What do you do when all you’ve met is freaks since you broke up with the last guy you were kind of dating…? You bring back the fucking exes.
It all started with a phone call to Christian, which went straight to voicemail, and his return call, which also went nowhere because at first I was in the car, driving to Vegas, with Ireland, and then I was in Vegas, so I didn’t pick up. He left me a voicemail saying he was about to jump on a plane; that he had to go out of town for a few weeks. Figures.
So what do I do when I get back from Vegas? I call The Ex. Maybe because when I got back from Vegas I went on cleaning rampage and stumbled across some old photos…and cards…yeah…you know how that goes.
We talked last night. It was cool. He’s doing well. I’m dong well. We shot the shit like we always do, and it quickly became after 11PM.
“It’s time for you to shower and sleep, isn’t it?”
“Actually I’m already in bed. Showered. And even masturbated.” I say this, with maybe just the right amount of hint in my voice, because this is how we used to talk, when we were fresh in love, before things got complicated.
There is a slight pause on the other end of the line, “Too bad you didn’t call earlier.”
“Why?” I ask, innocently, even though there is nothing innocent about me randomly calling The Ex.
“I could’ve helped you masturbate.” He says this in a lowered voice, as if he’s relaying some deep dark secret…
“Ooooohhh, hmmmm, wow, us having sex…that would be bad.”
“I didn’t say anything about sex, but that would be good.”
“That’s why it would be bad.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to fall in love with you again.”
I tell him I have to go.
I didn’t know if I wanted love from The Ex again, or even a random hook-up. It was good hearing his voice though.