Friends, don't let friends...
He turned out the lights, and we started to kiss again. Our lips met awkwardly, sloppily -- like teenagers who haven't figured out each other's rhythms yet.
After a few seconds, we both broke down into giggles. For the umpteenth time. He pulled away and stared down at the pillow, grinning. Then, he turned to me, shaking his head.
I knew we were both thinking the same thing.
"This is too weird," he finally sighed. "You're a really attractive girl, so that's not it. ... I just can't do this. I know you too well. And I'm still buddies with Gove."
"No, no, don't apologize," I answered, between peals of laughter. "It's totally weird. I can't do it either."
* * *
I wasn't planning on getting horizontal with anyone last night. In fact, my plans hadn't consisted of much of anything, except an evening at the opera with Jenn E., and homework.
The opera -- a comedy by Mozart -- was fun. In fact, I even saw one of my professors there. (I think she was on a date; she didn't seem too chatty ... or eager to introduce us to her companion.)
But the idea of driving home and doing homework wasn't so much fun. So I called a buddy and made plans to watch movies at his place instead. It's something we've done a million times before.
It never led to anything amorous, though. Hell, I had no idea he even harbored any attraction, until he began stroking my arm unexpectedly during one of the films.
* * *
Whatever attraction there was, it seemed to dissipate shortly after our liplock. As the ceiling fan whirred above our heads, sensuality seemed out of the question.
And sex?
I smiled to myself. The thought was positively comical.
He soon echoed my thoughts. "The mood is just gone," he muttered, staring up at the ceiling and chuckling.
The sun began to peek through his bedroom window while we lay draped across each other, talking. His arm cradled my head as I gently stroked his shoulder muscles.
I chuckled as well, and agreed with him. I wasn't sure there had ever been much mood to begin with. After all, we *do* know each other well. We used to work together, for Pete's sake -- and considering the kinds of hours journalists put in, you become pretty thick with your newsroom comarades-in-arms.
Then again, I don't know that knowing each other necessarily inhibits chemistry. (At least, it never has, on my end.)
In this case, I think it was more a case of knowing *what I want.* And recognizing when someone -- as fantastically cool as he may be -- isn't the best possible fit.
He's an awesome friend. Could he ever be anything more, despite last night's failed attempt at physicality?
Perhaps.
But in the meantime, I'll always be down for a night of DVDs, good conversation -- and feeling comfortable enough with someone to know that whatever happens, you'll still be able to laugh about it afterwards together.
After a few seconds, we both broke down into giggles. For the umpteenth time. He pulled away and stared down at the pillow, grinning. Then, he turned to me, shaking his head.
I knew we were both thinking the same thing.
"This is too weird," he finally sighed. "You're a really attractive girl, so that's not it. ... I just can't do this. I know you too well. And I'm still buddies with Gove."
"No, no, don't apologize," I answered, between peals of laughter. "It's totally weird. I can't do it either."
* * *
I wasn't planning on getting horizontal with anyone last night. In fact, my plans hadn't consisted of much of anything, except an evening at the opera with Jenn E., and homework.
The opera -- a comedy by Mozart -- was fun. In fact, I even saw one of my professors there. (I think she was on a date; she didn't seem too chatty ... or eager to introduce us to her companion.)
But the idea of driving home and doing homework wasn't so much fun. So I called a buddy and made plans to watch movies at his place instead. It's something we've done a million times before.
It never led to anything amorous, though. Hell, I had no idea he even harbored any attraction, until he began stroking my arm unexpectedly during one of the films.
* * *
Whatever attraction there was, it seemed to dissipate shortly after our liplock. As the ceiling fan whirred above our heads, sensuality seemed out of the question.
And sex?
I smiled to myself. The thought was positively comical.
He soon echoed my thoughts. "The mood is just gone," he muttered, staring up at the ceiling and chuckling.
The sun began to peek through his bedroom window while we lay draped across each other, talking. His arm cradled my head as I gently stroked his shoulder muscles.
I chuckled as well, and agreed with him. I wasn't sure there had ever been much mood to begin with. After all, we *do* know each other well. We used to work together, for Pete's sake -- and considering the kinds of hours journalists put in, you become pretty thick with your newsroom comarades-in-arms.
Then again, I don't know that knowing each other necessarily inhibits chemistry. (At least, it never has, on my end.)
In this case, I think it was more a case of knowing *what I want.* And recognizing when someone -- as fantastically cool as he may be -- isn't the best possible fit.
He's an awesome friend. Could he ever be anything more, despite last night's failed attempt at physicality?
Perhaps.
But in the meantime, I'll always be down for a night of DVDs, good conversation -- and feeling comfortable enough with someone to know that whatever happens, you'll still be able to laugh about it afterwards together.