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.

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