Miss Bee Haven

That will be my drag name from now on.... because clearly I just can't "be good."

We tried, honestly, we did. We even talked frankly about why it is a bad idea for us to sleep together, given the state of his current relationship and my entirely fucked-up mindset about relationships, men, recovery from the last relationship, etc.... Why we really, really want to be great friends, because it's so rare to meet someone for the first time, look in his or her eyes and silently acknowledge to each other, "Yeah. I know you." Why it's important to both of us that whatever sexual energy passed between us should stay past.

He did talk about his current situation, how he is the original "3-month Wonder" and this current stretch of 4 years is unusual and he is "evaluating his options" and knows he needs to make some decisions soon. He talked again and again about the walls he sees me throwing up all over the place. I don't want him trying to breach any of my walls. That means he is trying to get in, and right now that's the last thing I want or need. (Or is it? Am I just throwing them up as a test to see who is worthy, who has the fortitude to storm the castle walls?)

We sat and talked for a long time. He was drinking Stellas, I was having wine. I picked up my guitar and played for awhile, putting the fat dreadnought body between us. We smoked a joint together. My living room isn't big enough for a sofa, so I have two big, cushy chairs. He was in the BIG chair, the one that is "him-sized," the one that I knew was too big when I bought it, but the way it swallowed me in the store gave me that comfortable womblike feeling. It's my favorite place to nap.

We were like the two bad kids who got caught doing something and are sent to the principal's office, sitting and trying to behave, fidgeting and trying not to think about the thing we're not supposed to be thinking about. It only took that one moment of weakness, when he gestured at the chair he sat in and said, "You know, this is a pretty big chair."

"Yes, it is," I said, feigning innocence.

"C'mere, you."

And so it started again. And there was that part of me that reveled in the sheer raunchiness of it, the naughtiness, the being-badness of it. The feeling and sound of flesh on flesh and his sweat mingling with mine, his animal noises and mine becoming a barnyard chorus. I love being in bed with a guy who is capable of throwing me around like a ragdoll ... and does. This is about the sex, nothing but the sex, and we are positively wallowing like water buffalo in it. Full disclosure, we both dove for the drawer for the condoms, he pulled out the box of condoms, there was some fumbling at the condoms and then for some crazy, i-don't-know-what-he-was-thinking reason, he simply tossed them aside. Rode in bareback -- not once, but twice.

Well, at least I thought it was all about the sex... until we flopped back, exhausted and he rolled onto his side and looked at me.

"Why do you keep running away from me?"

JESUS CHRIST ON A CRUTCH.

Just let it be about sex, okay? OKAY? Or as I said to him plaintively, "Can't two friends just have a gladhearted fuck?"