I walked down the street, the prenatural glow of things before sunrise. He’d smiled at me on BART and dropped me his card. I had texted him by the next stop. He wrote me right back and invited me to dinner. It was like something out of a trashy romance novel. We sat at dinner like we’d been dating for months. Sitting on the same side of the table, purposely touching the entire time. We took a stroll through the neighborhood afterwards resulting in a few makeout sessions that got extremely urgent. Against the final tree he said I should come home with him. I wasn’t about to disagree. We were naked and inside each other within moments of entering his apartment. I smiled, reaching down for the buttons that had been ripped out of my shirt. I smiled about it had felt to let go for once and just let my instincts have what they wanted. It used to rack me with questions afterwards, will I see him again? What did the date mean? What about saving that kind of sex for someone I loved? Who was to say that in that moment I didn’t love him. Oh the moments. I had beard burn everywhere and a smile that wasn’t going to leave for a great while.