Ain't No Holiday

Yesterday was any other day. Nothing special about it. The last working day of the fiscal year. Went to the ballet.

The point is: it wasn't a holiday. We didn't wait until July 4th. It amuses me when J misses me and when he doesn't. "Misses" may not be the right word - but when he wants to see me.

We have discussed that we can't "date" - and he's right. I'm right, too. But it makes everything very complicated because there is a genuine love between us. And did I mention chemistry? I genuinely wonder, if and when I meet someone else, if it will go away.

So B and I went to the Ballet. Got drinks before, drinks after. J kept trying to get me to go to a party, even though I told him 3 different times I had other plans. So he finally called at the end of the night - and I invited him to come meet us at the bar. And that was perfect. B and I both needed him there, at that perfect moment. We both needed to laugh. And B was driving me, so at the end of the night when we were all ready and J read the air and said "Time to go" - we all walked out together. And I lingered, gave J a kiss on the cheek - and B drove me to my car.

And against my better judgment, perhaps, and against what I have said was "smart" of J to do - turning off the tap - I went over there. I did call him on my way, but didn't need him to answer. I parked on his street, and he had just gotten home, and was standing the yard.

He smiled, and walked over the way he does - falling into every step, a lazy walk - and let his head bob around and as I walked to him I said "I wasn't tired," although we both knew what I had come for.

During our whole relationship I have waited for him to kiss me - for him to "come get it" - and I do love that about him. I trust him, too, to know better than I when the time is right, or what is appropriate, or what is good for me. Although he doesn't know me that well, oddly enough.

But last night, at 1:30 in the morning, I walked right over to him, pinned him against A's truck, and kissed him. And kissed him. I dropped what was in my hands so I could touch him - and he was sweaty from the summer bike ride and that was divine. He was moist, glistening I suppose.

"Inside, truck, or cemetery?"

Cemetery, he said.

So we crossed the street and went into the gate and..

Cemetaries in New Orleans are called cities of the dead. When they were first built hundreds of years ago, the locals knew about the flooding, and they were very worried about disease (as Yellow Fever killed thousands in the 1800s), so the dead were buried above ground, in tombs.



And it's 2 in the morning, and this is one of the neighborhood cemeteries in New Orleans, and no one's there but J and I, nude and trying not to get concrete scrapes on our most delicate parts.

In the end, after a wonderful lovely time and some bizarre acrobatics on my part, fear of getting grave-burn overruled finishing. He and I lay, half-dressed, on a flat tomb finished with cold white cement and the typical "Perpetual Care" brass plaque, and stared up at the sky for quite a while. And there were more stars than there usually are in a city sky.