All we ever did was fuck, Douglas and I. I'd like to think there was the pretense of something more initially, that we had a little bit of a crush on each other, but after a few weeks things degraded to "booty call" status. I mean, we made plans to see each other, but oddly, they only involved him coming over to my house. At some point, he stopped spending the night. We only talked about sex when we did talk: what he was going to do to me, and how I was going to take it, language that at a certain point should only be reserved for the bedroom, or at least secretly whispered in public in a seductive fashion. That shit turns me on for sure, but I need a connection of some sort beyond sex for me to really enjoy myself. Didn't we like each other as people, even a little bit?

I started to feel like he was making deposits in me, like some animal squatting in the dirt.

Eventually I moved and became fascinated with someone else. He got busy, and the relationship - whatever you want to call it - dissipated. I was no worse for the wear. I'd certainly been treated worse in relationships, and the sex we had had was tremendous, an excellent release in a time in my life when I was going through excessive stress. I remembered him neither with fondness or anger, but I did remember him.

And then when I was on vacation I saw his ex-girlfriend of two years, the one who had turned him into this cold bastard, in the latest romantic comedy. She's a soap opera star, too, but I never turn on the television set during the day, so this was the first time I'd seen her perform. She had a small role in the film, but enough screen time that I could study her: porcelain skin, clear voice, and dark, intense eyes. That'll fuck you up for sure. It fucked him up, is all I know.

I contacted him when I got back to town. I wanted to know how the law school applications were going. I wanted to see if he had worked on any cool new film projects. I wanted to tell him I had seen his ex-girlfriend in a movie.

We met in a dive bar, and we talked and drank and smoked for a few hours. We got along magnificently. He's actually quite charming when he's not talking like a Penthouse Forum letter. He had gotten into one law school upstate, and was waiting to hear from the west coast. He had fun working on a new comedy show recently. And no, he hadn't seen the movie, but he had seen his ex-girlfriend.

"I was walking by her apartment - our old apartment - and I thought to myself, 'I wonder if she's there.' So I rang the buzzer. I don't know why I did it. I shouldn't have. She was there, and she told me to come up. Once I got there she said, 'What do you want?' I said, 'Do you want me to leave?' And then she said, 'No no no.' But she did. Want me to leave. So I left. It was awful."

He also told me he was in therapy, and that he had recently told his therapist that he was attracted to her.

"I thought I would get some old guy," he said. "Not this hot chick."

"What did she say when you told her?"

"She said, 'Now you're being honest!' and that's about it. I like to think she went home and masturbated though."

"Why would she masturbate?" I said. "She knows all your bullshit, how you treat women. That's not hot."

"Oh...yeah." It had never occurred to him that his therapist might think he was an asshole.

I hadn't had sex in a while so he came home with me that night. It was pretty excellent sex, actually. We always did get along in bed. He left soon after it was over, of course. I never expected him to stay.

He asked me, a few days later, to come to his new apartment on the West Side. He had finally moved out of a share, into a one bedroom by himself. He wanted to initiate the place, I guess. It was about 11:30 PM. 

"I'm a little broke right now," I said. "And I would have to take a cab there and back this time of night."

"I'm broke too," he said. "From moving."

"Well if I slept there I could take the subway in the morning."

"You can't sleep here. Sleeping is for people who are dating." he said.

"You're so fucked up," I said. "Really, really fucked up. Go tell your therapist you said that and see what she says. Seriously. There's something wrong with you."

"I know there is," he said. "Don't remind me."

He asked me to come over every single day for the week that followed. Each day I declined. I came home from a date on the last day that he asked. It wasn't the best date ever, but it was nice to know there were people out there who would treat me with respect.

"Come over," he said. "I have weed. We can watch Blackhawk Down."

Wow, I thought. I've told him a million times I don't smoke weed. Plus, uh, no.

"Here's what I think," I said. "I want something more, something deeper in life. And you want something more, too. And I think the more we talk to each other or fuck each other or whatever, it will prevent us from getting what we want."

"You're probably right," he said.

"Why sleep with the enemy?" I said.

Like we ever slept.

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