Saturday evening The Fella and I had dinner with his friend Kent.  Walking home, he explained to me how after a number of really awful dead-end relationships, Kent had dated a Canadian architecht named Brent. Brent had been everything any gay man (or straight woman) could ever dream of: smart, funny, gorgeous, employed.  Simply put, he was perfect in every way.

Then one day, Brent was asked to work on a really important project in New York and flew out to meet with the people involved. Brent explained to Kent that the job would be a huge career break for him and Kent, wanting the best for the man he’d been with for nearly 5 years, encouraged him to accept the position. And so Brent did. Kent drove him to the airport and they shared a tearful good-bye. What Kent didn’t know at the time was that it would be the last time he would ever see Brent.

Oh there wasn’t a plane crash or any nefarious foul play — it just seems that once Brent arrived in NYC, he never called, e-mailed, or made any effort to contact Kent again.  He talked with others.  Just not Kent.

“Kent was devastated,” The Fella said, “and so were the rest of us — we’d all thought Brent was the best guy EVER.”

Later that night, laying in bed and watching GOSSIP GIRL, I turned to The Fella. “Can I ask you a favor?”

“Anything.”

“If you decide you don’t want to date anymore — just tell me, okay? Don’t pull a Brent and leave me hanging, wondering what our status is or if I’ve done something wrong, okay?”

“Okay.”  He thought for a moment. ”And you’ll do the same?”

“Yeah.”

A while later as Blair Waldorf was totally working the shit out of yet another headband, Chuck was comptemplating his next lay, and Serena was inducing more yawns by appearing on screen, The Fella turned to me.

“It’s never crossed my mind, you know…”

“What’s that?” I asked, my ears attuned to The Fella, my eyes trained on the television screen.

“Not wanting to date you.  ‘Cause I totally do.  Want to keep dating, I mean…”

I reached over and took his hand in mine.  “Me, too.”

And so with that settled, we snuggled under the covers and once more immersed ourselves in the decadent lifestyles of upper East side adolescent socialites.  Then we ate Triscuits and read comic books until 2 in the morning.

Funny, that last part didn’t seem nearly as geeky or pathetic at the time…