Aftermath

The air about us was still and a bit damp as we lay there in the darkness, the silence added weight to our surroundings. For moments at a time I felt as if I could not speak or very well decide if speech was in fact better than silence. At other moments, I felt as if I could open my mouth and pour out a deluge of words, that I could talk well into the dawn never ceasing, and the notion scared me.

"What are you thinking?" he quietly demanded. "Tell me."

And I thought, what am I thinking? I'm thinking about how it feels to have my head nestled against your shoulder and about how difficult it is for me to feel warm while you are laying here utterly perspiring. I'm thinking about what this all means for us and our loving relationship, though we are not in love. I'm considering the feeling of your callused fingertips against my pillow-like lips. I'm wondering why I can't hear the ducks' quacking in the daytime from the lake outside my flat but I hear them so loudly at night. I'm thinking about how every kiss and touch that led up to this was filled with supsense and innocent, unspoken boundaries and I'm wondering if we've lost something.

I shifted a little bit to see the way the moonlight shined on his face. His eyes were closed in waiting.

"I'm happy," I whispered.

Dibbs

Joe was upset. After spending a few flirtatious hours with Ash, there he was making out with a mutual friend. Ash is a recently single sexpot out on the pussy prowl. Dirty? I know, but there's no nice way to put it. He's been one-half of a couple for two-and-a-half years and wants to satisfy some cravings, which is exactly why I was turned off. Happy to be free from emotional (albeit fleeting) or physical ties to Ash, I took the opportunity to observe.

There was a competition ensuing and Ash wasn't making any decisions. Everyone is employed at the same restaurant, everyone wanted sex and everyone would wake up the next morning with a hell of a headache. The only real difference between Joe and the other girl was that Joe had dibbs. She's known Ash the longest, has the most affinity with him and, while we were at the bar and he was ordering their Jaeger Bombs, confided in me that she "liked” him. That was her "calling it"; she had dibbs.

On a side note, is this entry merely making light of something very serious such as sex and relationships? Maybe. Sex is serious (it's repercussions very serious) but I argue that the One-Night-Stand has become cliché and comical. While I was on the dance floor tonight I began to think on it. I wondered what it would be like if I took someone home, some random stranger who bought me a drink and kissed my neck. I imagined us in the throes of passion interrupted by me saying, "Hey, I have to be at work tomorrow at noon so it'd be great if you left as soon as we're done here. Let's call the taxi now, they should be here in time" because the rest of the night is just sleep. There's no watching the sun rise and talking about your life and your feelings, no one cares enough. The lack of emotion explains my using such a juvenile term.

What affected Joe most was the distinctive sense of deja vu. It was only a few weeks prior to this night that this other girl had slept with a guy Joe had expressed feelings for. What? Did this girl not understand the rules? Australia is one of the only countries in the world where the scales are tipped ever so slightly as to provide a population with .01 percent more men than women. With those odds, surely this girl could find someone else to satisfy her. Clearly the answer here is to keep the personal and work lives separate, though no one abides by it. In fact, in the Test of Life, this may be the answer most missed.

So what, then? I'm not sure. I was happy to leave them all early although now I'm almost kicking myself for not staying around and taking notes for this blog. Make up your own ending, Sweetums. It's 2:58 AM and it's time to press "publish post". Goodnight!

"Hey, I just finished my blog, thanks for waiting. Did you call that taxi yet? Wait, what's your name again?"