I change the sheets, I shave my legs, I almost fall asleep.
And when he arrives, we have awkward small talk, I give the awkward tour, and awkwardly lead him by the hand to my bedroom. He awkwardly shuts the door and I say what needs to be said.
“Well, this is awkward.”
And then I shut off the light, put my arms around him and kiss him like awkward doesn’t exist.
For an hour and a half, it doesn’t. It’s like riding a bike, really. A noisy, inappropriate, bike that tastes like Vodka.
And I know it’s wrong, but it is just too right for me to care.