. We're getting along better than two people have a right to in this weather, especially spending all day and all night together.

♦ ♦ ♦

This is my diary, and in my pathetic life I'll write about anything even slightly interesting that happens. It's not Sarah-Katherine's diary, so there won't be any reports that intrude on her privacy. No bedroom scenes, ya pervs.

I'll briefly summarize, though, that we're sharing a bed, and she hasn't rebuffed me, but I haven't been fully functional at every opportunity. Nerves and worries, I guess. What keeps happening is that I'm at least semi-hard, often fully hard, all day long… until bedtime.

The male pattern response to this is supposed to be extreme embarrassment, but it's happened to me before, so the awkwardness is minimal. Sarah-Katherine isn't laughing at me or anything, and we've found creative workarounds.

It's frustrating, though. I was a teenager during the "sexual revolution," and it almost entirely passed me by. Now I'm 37, and a beautiful free spirit is sleeping in my bed for several nights, and again I'm missing out.

I probably ought to see a doctor, but that's beyond my budget. And I'm remembering that in one of my early letters to her, I promised Sarah-Katherine that I'd be "nothing but disappointment" if we ever met. Words of the prophet...

Of course, all the leading experts agree that any man with problems maintaining an erection should write about it in a published diary, detailing all his failures, so here I am, taking notes while looking at this ravishing woman I want to ravish, sound asleep beside me, and I'm ready now.

I could wake her and take her, I suppose. Can't imagine she'd decline, but I can envision I'd deflate, and it seems rude to rouse her for another round of disappointment. Being a gent with good manners, I'll let her sleep.

From Pathetic Life #14
Saturday, July 15, 1995

This is an entry retyped from an on-paper zine I wrote many years ago, called Pathetic Life. The opinions stated were my opinions then, but might not be my opinions now. Also, I said and did some disgusting things, so parental guidance is advised.

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