andrew was a very good friend to me.
we met and were friends long before we ever kissed--long before i ever even thought about it, which is saying something, as i'm always thinking.
one night, on his birthday and on mushrooms and drunk, we started making out and i did what i always did--took off my clothes and figured we would have sex. seemed like a good idea at the time, after all. at that moment, he said the immortal words "i've never done this before", and i was rather taken aback, but it was his birthday and i figured we might as well fuck.
so we did.
and we continued to fool around off and on, here and there for a few months or a year after that, probably to neither one of our benefits, particularly. i remember sneaking mike in through my window one night when drew was in the living room with my other friends so i wouldn't hurt his feelings. he knew i was seeing other people, it just didn't seem like he wanted to SEE me doing it.
i really loved andrew, even though this makes it sound fairly lukewarm. i worried about him when he moved to new orleans and started going home with strange boys and i worried about him when he returned to humboldt and ended up with someone i would not have picked for him. i guess i should have never slept with him--we were pretty much destined to be doomed as a couple, since he was gay and i was a whore, but it really seemed like something we both wanted at the time--or maybe just something that we felt like we should do, for some reason.
i still worry about him.