No, I’m not gonna begin with a “Dear Diary” phrase, because that’s just ridiculous. I’ve never understood that. How desperate you have to be to create a fake relationship with a book that will never respond? Anyway, I am not quite sure yet what I am going to do with this thing full of empty pages.


Actually, my sister gave me this diary as a gift – for God only knows what reason. Molly said it could be very useful, though at the moment I can’t really see why. I never felt any urge to write down my feelings or memories. That’s what my paintings are for. They tell everything there is to be known about me. 


But now that I’ve started writing in it, I’d better find a secure place to hide it. I can’t let Brian to find it. That would be the end of the world. The end of MY world to be exact. And definitely the end of my well-kept dignity which I’m so proud of. I won’t have a peaceful moment for the rest of my life if he finds out what I am doing. He will be teasing me ’til the day I die. And probably after that as well.


I’m not overreacting at all. A couple of weeks ago I showed him this book. He took it in his hand and started turning the pages very slowly and very suspiciously, with a raised eyebrow.


“No words?” He asked and I stared at him like I didn’t understand the question.


“No pictures either?” He continued and I shook my head in disbelief.


“So what is it for then?”


He can be such an asshole sometimes. I took a deep breath and told him very carefully that it was supposed to be a diary, therefore it’s empty until it’s used.


His kind answer was:


“I’m aware of that, smartass, thank you very much. What I meant is that since you are an - almost - fully grown up young man and a fairly acknowledged artist, I’m sure you’re not gonna start writing this shit. Screaming little schoolgirls do that you know.” 


I didn’t say a word and I could see that he was intently trying to find out what I had on my mind. He read me like I was an open book. And he didn’t like what he saw. As the final and most convincing reason he added:


“You will end up with your cock fallen off and your tits grown. And we wouldn’t want that, now would we?”


And with that he handed me back the book while giving me an innocent smile. Then he stroked my hair gently, kissed my cheek and sat back in front of the computer to resume the project he was working on.


That’s my boyfriend; symphatetic, sophisticated and supportive. So this is why I can’t let him find my book. Or anybody else for that matter. I have to find a really good place for it. But I’ve got no idea so far.


When Molly gave it to me I didn’t think I would write anything in it. I thought about drawing some sketches on its pages since I had no better idea.


But then I just put it in the nightstand’s drawer and left it there for a few weeks.


Till now.


Since I’m alone in the loft at the moment and I have nothing special to do, I took it out of the drawer. I finished quite a huge piece yesterday, so I guess I need a little rest to refill my creative imagination.

I probably sound like I want to find some excuses for being lazy, but the truth is that I really have to do something else for a while. Something different. But I don’t feel like going out this afternoon, I would rather stay at home and do something on my own… No, not that, I swear! I don’t need to find excuses for jerking off either. I mean I wanna do something by myself but NOT with myself…not now, anyway. 


I already tried a few things but nothing worked. 

At first I thought maybe I should be cooking something delicious, but then I remembered that Brian told me that we’re going to be out to one of his favourite restaurants tonight. Well, so much for my cooking plans. 


TV and DVDs haven’t got my attention and then I thought of this diary. It’s pretty nice by the way. Simple, but very nice. Black leather binding with a slight silver ornament on the front. And the pages are sooo empty. They’re almost screaming: “Write something on me!” 

So, I’m going to do just that. God, I hope it won’t cause addiction! But even if it does that’s still much healthier than drugs or booze. 


The question is what the fuck I am going to write. Oops! Is it appropriate to write a word like that in a diary? Well, I don’t care, it’s mine so I’ll write whatever I want. But what do I want?


I guess I’m not going to tell the story of my life or write down every single tiny detail of my days and every fucking thing that happens to me. I don’t have that much time. And I’m definitely not going to write a book, since I’m not really good at making up stories. I’ll leave that to Michael.


I think the best would be if I just wrote down the important things in my life. Things I want to remember. Things that really matter and make me feel alive. Like how satisfied I felt when I just finished one of my most important works yesterday; or how satisfied I felt when I just had one of my most incredible orgasms yesterday – both related to Brian of course....


By the way, I’m going to express my thanks for it to him in my own way as soon as he gets home. It won’t be hard. I mean I hope it WILL be hard. Really hard… God, I think I’m a bit turned on…I’m so pathetic, I must restrain myself. Maybe Brian knew better. I already feel like turning into a giggly schoolgirl. It happens sometimes. But only when it comes to Brian. So I guess it’s all his fault then. 


Now, where was I? Ahh yes…I was trying to figure out what I am going to use this nice book for. For writing, that’s for sure.

Ok. Decision made. I decided to write only when there’s something to write about - Gee, what a revolutionary idea!


But for now I think I’m going to finish, because nothing else comes into my mind at the moment, and furthermore my hand is getting too shaky. It needs some rest now. 


Oh, and let’s not forget the fact that I am running out of time to find that very secure place where I can hide my little black book. 


Later then,

“J”