Rick and the grey cashmere sweater

Much to the great consternation of his mother, Rick and I used to spend a lot of time in his bedroom. Nothing was going on - it was all still buddy-buddy - but the old gal figured that two twenty-two year old men shouldn't be up in her son's room with the door closed. Go figure. Well, there was something on, it just wasn't what she feared. Her son was ... falling for another boy in a big way. Knowing her son as she thought she did, I can't imagine her thinking he was actually having sex up there -- but there was just something about our seclusion that crawled up her crack.

Rick's younger sister had a room across the hall - sweetest girl, open-faced, shiny-haired. When I would come out to go to their mutual bathroom, she just smiled. She liked me, I could tell. And on whatever subconscious level she suspected "foul play" it didn't upset her -- she just felt things were good. She could see Rick was happy - maybe happier than he'd been in a long time. And things were good. The honeymoon was on, way before the wedding. It's an innocent story, one that most everyone has their version of. Just by spending time with someone -- where the energy is strong and mutual -- you get pulled into each other's field. Nothing to do with the ol' "in-out, in-out". But -- well, cutting to the heart of it, we were falling in love. Deeply, comprehensively in love. It was like the swell of a huge tidal wave slowly curling back on itself, rising, taking us way, way up in the air where we rested for a moment before everything came crashing down. But -- where was I - yes - here we are back in his room. That was the moment that he tried to explain to me how a tape recorder worked. I don't think I was focusing because my mind was elsewhere. We were sitting so close that there could have been a kiss. But we had become, for lack of a better phrase, best friends, and friends didn't kiss the way we wanted to.

I was wearing a grey cashmere, v-neck sweater and as he spoke to me he slowly kept poking his finger into my chest. That was the only physical contact we could muster, so I let him poke away. Eventually I ended up lying with the back of my head on his leg (wouldn't his Mom had loved that if she bursted in) and we just talked on into the night.