It wasn’t supposed to happen. Neither of us meant for it to go nearly that far that fast. Made apparent by our post-session simultaneous chorus of, “Shit…..”. Followed by quiet self-reflective laughter about the last half-hour.

Mike and I were co-workers. We were friends. He lived with his ex. And I had just joined the theater two weeks ago desperate for new direction after the hostile end to a relationship that spanned almost all fours years of my high school career.

It wasn’t like this was the first guy I had hooked up with since Ben, the guy I dated since I was 14, and I split. But this was different. This was a co-worker, someone I’d have to see everyday in close quarters, no matter what direction our relationship was headed for.

To my surprise, he initiated the “talk.” You know the one that guys with some sense of maturity and decency delve into after you’ve had sex for the first time: Where is this going? What does this mean? And in this case, who’s going to quit first when all this turns sour?