JUST FRIENDS

The following evening,

after Diana had graciously invited me over to her hotel room yet again, we spent a

rather uneventful night lying on our backsides atop her plush, queen sized bed doing

absolutely nothing and nothing in particular, which was fine by me though I was

somewhat disappointed in Diana for not buying me a gift after she confessed to

visiting a nearby shopping mall earlier in the day. After all, I did buy her a

rather expensive t-shirt from one of the pricey gift shops inside the Brookfield Zoo

and a colorful bouquet of flowers just a few days earlier so I was kind of hoping

and expecting she’d be thinking of me as she shopped, as I had of her, but not

necessarily because I wanted a gift from her per se. Just knowing she had actually

thought of me during the day, especially when I wasn‘t around, would’ve been gift

enough alone and all I really wanted.

What I didn’t expect that

night, however, as we lied side by side on her bed looking upwards towards the

various car and truck headlights tangoing on her hotel room ceiling, were the bag

full of mushrooms and other assorted goodies she happily pulled out of her purse as

if she were a magician blindly pulling rabbits out of a hat. Being as naïve as I

was back then, I asked her what the strange looking mushrooms were for.

“There magic mushrooms,” she looked away from me and said in a rather stoned out and lackadaisical haze though I hadn’t a clue as to what she really meant by magic mushrooms nor what it would probably imply about her.

Only later, after I had

embarrassingly asked a coworker in private what magic mushrooms were for, did I

realize what Diana truly possessed in her purse among other mind altering treats I

saw and bared witness to that night. I had even started to question whether or not

there had ever been a single intimate moment between the two of us where she hadn’t

been high or on some type of hallucinogenic substance. It just didn’t make any

sense to me as to why someone as intelligent, beautiful, and caring as Diana would

even be into drugs in the first place. She practically had the whole world crawling

at her feet waiting for the chance to serve her, so why on earth she wanted to waste

it using drugs was beyond me. For one of the few and rare times in my life, I

physically and mentally ached over someone else’s misfortune. I wanted more than

anything to ask Diana if she needed my help or what was going on with her but I

didn’t want to push her away from me. I was so afraid if I said anything to her

about it or even brought the subject up casually, she’d immediately walk out of my

life and never speak to me again so I selfishly looked the other way and kept my

mouth shut. Little did I know as I rolled out of Diana’s hotel bed that night, as

Diana listlessly lied on the top of her bed completely stoned out of her mind,

unable or unwilling to even say goodbye to me, it would be the last time I’d ever

step foot inside her hotel room again.

The following day at work and

not surprisingly, quite a few of my envious and dare I say, jealous male coworkers

had apparently noticed Diana and I flirting throughout the workweek so some of them

decided to go ahead and ask me, with a tone of disbelief in their collective voices,

if we were dating or not. Not knowing how to respond to their flattering and

testosterone boosting question I answered, “Sort of.” Having heard myself

pathetically say this, I became more and more embarrassed and frustrated with not

knowing how Diana truly felt about me. Not wanting or bothering to wait another day

or even minute to find out her answer and right in front of dozens of food crazed

customers, I asked her…well, sort of. I looked her straight in the eye and told her

how people and even strangers were coming up to me and asking if there was anything

going on between us and what if anything I should tell them? I even told Diana how

an older married couple, who were dining inside the restaurant at the time,

commented to me on how we looked like a couple of dating, Spanish soap opera stars

they’d recently seen on television and what a cute couple we made. Diana, without

the slightest bit of doubt or hesitation in her voice or mannerism responded with,

“Tell them we’re just friends, is that ok?”

...

Sure it was, I sarcastically said to myself while holding in and suppressing a

waterfall of child-like tears preparing to cascade down my face. What did I care

anyways? I was only madly in love with her and would have gladly given up my life

for hers, but hey, being a loving friend was just as important, right? So rather

than sit around and bitch and moan over my grave misfortune and lot in life I

fathomed, I should embrace this opportunity and use it to support and encourage my

beautiful and hot looking friend in all of her dating and fucking adventures while I

idly stood by and listened, like a good friend would do, to her tales and stories

of “cockmanship” and sport fucking without being the slightest bit envious of her

sexual partners. As long as we were friends, that was the important thing. But who

was I trying to kid I chirped to myself while pondering these scenarios and more in

my intelligence deprived head? My worst nightmare had just come to fruition and

there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. Why Diana hadn’t just kicked me

in the balls and then chopped off my penis while she was at it I’ll never know. It

certainly couldn’t have hurt any worse.

“Yeah,” was all I could depressingly say to Diana’s castrating response and question to my initial inquiry about our relationship status.

So without any sort of

manhood intact and while moping my way throughout the rest of the workday feeling

sorry for myself, Diana asked me to come over again, just shortly before she had

left work for the day, under the premise I was going to give her a foot massage when

I arrived. I had promised to do so after “accidentally” overhearing a lighthearted

conversation she had with another female employee about the eroticism of foot

massages and how it was better than sex. They rationalized women could always get

all the sex they wanted, pretty much whenever and wherever they wanted, but getting

a good foot massage was much more enjoyable and difficult to attain.

Anxious and excited as

always, while constantly looking at whatever clock I would pass as I counted the

hours and minutes until I’d see Diana again after work, I knew something was

definitely wrong when a coworker informed me I had a telephone call. No one had

ever called me at work before to give me good news so sure enough and not

surprisingly, Diana was on the other end of the phone line explaining to me how

tired she was and how she needed to catch up on her sleep. I of course, was

initially flooded with skepticism and disappointment after her last minute decision

but what else could I do except take her word for it? It’s not as if she hadn’t

been working long hours plus hanging out with me late into the night, every night.

But no matter how much I tried to convince myself Diana wasn’t blowing me off or up

to no good, my gut instinct kept telling me otherwise. Something just didn’t feel

right about it.