Okay, so, we hooked up a few times, and we’ve seen each other around town a few times, but in all fairness this is a three night stand. Because if it’s over now, then it’s over now, and it’s a three night stand. Three crazy, wild, brink of sexuality nights of fucking, and then that’s it. No call back. No more texts. No more conveniently running into each other at bars. This is it: we had our moments, over three nights in one week, and now it’s over. Which is a disappointment I’ll learn to cope with tomorrow when the sadness kicks in full force that the text messages were unreciprocated tonight, but for now I’ll keep on drinking and hoping that he texts me. Like he said he would, but if he doesn’t, and if never does after this, then it’s just another three night stand. Resigned to the hall of fame of fast fuckery and casual hook ups. Usually the brevity of these kind of affairs causes me a certain level of anxiety, but maybe I’m adult enough now to realize that high Fahrenheit sexual relationships burn fast and fizzle out quickly. That’s okay. I can have three night stand after three night stand after three night stand all in the space of one month, although, that’s fairly exhausting. Maybe I’d rather sit around and wait for the text message that never arrives, or, maybe I’d rather punctuate this sexual routine with one night stands and long term relationships. What else am I supposed to do while I lament the long gone chemistry of my perished three night stand, the bygone orgasms and currently unattainable fuckery and foregone future of that three night stand. What can I say – I felt something. I imagined things. I thought that it would last longer than three nights of intermittent sex over the course of seven days, but here I am: day eight, and no sign of this keeling over into a “fling,” as in, four nights. I just have these three nights, but, that’s okay. Three night stands are what memories are made of, so I’m going to go out into the world and make some more memories right now.