Last week, I was all, "Shit! Seven years! We have so gotta do something!" At 11:30 last night, I thought about it again, and wondered exactly when the sixth was. I looked at the calendar, and went "D'OH!" I woke up D. to tell him. We kissed and cuddled for a while, and then we both fell asleep.

It occurs to me that if you just read about him here, you've probably got totally the wrong impression of him. When I'm upset, I write. That includes being upset with him. That means you hear about how he's always playing video games, and how he's a slob, and how sometimes he's careless with money.

I don't do nearly enough entries that say, "D and I went out to lunch today. Nothing much happened, but we enjoyed each other's company." Or, "D. and I spent the night watching TV and cuddling and laughing at the cat." Or, "I was really upset and scared yesterday, and like always, D. was there to calm me down." Or even, "D. and I made hot monkey love last night. He knows exactly what I like, and he's willing to try new things sometimes too."

Seven years. We must be doing something right.

***

I had just broken up with Kehl maybe a month earlier. A bunch of people were getting stoned in my room. They left, but D. wasn't quite capable of moving just yet. I offered him some of the Roadhouse turkey sub I had in my fridge. (Kenny's Roadhouse Tip: Get whatever you want for now, but always get a turkey sub, too. You'll be glad you did, later.)

We ate in silence. Suddenly, out of the blue, D. turned to me.

"Um, I think you're really pretty, and I was wondering if you'd like to go out with me?" I wish you could have heard it. At the time, my impression of D. was: kinda scary looking, kinda smartass, very hardcore. But then there was this. He sounded just so cute and vulnerable my heart quite literally melted.

I threw my arms around him, and started kissing him. His kiss was so different from Kehl's. Kehl had always tried to shove his tongue as far down my throat as possible. D. was gentle. D., of the black leather jacket and steel tipped bitchkicker boots, was gently kissing my face, and my neck, and when I was ready, my mouth. We must have kissed for about an hour. Nothing more. No clothing was removed. I didn't feel any pressure. We just kissed, and it was incredible.

He asked if he could stay the night. I told him no. He didn't get mad Kehl would have gone directly into psycho mode. D. just kissed me one more time, and left.

The next morning, I woke up. I remembered the previous night. "Aw, shit! I just got out of a relationship. It was hell on wheels. I'm not ready for that again. I want some time to figure out who I am."

D. had slept in the lounge. I told him I had been really stoned, I'd made a horrible mistake, and I just wasn't ready. He said he understood.

I spent the next two days thinking about that hour long kiss. The Erasure song "Take a Chance on Me" wouldn't leave my head. Finally, I snapped. I marched downstairs to the lounge. I sat down next to D. and kissed him square on the mouth. Under the cover of maybe half a dozen people freaking out, (Neither one of us had said anything about that night to anyone) he whispered, "Does this mean what I think it does?" "Yeah," I said, and well, the rest is history.

Technically, then, I think the 9th is our anniversary, but we always celebrated on the 6th, because that was the night of that first kiss.

***

I can't believe I let the anniversary slip past me. We'll have to do something extra special for Valentine's day.

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