Good Company

**Unless otherwise noted, all names have been changed to protect the identities of my nearest and dearest.



On Tuesday evening I shuttled myself and an enormous bag of groceries, including a zucchini the size of a newborn child, to Kira and Michael's apartment. I'd been dying to try out this risotto recipe but hesitant for the reason I'm hesitant to try out any recipe that threatens to be incredibly delicious: I'll eat the whole damn thing by myself. So I managed to convince Kira (my co-worker at the Lusty Lady, the one responsible for my induction whom I've known since childhood) her live-in boyfriend Michael and our mutual friend from high school, Bree, to allow me to test my experiment on their taste buds. I start chopping things, trying to acquaint myself with the narrow kitchen without smashing too many elbows or glass cabinets. It's just me and Michael for a while, both of us working on our contribution to the meal (his being this boxed cookie/brownie thing that I would almost rather fast forward to and skip this risotto business).

In an hour everyone sits around the table nibbling french bread and drinking wine. That is, everyone but me. I have somehow underestimated just how long this dish will take so while the other four (Bree brought her new beau, Kip) wait patiently, I continue stirring the stubborn rice , getting drunk on an empty stomach and from barely two glasses on wine. I walk back into their dining room/living room and it occurs to me that I am the fifth wheel. Kira walks over to John, who is seated, puts her arms around his neck and he buries his face in her shirt. Bree is sitting on Kip's lap.

"So I hear you and Michael have been together for 3 or 4 months" Kip says to Kira. He is joking, of course. I'm sure most people have forgotten exactly how long the two of them have been together, though I know it's over 8 years; forever when you're only 22. We all laugh. It's then that my lack of partner becomes apparent to everyone else so Kira and Bree sandwich me in a double-hug. Despite the obvious imbalance, I feel very much unlike a third wheel.

"So I guess you and I have a history now," Kira says. At this point, not a week after the fact, I am still unsure how to feel about this. We exchange looks, both of us amused by the bizarre truth of her statement. Bree's ears perk

"Wait, what?" The three of them are now looking at me and Kira.

"Yeah, we told you. I trained Eve to work in Private Pleasures. We had a Double-Trouble last Wednesday." Bree has that look on her face, the one I've known since high school, the one that says she's intrigued but gearing up to be shocked. I can't disappoint her.

"Yup, Kira fucked me with a giant dildo," I say, and return to the risotto. I hear a screech back at the table and when I go back Bree is pacing the apartment in a very entertaining panic. Precisely the reaction I was hoping for.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she says. "I just got this immediate visual and I needed to walk away from it." Normally I might feel bad for Kip, seeing as this is our first meeting and I'm already revealing the unusual nature of my profession but he seems unfazed, as if normal people have these sorts of conversations at dinner parties. But I have decided that I am indeed, not a normal person. I say this very thing to Kira a few days later and she doesn't disagree. But instead of unnerving me, the thought comforts me. I have made it this far in my life, living in a world that does not condone the abnormal, and have not caved in to doing that which is expected of me. I am happy to have friends who, despite brief yet high-pitched reactions to certain oddities of mine, can actually revel in those oddities with me.

On BART going home I get a text from Bree. I'm pretty sure you left your underwear in the backseat of the car. My friends definitely deserve some type of medal.