It's the first time we had hung out since he told me he didn't want to talk to me any more. We hooked up when his brother stopped talking to me. The night we did, the brother decided to finally call again, but by then the sex was already a forgone conclusion. Sad, but true.
And you know, I don't know how any of that went down. Here's what I can recall. I felt so burned by the older brother, the one I was (am?) in love with. He is beautiful. I don't know beautiful people, let alone beautiful men, but I swear that the times I have seen this man naked, I am in awe. IT'S SO CLICHE I KNOW, but I can only describe it as awe. He is sinewy, lithe, and every inch of him is toned. And yet he has this androgynous, Peter Pan-ish quality: his teeth are pearly, his hair goes at all ends, when he walks he saunters...I hate descriptions, but I hope you get the idea. Basically, I couldn't believe someone as beautiful as him could care about someone like me.
And who knows if he really did? Or does? That's the point I want to make here: I didn't know if anything he said was true--any of his declarations of love or his desire for me to move in with him--were true. But I knew in the week we were together that I played it cool while drinking it in. Level-headedness--at least my maintaining of a level-head--is sexy, to me. So I keep it up. But I loved every inch of this beautiful creature saying the most open things to me, treating me as if I really WAS something hard to get instead of someone so insecure she's actually flattered when a guy pulls her over to booty dance on the floor to "I Want You Back" by the Backstreet Boys.
Sorry. So what I remember is Eric--my friend--inviting me over to his place to hang out, watch TV and drink. Which sounds like a lot of fun when you're depressed OR happy. After sitting on his bed nursing down the last quarter of a bottle of tequila, bottle in one hand and shot glass in the other (relax, the bottle was mine that I'd brought over like two weeks earlier), Eric makes a pass.
This surprises m
And you know, I don't know how any of that went down. Here's what I can recall. I felt so burned by the older brother, the one I was (am?) in love with. He is beautiful. I don't know beautiful people, let alone beautiful men, but I swear that the times I have seen this man naked, I am in awe. IT'S SO CLICHE I KNOW, but I can only describe it as awe. He is sinewy, lithe, and every inch of him is toned. And yet he has this androgynous, Peter Pan-ish quality: his teeth are pearly, his hair goes at all ends, when he walks he saunters...I hate descriptions, but I hope you get the idea. Basically, I couldn't believe someone as beautiful as him could care about someone like me.
And who knows if he really did? Or does? That's the point I want to make here: I didn't know if anything he said was true--any of his declarations of love or his desire for me to move in with him--were true. But I knew in the week we were together that I played it cool while drinking it in. Level-headedness--at least my maintaining of a level-head--is sexy, to me. So I keep it up. But I loved every inch of this beautiful creature saying the most open things to me, treating me as if I really WAS something hard to get instead of someone so insecure she's actually flattered when a guy pulls her over to booty dance on the floor to "I Want You Back" by the Backstreet Boys.
Sorry. So what I remember is Eric--my friend--inviting me over to his place to hang out, watch TV and drink. Which sounds like a lot of fun when you're depressed OR happy. After sitting on his bed nursing down the last quarter of a bottle of tequila, bottle in one hand and shot glass in the other (relax, the bottle was mine that I'd brought over like two weeks earlier), Eric makes a pass.
This surprises m
