Letting Trouble into my Bed (Part One)

HI FAMILY! This one mentions sex, so there's that.

Saturday night I went out with a friend (the kind with benefits... yeah, apparently I lied in my last post) who we're going to call Trouble.

Here's the thing about Trouble, Trouble is cute and ludicrously charming and hilarious. He's a flirt and he always buys my drinks. Our deadpan sarcasm is so evenly matched that we have entire conversations during which I'm not sure either of us knows if we're being serious.

Trouble is another feral cat. While we can talk for hours, we rarely talk of anything of importance. Since Trouble is a childhood friend of a friend (and from comments he's made to me) I know he really doesn't do relationships. That's fine. I know where we stand. I know about once a month he'll text me, we'll spend time together, I'll head home the next morning and not think about him until at some point I'll realize it's been about a month and vaguely wonder if we're doing that whole sex thing still. Without fail, right in the midst of me going on a responding to every message on OkC binge, he'll text, we'll meet up... repeat, repeat, repeat.

I'm a little terrified the arrangement is starting to change. You see, on my birthday, I let Trouble come home with me, not the other way around. I let Trouble into my bed. I am very weird and very particular about who gets to come into my space. For the most part I avoid bringing people home with me. If you've seen pictures of my room I've posted various places then you know that it is full of photos and quotes written on chalkboard contact paper and a giant chart of my goals for the month. My yoga mat is always unrolled on the floor, my ridiculous number of shoes are on display and all my favorite books live here. In short, my room can tell somebody a lot about me that I might not tell them. Trouble's room is the opposite, his room is just as guarded as he is. But he had a friend staying with him who apparently refuses to sleep on the couch, so we went back to my house. And I made a big fucking deal out of it.

"So basically it's like you're letting me into the inner sanctum?"


He could tell I was a little terrified and I was drunk enough to let it show.

"Also, it's kind of a mess right now, I haven't put everything aways since getting back from California"

"I don't care, fuck, I'll help you clean it, I get to see you naked"

(Why doesn't this deal work in actual relationships? MARRY ME NOW, TROUBLE)

I woke up in the morning curled up against him, it's later than I know he was planning on leaving and he's grinning at me.


He looks at his phone, "shit, I have to go".

I groggily watch him pull his clothes on before he kisses me and says "thanks for letting me stay over" and smiling.

For a moment, even though I should know better, my heart melts.