(…is weaving a course of grace and havoc…)*

I just got back from lunch with Bad Idea–his treat, this time. I took the houseplants to him and he bought me pho. Pretty good deal.

We talked a little about the poly stuff–specifically, about how GB and I do it: how we’re honest, and try to be empathetic, and how we’ve been doing this for 11 years now (all things Bad Idea knows, but he was happy to be reminded). And we talked a little about our dinner the other night, and agreed that it was awesome all around.

By the end of lunch he said, “You’ve convinced me that I won’t go to hell or be a horrible person if we have sex. I’m sold. And we don’t have to tell Jason (who would be totally judgmental about it and keeps telling Bad Idea not to sleep with me). But really, the only people who HAVE to know are you, me, and GB. Right? Hmm. Okay. I’m convinced.”

Great, I said. What are you doing after work tonight?

And he said, “I’m convinced, and I know it would be great, and I want to. But I’m not giving it the thumbs up yet.”

Um. What? The? Fuck?

Strangest. Boy. Ever.

So I said, You know, I’m only here for another week, so really, we only have a few more days. And Bad Idea said–

–wait, are you ready? Because this is freaking hilarious:–

“Well, I don’t want it to feel rushed.”

–Got that laughter under control yet?–

I’ve lived here for 5 years.

I’ve been putting moves on Bad Idea for at least 4 of those years.

We’ve been doing the drunk kissing/fooling around, on and off, for the past 3 years.

We made out for nearly THREE FREAKING HOURS the other night.

But, no, I’d hate for him to feel rushed.

*Big points and my undying affection for my (maybe two?) blogfriends who can identify this lyric…

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