The Equation: T + 2 (Monkeys)

What happens when you put two monkeys in a cage? A boy monkey and a girl monkey. The observer zookeeper gives them all the bananas they can eat, in this case junk food; all the nourishing liquids they can drink, Stoli vodka and Italian Peroni beer. They are kept properly entertained and cared for by way of board games and genuine professions of fraternal love. Just a couple of monkeys in a cage who have never touched each other beyond brief, almost embarrassed hugs at the end of a night. But one night, one monkey starts looking at the other monkey differently. One monkey starts picking all the mites and ticks off the other monkey.

"Well you have been spending a lot of time together," said Ack, the ex-husband/ best friend.
True, true.

This is a phenomena with me: I have a bunch of guy friends. We are not a circle of friends. I like to hang out with people one on one. Hm. Foreshadowing. Some have met others. The rest are legend.

We have pints while talking about bands, boys and girls, politics, life. Months, even years could pass and I still look at them, adoringly even, only as my friends, my buddies, my comrades.

And then...
they sometimes transform into men.

This happened with Cartman sounding Mike, my buddy at work whom I often hang out with during summer concerts. Mike usually wears what I like to refer to as late Prison Inmate wear. At work he's the new chef. Donning kitchen whites, he is nothing short of gorgeous. Jesus.

The Comrade: Dude... This is freaking me out; all of a sudden you're hot to me.

He's single.
I know all of his family secrets.
And still adore the lot of them.
I have a tiny crush on his dad who did something major during his medical career, not unlike Russell Crowe's character had in The Insider.
He is a gentleman through and through.
He is one of my best friends in the whole world.

Two monkeys in a cage
Who love playing together
Who love each other

Ah, crap...
This changes everything.

Fatty and I had a massive make-out session.
Now what?

The only other time I'd been intimate with a really good friend was with a girl. Jules. Hooley. Hulez. But it was only sex. It was only experimentation. I didn't know how I would react to the aftermath. In the morning she'd called. Just by hearing her voice she set things right. There was a lightness, a gaiety. There were no feelings attached. There was nothing really spoken during the act. But there was with Fatty.

Who's never met anyone like me.
Who thinks I'm utterly fabulous.
Whose mother would be very happy if I was in his life.
Who's never seen me at a loss for words until the next morning.

I hate that I listen to everything said.
I hate that I romanticise every single thing.
And if this relationship changes because of our stupid bodies, I don't know what I'll do.