Saturday finally arrived, and I was more than glad to be leaving San Francisco for Los Angeles. July has hit San Francisco unusually hard this year - the mornings and evenings have been fogged in now every night for two weeks, and I've been going to bed wearing thermal underwear. The idea of moving to Los Angeles next year already seems more attractive.

By mistake, I'd booked my flight on a Saturday instead of the usual Friday night, and I was angry at myself for inflicting an unnecessary night without Ben on myself. Worse, the flight was at three (because I'd thought it was a Friday afternoon when I booked it). Fortunately, my platinum frequent-flier status on American allowed me to fly standby on the 8.25 a.m. flight, so I was able to get into Los Angeles before ten, and meet an ever smiling Ben at baggage claim.

It was to be a very long day. I'd woken up at 5.45 Saturday morning, and I wouldn't get to sleep again until around the same time Sunday morning. Ben had brought his two huge dogs with him to the airport, so that he coud drop them off in West Hollywood to be groomed before we went to brunch. They're very affectionate, very hairy dogs, so as we drove into West Hollywood, with the top of the car down; hair was flying everywhere, and either Indira or Brewster would stick their big, wet noses over my shoulder, or plant their huge paws on my arm.

I've noticed recently that Ben tends to nag just a little. I know that it's a habit he picked up when he was with his ex, who was a man that needed a lot of care-taking, but it's something I'm particularly touchy about, because my last serious boyfriend was also a nag, and it drove me spare. So I had to call Ben on it, and he admitted to it. Yes - a fly in the ointment. It was our first disagreement of any kind , although there were no sharp words - I tackled it in a humorous fashion. But Ben felt really bad. For a moment, I found myself experiencing the thrill of moral one-upmanship, then hated myself for being so competitive, and so spent the next half hour cheering Ben up.

After brunch with Ben's friends B & Al, we drove over to look round Silver Lake, the other gay section of Los Angeles. It's a quaint area, once you get off the main streets, with winding roads and lots of flowers, but it felt a little remote to consider it an area in which we might want to find a house someday. It was a hot, sticky day, and we were both rather tired, so we soon drove home to "rest". That is, grab an hour's sleep after a two hour sexual marathon.

(This weekend was even more sexual than previous ones. even though I spent just two nights in LA, we must have spent something like ten to twelve hours of it making out. There was, for me, almost an edge of insanity to it at times, so strongly were we driven to be close. I felt I could almost eat his flesh.)

On Saturday evening, we saw K.D. Lang perform at the Hollywood Bowl. It was a beautiful evening, and we got there early enough to have a picnic in our seats before things got started. The lead-in singer was Rufus Wainwright, a man I've heard about, but with whose music I'm completely unfamiliar. And I hope never to hear him again - I can't see what people see in him. Perhaps his recorded voice is less drab, and whiney?

K.D. Lang, on the other hand, proved a great performer who really connected with the audience of mostly, seemingly, middle-aged suburban lesbians. Her rendition of Roy Orbison's "Crying" brought goosebumps out on me. Ben and I were feeling particularly close to each other, and we enjoyed it as much as the lesbians did. In fact, we really are just a couple of lesbians. We snuggled the entire time.

On Saturday night, Al had told us that Kimberly S was spinning at the Factory (I've finally become enough of a party boy to know what that means). But when we got there, we fopund it was the wrong weekend, and that tonight was a private party for straight Asians. So we had little choice, since we were intent on going out, but to go to Mickeys, a place I haven't set foot in in years. It's right on the strip, a slightly tired bar/dance club that feels like it belongs in a small town. Al joined us and we ended up having a great time together, dancing almost non stop until past three. And everytime we walked around, hand-in-hand, almost every pair of eyes followed me - I've never had so much attention in my life. I've been working out very hard recently, and I'm in the best shape I've ever been. It's odd that I should be peaking physically at the age of thirty nine. How did all that attention make me feel? Fantastic, of course. (You have to forgive me for this lapse into conceit - but hey, it is my journal after all, and I want to remember every moment of my youth while I still have it.) And Ben seemed to enjoy it too. I wonder how I'd feel if it was Ben getting all the attention - would I be as big about it? At any rate, I so enjoy dancing with him. If I leave him, say to get us drinks, when I come back, searching through the crowd, I see a masculine, bare-chested, square-shouldered hunk. He's looking for someone, and I'm touched because I know it's Ben watching and waiting for me to come back, his attention on nobody else. How did I get so lucky?

Back home, we made love and talked until dawn before finally, reluctantly, letting go of each other. I could have continued for hours. Lying beside him watching the candle-light play on his beautiful body as he lay there tingling with anticipation for my touch, I marveled that he was mine to touch - and mine alone. Or staring at his profile as he rested his head on my chest, wondering how he came into my life and stole me away. I read the intelligence and sweetness on his features while he didn't know I was watching him. And I was in awe again that that sweet expression on his face was reserved for me. But let go of him, finally, I did. and we finally grabbed just three hours sleep before going at it again in the morning.

