Recent writing

He’s going to ask me if I loved Jason. I hope he doesn’t, but he will. I know Danny. He’s persistent like that. Wants to get down to the brass tacks. The real shit. I love that about him, but it’s wearying sometimes when you just want to watch Netflix and cool out.

 

Here’s the thing, though: this place seems to invite conversation. That’s not surprising, but it is encouraging. It makes me want to talk, want to spill. The trees keep secrets. The ocean washes everything away anyway.

 

“So, okay. You guys hooked up.”

 

“I wouldn’t call it hooking up.”

 

“You had sex. Right?”

 

“Uh. Yeah.”

 

“That’s what’s known in parlance as hooking up.”

 

“Does that mean that we hook up?”

 

“Technically, yes. But not really.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because we’re in a relationship. Were you guys in a relationship?”

 

“Kind of. I mean, we were friends.”

 

“Friends means hookup.”

 

I’ve lost count of the number of cigarettes we’ve smoked at this point. Three, six, twelve, does it really matter? The pack is yet to be emptied, so we’re still all good. And if we need more, there’s the Chevron station down in Gualala. Life is wonderful.

 

“Okay, so we hooked up. Do you want to hear the story or just sit there getting a hard-on about it?”

 

He laughs a little too hard.

 

“I mean, I didn’t expect it to happen. Honestly. I thought we were just having dinner. I thought we were just friends. I had no idea it was going any further.”

 

“But you wanted it to.”

 

“May-be.”

 

“Did you ever think about him when you were masturbating?”

 

I blink hard in his direction. I mean, he knows I do it. We all do it. My typical – unasked – question is this: are you part of the 99 percent who do it or part of the 1 percent who do it and lie about it? But we haven’t really talked about it. It feels like the thing we keep to ourselves, of ourselves. The idea of talking about it is both invasive and a huge turn-on.