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Wednesday, Aug. 10, 2005 - 11:53 a.m.

~ sometimes, I feel like a very lucky girl ~

I don't think I was quite twenty when I propositioned one of my best friends.

Mike and I had been friends since my freshman year of high school and I had known him since seventh grade. A year ahead of me in middle school, he had an extracurricular chore that I would graduate into; he bought the groceries for the Home Economics class at the thirteen-aisled grocery store across the street from our whitebread school. Mike stood out, and not in a good way. He was taller than a lot of the boys in his grade, and his chunky build, thick glasses, and tightly-curled Irish afro didn't do much for his popularity standing. Mike was a good guy and his ability to disregard his own Cosby-sweater-wearing, AV club card-carrying dorkiness and have fun with his marginally to fully cooler friends kept him on my radar as someone interesting throughout my seventh grade year. During my eighth grade year, Mike was still someone I'd pass by on my way to a babysitting job after school or be behind in line at the neighborhood pharmacy. It was hard to miss a six-foot-three big-boned kid in a rainbow-colored Aztec cable knit sweater, after all.

In freshman year of high school, it seemed almost natural that a girl I made casual friends with in study hall introduced me to her boyfriend who turned out to be Mike. So, through Heather, I finally got to know Mike. Mike and Heather became techies for the acting group I was a founding member of and they both participated in the afterschool program for needy kids that I volunteered at. We Three Musketeered our way through two Summers and a lot of school nights. While I did stuff individually with both, Heather's chaotic home life and soap-opera-ish stories of her exes always had me longing for extra homework to have to return home to. Mike was easier and more fun to hang out with. His family loved that I'd play any card or board game they could teach me and I'd happily sit cross-legged in the backyard while Mike and a friend tinkered on their quads.

Mike was never a romantic prospect on my horizon. Even after he and Heather split up, I never entertained thoughts of us taking our easy and close friendship to another level. Mike the best friend, Mike the good son, Mike the savvy tech-geek, Mike the responsible thrillseeker, Mike the stand-up guy, and even Mike the snappy-dresser-when-he-wore-the-clothes-I-made-him-buy just wasn't anything I was interested in getting to know naked. We went away to Maine together, we spent overnights at each other's houses, we lounged lakeside from dawn to dusk on Summer weekends, we escorted each other to weddings, we babysat his nieces and my babysitting kids together, and we went out dancing together on every Valentine's Night, but neither of talked about dating the other.

I can't say that I was the most upfront person when it came to how I thought the world should be run when I was younger. I did let some of my true self peep through occasionally and wrote countless customized porn stories for my friends and could engage in any sexual conversation matter-of-factly and without blushing. But my poly leanings, my kinky desires, my inability to see anyone's gender as a reason to not have sex with, I did not chat (or even think) freely about all of that.

However, at some point, my inner realist burst through to the surface and I planned how to proposition Mike. I was not seeking a girlfriend-boyfriend relationship or a one-night stand. I wanted something that didn't exist in my circle of friends back then -- I wanted casual sex with someone I liked and trusted. I wanted a fuck buddy.

Mike took my proposition as well as could be expected. He turned several shades of red. He swallowed a lot. He asked important questions about logistics and our friendship being jeopardized and if our other friends would know.

In the end, it was our joint worry that our friendship would indeed be damaged in some irreparable way that stopped us from pursuing my idea. The stakes were too high and and neither of felt that anything was worth that risk. We let my proposition fade away.

I like to think that that was a practice run for the now-me. I have fond memories of rooftop sex and dungeon sex in my Old Life. I have acted as pimp mama for a good friend, arranging very hot sex for her with a girl we both barely knew. I was completely happy to have a Washington State sex partner, a New York City sex partner and a Boston sex partner between whom I richoted in a state of latex-y and lube-y bliss for some time. I attend parties where orgies are par for the course and blowjobs are a spectator sport. One of the most memorable orgasms I ever had was while I had forty hypodermic needle tips crisscrossing my breasts and poking through my nipples.

What if I had never propositioned Mike? Would I have had the chutzpah to pull my date into a rest area McDonald's one night and lift my skirt so she could suck my sparkly pink femme cock in a bathroom stall? Would I have been able to hand gloves and condoms to a partyguest whose date for the hour was tied up and spread wide a foot away from me? Would the ability to flog someone into coming over and over again be something I could be thrilled by had I not opened myself up to the possibilities that can be out there if only I am brave enough to speak their names?

Sometimes, my life feels very, very good.

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