HIM: Do you remember your first girlfriend? ME: Of course! HIM: Was the sex good? ME: Well, it was good, but never totally out of control. HIM: You mean you didn't just scream and abandon yourself? ME: Not totally. HIM: Did she? ME: Oh yeah, all the time. HIM: Unless she was faking of course. ME: Of course. But then, they all would have to have been. HIM: What do you mean? ME: I mean, all the girls I ever had sex with, they all seemed to get a lot more out of it than I did. I concluded that that's just how the whole thing was set up. Men were just these platforms, these launch pads that played the vital yet not starring role of departure point for the women spaceships. The women were the ones that really got to see the stars. And we men participated in this little riot of unequal hilarity because it fulfilled us in a—different way. A manly way. A quiet way. A calm way. A—do you see what I'm getting at here? Anyway, maybe I was kidding myself. HIM: Maybe. Of course the whole scenario got redesigned after you became a cocksucker, right? _[grin]_ _The stinky pine tree throws particles of pine stink through the sugar-paned windows. It's falling down Fall, hard, and Winter is never far away from a moment like this. ME feels the old new warmth, the invisible blush. Though there is a momentary hatred, a ringing loss, he is also grateful. The gratitude of the pine, the stars and the dry leaf._ ME:Right. _[mouth getting dryer]_