(continued...) What occurred I think has scarred the two of them forever: they made eye contact. The parking lot guy didn’t even bother to look at me, my bf continued, too far long too stop or care (he’s not the type to care). The parking lot guy sort of just took a step back, his eyes now distant and glazed as if he had just seen something that he could never un-see, and backed away—still staring at my bf, my bf still staring at him, while I kept my lips glued in the hope of not snorting into a fit of irreparable laughter (never, my aunt once told me, never laugh in its presence—it being your lovers hard-on).

I offered my bf a reprieve from the situation and told him to put his business back in his pants. He was a man’s man (since then, he has eased a little) and needed someone to tell him it was okay—to stop. And that what had just occurred was traumatic, weird, and horrible but not sexually gratifying to him nor the parking lot guy (though, I had enough material to ignite a series of fantastic fantasies to keep me going—sort to speak—for about a month).

Despite my reassurance that it would never happen, and contradicting hopes that it should because what is life without a little weirdness—we never repeated such behavior, having felt too guilty for the poor man who saw what he saw—and heaven forbid it had been someone else, like a minor. We were young and stupid, you see. (continued...)