There was a brief phase in my life where I worried I was a lesbian because I did not find myself entirely attracted to anyone.  And I had zero interest in sex, or anything sex-like, which was scary. 

——

Rick, a man keeping me from going over the edge, asks me to meet him at our local tavern. 

I show up early (not unusual) and order a drink at the bar.  It is there I notice the most handsome and bald man I have ever seen in real life.  Mr. Massage coyly smiles at me and introduces himself, asking what I do.  When I reply “student,” he responds with “massage therapist.”  My entire body is blushing. He then continues, unprompted, to say, “I enjoy both giving and receiving.”  I turn into a puddle (that goes unmatched until CAMPING).  Rick arrives and smiles.  “I see you’ve already met my best friend, Mr. Massage.”  Burn. Nothing is going to make this okay. 

On the fourth of July, Rick throws a great party.  And Mr. Massage avoids me like I am contagious.  Finally I trap him out on the porch, gently inquiring if I’ve offended him.  He cringes and tells me that Rick has asked him to stay away from me.  I let him know that I am not owned by Rick, and storm inside.  I’m suddenly not feeling well anyway, so I decide to go home.

Two days later, I feel like death and to top it all off, it is my birthday.  Rick calls to say he insists on taking me out, even though I am so unwell, and I agree to meet him for one slice of pizza as big as my head and a Red-Stripe. 

When I approach the restaurant, I see Mr. Massage’s car.  Happy Birthday to me!  I walk inside to a full table.  Rick hasn’t mentioned anyone else attending.  I sit next to him and notice a black purse.  Just then, his sister and another girl come out of the bathroom.  They motion for me to get up and I do, as their purses were there first, holding their seats.  Suddenly there is some bickering and nearly everyone gets up from the table and leaves.  Except for Mr. Massage.  He pays the bill and asks me if I want to get out of there.  I say that I am really confused, but he says he will follow me to my apartment and explain everything. 

While swimming in my complex pool, Mr. Massage informs me that Rick actually has a girlfriend, who had called him, asked where he was, and showed up to meet him.  Rick called Mr. Massage for backup. 

You know what that sounds like to me? 

Permission. 

We make out in the pool for the rest of the night and I wake up feeling like I’d won the lottery.  He tastes like TRUFFLES and I instantly recognize that this is a flavor without which I cannot live.  And I am holding on to this one, real tight. Too tight. 

Over the next few weeks, I lose my mind (my bad) and Mr. Massage doesn’t treat me with the respect I deserve (his bad) and ends up deciding that some girl with rough skin and huge thighs is a lot easier than I (I guess she needs to be). 

But I take it hard, as he has awakened a hetero-side of me that I really like, and fall into a deep depression.  I deliver a broken-hearted poem, which he leaves on his kitchen counter for weeks, for guests to read aloud and laugh at me.  It takes me a long time to recover and I am not always awesome to the men I meet in the meantime.