Even though it's afternoon, I sit at the computer in my robe. I can still smell Lucky Bastard's cologne, his deodorant, his after shave, his skin cream on me. It is a rich smell, an expensive, masculine scent. It's a scent that comes from the men's counter at Filene's or Macy's and not the after shave isle in Target or CVS.

No matter how much we try to dress it up, sex is an animal thing. After all, it is an act of procreation. And in that act, we exchange pheromones, hormones, and the scents of products meant bury its animal aspect under a veneer of civilization.

So, I carry Lucky Bastar's veneer on mine...its own mixture of citrus body wash, Ponds skin cream, and Eternity perfume. Until I shower it away and start all over again.

I told him today about graduate school. "It's about time you made a decision about that. As I always tell you, you sell yourself far too short too often."

I like his voice, his enthusiasm, his votes of confidence. His friendship is often more valuable than his submission or his prowess.

But I would know those today, too.

"I envy you your freedom," he said from the shower, "your ability to just pick up and go back to school when you want. I don't really have that luxury."

"True," I answered from my pearch on the closed toilet seat, "but, you know, sometimes I envy you, too. I think to myself how I'd like to have that big house, and strong husband and two nice kids. I'd like the family, but it isn't me."

And then I tell him, "you know, I've been thinking about that lately. about the second failed marriage. Sometimes it's not about whether or not the marriage failed, but that maybe it wasn't the right path to be on in the first place."

"That's a good way to think about it," he answers...and I know he's contemplating his own path. Right now he's struggling to maintain that house, his wife, his kids. Struggling to maintain his stability and the things that mean the most to him. I don't begruge him when he speaks glowingly about his life--to me it means he really isn't a loser. Besides, he needs to. He needs to remind himself of why he doesn't chuck it all and run off to school himself.

For him, my life would be the easy way out. For me, his life would be far too much work.

"You know, I don't think I was ever meant to be a wife. I'm too much of a girl. And have too much fear of commitment."

He smiles as he dries his hair, sapphire eyes twinkling. "but you'll never lack for men, " he reminds me, "you'll do well in graduate school."

And I smile back. I know he's right.

We're happy in our little respite from reality, in our friendship and our sex. It sets the world right, makes us capable of facing our freedoms and our responsibilities. Strange how a simple animal act can alleviate the anxieties of civilization.

"yeah, men are usually the least of my worries. It's finding stability that's the problem."