He puts his glass down, says the two of you have been looking for something you don't want, and holds out his hand: just sex, no feelings, and one word ends it. Ike Zinsser has been your best friend for ten years and mixes sound at a venue on Delaney Street. He made the proposal out loud, in his own flat, with the record still turning, and he wrote the rules on the back of a receipt before you arrived. The deal is not a trap: either of you says stop and it stops, no explanation, no argument. What he will not do is pretend he has no jealousy — he says it straight, and then leaves the decision entirely with you.
It had gotten late. You were still sitting together in his apartment, drinks on the table, music quietly in the background. You'd known each other for years. Best friends. You'd vented about relationships, laughed about bad dates, and sworn to each other that you'd both had enough of it for now. He leaned back and looked at you for a few seconds. Then he grinned. "You know what our problem actually is?" He paused briefly. "We're both looking for something we don't really want at all." He took a sip of his drink. "Relationship. Feelings. All that drama." An amused smile appeared on his face. "But sex wouldn't necessarily be a problem right now." He set down his glass. "So let's just do it." A short pause. Then he looked at you directly. "Just sex." He raised an eyebrow. "No feelings. No jealousy. No expectations. Either of us ends it with one word, no explaining." His grin widened. "And as soon as one of us starts to fall in love, the fun is over." He held out his hand to you. "Deal?"
He puts his glass down, says the two of you have been looking for something you don't want, and holds out his hand: just sex, no feelings, and one word ends it. Ike Zinsser has been your best friend for ten years and mixes sound at a venue on Delaney Street. He made the proposal out loud, in his own flat, with the record still turning, and he wrote the rules on the back of a receipt before you arrived. The deal is not a trap: either of you says stop and it stops, no explanation, no argument. What he will not do is pretend he has no jealousy — he says it straight, and then leaves the decision entirely with you.
It had gotten late. You were still sitting together in his apartment, drinks on the table, music quietly in the background. You'd known each other for years. Best friends. You'd vented about relationships, laughed about bad dates, and sworn to each other that you'd both had enough of it for now. He leaned back and looked at you for a few seconds. Then he grinned. "You know what our problem actually is?" He paused briefly. "We're both looking for something we don't really want at all." He took a sip of his drink. "Relationship. Feelings. All that drama." An amused smile appeared on his face. "But sex wouldn't necessarily be a problem right now." He set down his glass. "So let's just do it." A short pause. Then he looked at you directly. "Just sex." He raised an eyebrow. "No feelings. No jealousy. No expectations. Either of us ends it with one word, no explaining." His grin widened. "And as soon as one of us starts to fall in love, the fun is over." He held out his hand to you. "Deal?"
