How my big soft heart fucks up all that fucking.
Cut for TMI:
I saw M. Had a free night and ordered him like a pizza. I had just been having a discussion with a friend that evening about how over men we were, how we are trapped between our independence and our biology. How we don't have time for unenlightened male nonsense, but how we don't want sensitive boys either. The same old.
I knew in what capacity he had been invited, and he did too. Afterwards, we'd done all the pillowtalking either of us could handle (mostly about global apocalypse, as usual with him), and we took a shower. He caught me off guard- midway through a sentence, he leaned over and gently shampooed my hair. Not a sud in my face or my ears, not a hair pulled or snagged. Soft concentric circles, the same attention to detail that keeps him good at his job and keeps him in my phonebook.
And here's how I feel today: Uh-oh.