Yuck! I'm glad Angel missed most of that. Not just creepy, but really disgusting. Chris did do it for his brother, but ugh! Frankenstein Barbie. I wonder if Xander's right about love, about how you only want what's not right in front of you. It bugged me a little, when he said that, because guys are so weird about girls...they all seem to have these ideas about what we SHOULD look like. Mom says it's the magazines, but I don't know. I've heard the way some of them talk and it can be pretty awful, the filthy names and the contempt they seem to have, but it's never bothered me too much, because I've just never put up with it. I still think Xander could be wrong. Willow likes him, and he's right in front of her, but maybe it's because he's a boy, or maybe it's because that's just the way HE is. He's always falling for the newest, shiniest girl, when he could have the smartest one, who loves him the most. Boys, the strangest creatures.

And then there's Angel. The word "boy" just doesn't work for him. No word really works for him except Angel. But he 'fessed up, and it was so cool that he did, he should have. He told me he was jealous, which was good, but when he said that thing about how Xander gets to see me in the sunlight my heart came apart a little, like he'd tugged on it's seams. It got to me.

It was late so I walked him home. He held my hand and we walked together and we didn't say anything for a long time, it felt so good. Silences with him beat the best talks with anybody else. It was a nice night, cool and quiet, and we just walked together and didn't need to say anything.

We were at his apartment.

"Sure you're OK?" he asked. To be fair, he asks that question just as often as he tells me I'm in danger.

"Yeah," We were standing outside his door. I was wondering if he was going to ask me in, but it didn't seem like he was. Suddenly I wanted to ask him something.

"Did-you and Cordy have a nice talk-when you took her home?"

"Well, she sort of took me,"

"I know-and I know you didn't want to be impolite, but I just-"

"Slayers get jealous too?" he smiled.

"Not jealous-just-curious,"

He glanced up, he looked like he was in deep thought. "As a conversationalist-" he paused.

"Yeah?"

"Talking to her is a lot like having a conversation with a basket of kittens,"

"Well, kittens are soft and cute, and-"

"Wrong analogy, then," he interrupted, "A basket of lizards. A basket of anything that can't carry on a two-way conversation,"

"Is conversation so important?"

"It is when you've been around long enough. Communication. Vampires are addicted to it. You might not think so, but we're so cut off from everything that's human, that's real. And it gets incredibly boring, listening to the undead hash over their kills and talk about how much more powerful they are than everybody else and how old they are. And if you've hung out in palace gardens after debutante parties, you know every word somebody like Cordelia is going to say before it even leaves her mouth. The obsessions don't change, just the designer names,"

"It sounds like un-life can get pretty boring,"

He looked at me. He smiled just a little, and his eyes did that thing where they warm up, they seemed to soak me in.

"Sometimes you get lucky," he said.

"You mean getting your soul back? Doesn't sound like too much fun,"

"Sometimes things happen-that make other things worth the trouble," he was gazing at me ...almost....adoringly.

"Well, I think a walk home is worth a kiss," I said. I can be really foreword sometimes. In some ways he really brings out the bad in me.

He smiled a little wider, and he slowly took my face in his hands, moving his thumbs over my cheeks, and he bent his head and touched his lips to mine softly, our mouths just touched very lightly for a long time, but even that was so sweet that I sighed . He kissed me a little harder then, pushing his mouth into mine, back and forth, gently. I slipped my arms around his neck and stood on my toes, my mouth parted, he slipped his tongue over my upper lip ..every little thing he does makes my heart beat harder. He took my lower lip in his teeth and did that stroking with his tongue again, slowly, lingering. He could write a book on kissing. He wrapped his arms around me then and lifted me off the ground, so it was easier for us to kiss. My feet were dangling and his tongue was curling under mine, tickling me, and then he started just kissing my cheeks, small, soft kisses, and little kisses all over my lips, and I was panting. I was holding his face in my hands then, and just losing myself, he was so delicious, he was cool and he tasted good, and I slipped my hands inside his jacket and up his back, loving the solidness of the muscles there, I could feel the rich lines of them under his shirt and the way they shifted when he moved, lifting me higher. He took two steps and pressed me back against the side of the doorway. He slid his tongue into my mouth, deeper and deeper, and I was trying to take all of it, it's so long and so thick that it was hard to do, but so exciting I was making little noises every time he gave it to me, I had to open my mouth wide to take it all. He pressed me against the doorway and I opened my mouth over and over again to take his tongue in deep, he could actually almost touch the back of my throat, and I drew on it hard, I was moving against him, almost twisting in his arms. Suddenly he pulled away, as if he heard something. He looked up, and I could feel it, too. It's weird, I always know when daylight is coming, and when dark is coming, not just by looking, but I can feel it. We both felt dawn coming even though it was still dark. He lowered me back to my feet.

"You'd better get inside," I said.

He put his hand on my cheek. He gazed at me for a long minute.

"Thanks for walking me home," he said.

"Had to make sure you were safe," I grinned at him.

"Are you going to get enough rest?"

"I keep odd hours anyway," I shrugged.

"Don't get too tired,"

"Go to bed," I said, and then, because I have practically no self-control, I said, "Sometime maybe I'll get to tuck you in,"

He had the door half open and he leaned toward me. We kissed softly.

"Goodnight...I mean, sleep well," I said.

He smiled and closed the door behind him.

So, do boys have to be old enough before they start to like actual girls instead of fantasy ones? How old? I don't think even my Dad is over that stage entirely. I wonder how many women Angel has known sometimes, but I stop thinking about it because that way lies madness. I should feel pretty good about him liking me, in a way, he's been around the block a few times so I must be holding my own. Sometimes I wonder if it's just that I'm the Slayer, and he's got an agenda...except a lot of the time his agenda seems to be helping me with my agenda. I know why he didn't ask me in, but it makes me pout a little. He gets to come in my room. We'll have to talk about this sometime.