On Sunday afternoon we went to see some open houses. No, I'm not yet enough of a lesbian to be already renting a Uhaul, but since we both know it's just a matter of time before I move down to LA, we thought it would be fun to get a preview of what we can afford. And it was surprising. We both fell in love with our very first house, in Beachwood Canyon (if I recall the name correctly), in the Hollywood Hills, three bedroom, modern, with three decks, one of which stared full on at the Hollywood sign no more than half a mile (I'm guessing) distant, and the other overlooking downtown Los Angeles. I imagined taking my morning coffee out onto the deck, feeling the already warm early morning sun on my skin, and just drinking in the tranquility and the feeling of infinite space.

Another place we saw, a large French, country-style three bedroom house with a manicured, sloping lawn at the front, and a huge, completely private swimming pool at the back, fairly filled me with awe that we could afford it. The master bathroom had a double shower, a large whirlpool, a fireplace, and a door out to the deck overlooking the lawn. I don't particularly feel like a wealthy person, yet I could imagine how visitors would react to a home like this - they'd think we were the total power couple. Perhaps we are one. Life seems to have a lot in store for us.

(Ben called me last night and told me that, as one of the realtors we'd talked with Sunday had advised, he was going to put his house on the market. Wholly unexpectedly, I got butterflies in my stomach at this sudden, concrete step towards our moving to get a new house together.)

As a consequence of our very late night Saturday, we were both horribly tired all day Sunday. Our excitement at seeing houses perked us both up for a while, but by four, we were back in bad, having sex yet again prior to taking a snooze (in separate beds, sensibly). When I got up, Ben was already about. He was sitting in the living room, his head down, absently stroking his dog, Indira. He looked sad and pensive. I asked him what was wrong, and he said he was said I'd be leaving so soon. I wasn't feeling that way, right then, but I did feel badly that he was sad.

Despite our fatigue, we drove back down to West Hollywood, as planned, to meet B & S, Al and friends for drinks at the Abbey. Ben was even more affectionate than usual - he even asked me if he was being too clingy. But I began to struggle to keep up my social graces with our friends. I was so tired I felt ill, and my forehead was clammy. I didn't want to be the whiney can-we-go-home-now-honey type, so I held off saying anything to Ben. I knew he knew I wanted to leave - he kept looking over at me anxiously, but I was a little disappointed he didn't take pity on me and get us out of there. So I had to be a party-pooper in the end. As happened after my party last weekend, I felt immediately melancholy as soon as we emerged from the Abbey, almost to the point of tears. I think I just don't have it in me to be a social animal, past a certain point.

There has been a bit of a revolution in my clothing since meeting Ben. I've become more self-confident and daring, and since we often seem to end up going shopping together, I've found some pretty things. The rather loud board shorts I got in New York, three pairs of stylish sneakers I found online (sneakers have always been the largest gap in my style goals - until now I'd thought the only size sixteen I could get were clunky old men's tennis shoes), and these disappearing quarter socks I've noticed that so many gay men wear. On Sunday, I bought a baggy pair of combat pants, and a tight-fitting, long-sleeved white t-shirt. So that when we went to the Abbey I was in all new clothes from head-to-toe (I forgot to mention my new Paul Frank speedo-style underpants). With my highlgithed hair, and the leather wrist band that both Ben and I wear, I must have looked like I was already making the sartorial move to LA. I've often noticed how boyfriends start to dress, sound and look alike. Ben and I are so different physically, that there's a limit to the transmogrification-of-boyfriends effect, thankfully. And I'm somewhat resistant to that anyway - I'll go out of my way to make sure Ben and I don't dress alike, though I have noticed, with an inward grin, that Ben is not quite so resistant to it.

There are times, as when Ben was sad on Sunday night, that, for one reason or another, one of us is feeling what the other is not. As we lay together Monday morning, I sensed that Ben's attention had already fixed upn his workday ahead. I was feeling emotional at leaving, and wanted to stay lying with Ben as long as time allowed, but I said nothing and tore myself away from him so that we could put the day in motion. I felt a little bit upset that Ben wasn't feeling what I was feeling. But I reminded myself that on Sunday night, Ben had felt what I hadn't, and I reassured myself with the thought that since Ben is a tenure-track professor, putting in lots of hours at work is so much more important for him than it is for me. He has to push constantly, and I occasionally feel guilty that our long weekends together have vastly reduced his productivity. Next weekend we'll be apart for the first weekend since we fell in love. It will be good for his research. But difficult for both of us, I think. How quickly someone can take up such a huge space in your life.