sucked down the wine, I had a hard time eating my burger.
“So, what gives?” I asked, unable to keep the question inside.
“What gives what?” she asked back, seemingly confused.
“Uh, earlier. In my bathroom?”
“Oh, that. Look,” she said, setting down her fork and taking a long sip of her wine. “I don’t want a relationship. I was just horny. Yoga does that to me. I don’t know why. Besides, I haven’t had sex in over a week. Then I saw you walk in while I was in Downward Dog and … then I remembered your towels… and then there you were in the bathroom. I should have knocked, but—it was unfair. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I choked out. “No problem.”
“I find sex a huge release. Danny used to call me a nympho. I dunno,” she shrugged. “Maybe I am. If you move out, I’ll understand. But I promise, I won’t do it again. Unless you want me to. Just as a friend, of course. Helping you release some stress?” A sly little smile crept onto her lips.
I sat there stunned. Was she proposing what I thought she was proposing? “Are you saying sex without being in a relationship? Just friends? Like ‘fuck friends’ or something?” I asked.
She thought for a second, and bobbed her head. “Yeah, I guess that’s what I’m saying.”
We sat and hashed out the “rules” for this fuck friend arrangement. No dates. No jealousy. If one of us becomes involved with another person, the fucking stops—unless the new boyfriend or girlfriend doesn’t care.
She practically attacked me when we got home. She pushed me into my bedroom and tore my clothes off, then mounted me. She rode me like her life depended on it. Her body on display, and it was just sex. Six minutes later, we both came. She simply slid off me, tossed me a few tissues from the box on my bedside table and shot me a, “Thanks, I needed that.” Seconds later, I heard her shower turn on. No cuddling. No awkward good-bye or see ya.
And the next morning, like a switch had been flipped, we were friends sipping coffee and talking about our schedule for the day. Fucking one night, and back to just friends in the morning. But it totally worked. And we’d fuck a few times a week. Neither of us getting silly about it. Most of the time it was good and rough. And fast. None of this long, take your time shit. I couldn’t believe my past few weeks. I’d done my first professional runway show that lead to more work. I’d landed a sweet apartment. And now I had a fuck friend. I was the fucking man!
CHAPTER 9
May 1982
O ver the next three years, Becca and I cultivated this odd relationship. On the one hand, we were fuck friends. On the other, we were each other’s closest friend, almost like family. Becca’s parents were big time philanthropists. Ever since Becca’s career had been firmly established, and Frannie DiMarco took over managing her career, they were forever jumping onto the next public campaign. From bringing clean water and aid to remote areas of Africa, to the most recent headlines of this disease called HIV/AIDS. They had little time for Becca.
My parents had stopped taking my calls and the checks I sent home after they saw an ad I had done. It was the ad for suntan oil. My oldest sister, Sharon, found it in her Glamour magazine, and showed my dad. My dad, David Sr., was not impressed. Old fuck. He said that I had ‘sold my soul to the devil’ by putting my half naked body on display like that. My brothers and sisters gave me their congrats, but they seemed hesitant to go against Pop. My mother stayed quiet on the whole issue. I continued to send checks back home to help out my parents, but from that point on, they always sent the checks back. After two years, I stopped. It hurt too much.
Once, my sister Laura, her husband Vin, and my brother, Mike came out and visited me secretly. It was the best day of my modeling career. Not for the job, but because my brother and sister were there. I brought them to the set
“So, what gives?” I asked, unable to keep the question inside.
“What gives what?” she asked back, seemingly confused.
“Uh, earlier. In my bathroom?”
“Oh, that. Look,” she said, setting down her fork and taking a long sip of her wine. “I don’t want a relationship. I was just horny. Yoga does that to me. I don’t know why. Besides, I haven’t had sex in over a week. Then I saw you walk in while I was in Downward Dog and … then I remembered your towels… and then there you were in the bathroom. I should have knocked, but—it was unfair. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I choked out. “No problem.”
“I find sex a huge release. Danny used to call me a nympho. I dunno,” she shrugged. “Maybe I am. If you move out, I’ll understand. But I promise, I won’t do it again. Unless you want me to. Just as a friend, of course. Helping you release some stress?” A sly little smile crept onto her lips.
I sat there stunned. Was she proposing what I thought she was proposing? “Are you saying sex without being in a relationship? Just friends? Like ‘fuck friends’ or something?” I asked.
She thought for a second, and bobbed her head. “Yeah, I guess that’s what I’m saying.”
We sat and hashed out the “rules” for this fuck friend arrangement. No dates. No jealousy. If one of us becomes involved with another person, the fucking stops—unless the new boyfriend or girlfriend doesn’t care.
She practically attacked me when we got home. She pushed me into my bedroom and tore my clothes off, then mounted me. She rode me like her life depended on it. Her body on display, and it was just sex. Six minutes later, we both came. She simply slid off me, tossed me a few tissues from the box on my bedside table and shot me a, “Thanks, I needed that.” Seconds later, I heard her shower turn on. No cuddling. No awkward good-bye or see ya.
And the next morning, like a switch had been flipped, we were friends sipping coffee and talking about our schedule for the day. Fucking one night, and back to just friends in the morning. But it totally worked. And we’d fuck a few times a week. Neither of us getting silly about it. Most of the time it was good and rough. And fast. None of this long, take your time shit. I couldn’t believe my past few weeks. I’d done my first professional runway show that lead to more work. I’d landed a sweet apartment. And now I had a fuck friend. I was the fucking man!
CHAPTER 9
May 1982
O ver the next three years, Becca and I cultivated this odd relationship. On the one hand, we were fuck friends. On the other, we were each other’s closest friend, almost like family. Becca’s parents were big time philanthropists. Ever since Becca’s career had been firmly established, and Frannie DiMarco took over managing her career, they were forever jumping onto the next public campaign. From bringing clean water and aid to remote areas of Africa, to the most recent headlines of this disease called HIV/AIDS. They had little time for Becca.
My parents had stopped taking my calls and the checks I sent home after they saw an ad I had done. It was the ad for suntan oil. My oldest sister, Sharon, found it in her Glamour magazine, and showed my dad. My dad, David Sr., was not impressed. Old fuck. He said that I had ‘sold my soul to the devil’ by putting my half naked body on display like that. My brothers and sisters gave me their congrats, but they seemed hesitant to go against Pop. My mother stayed quiet on the whole issue. I continued to send checks back home to help out my parents, but from that point on, they always sent the checks back. After two years, I stopped. It hurt too much.
Once, my sister Laura, her husband Vin, and my brother, Mike came out and visited me secretly. It was the best day of my modeling career. Not for the job, but because my brother and sister were there. I brought them to the set
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