Differences

“I don’t know the difference between sex and love,” she said, eyes fixed on the sidewalk.

They stood in front of her apartment, the city buzzing around them. He nodded, lips pressed into a thin line, unsure of how to respond.

It was a Tuesday night, the end of their first date—a flirtatious, carefree tour through town. They had taken advantage of the warm evening, driving from her place to a scenic lookout. Upon arrival, they discovered half the city had the same idea.

Still, their spirits remained high. Undeterred, they wandered in search of somewhere more private. Their path led them to a cemetery, isolated and quiet—at least of the living. Through the iron gates he strode with confidence. She hesitated.

“I don’t want to go in there,” she said, her voice barely audible.

He turned and smiled. “Don’t worry. There’s no one here. I know it’s dark, but you’re safe with me. We won’t go far from the road.”

She paused, thoughtful. Then a gust of wind rustled the leaves and a tumbleweed rolled dramatically across the path—like a scene from a Western. “Nope. No, no, no,” she muttered. “This is not cool.”

Without hesitation, he turned back. “Okay. Let’s find somewhere else.”

His calm tone masked any disappointment. She mistook it for irritation. “Maybe we can stay around here instead…”

He waved it off. “We’ll find someplace even better.” He didn’t mind her hesitation. Her vulnerability softened the edges of the tough-girl persona she sometimes wore, a contrast he found disarmingly attractive.

Back on the road, they walked side by side as a car whizzed past. He switched topics. “Wanna smoke a joint?” he asked, knowing she lit cigarettes when nervous.

“Sure,” she said, relieved by the casual shift.

“Cool. We’ll spark it up once we hit the summit—less crowded on the far side.”

She nodded, and they continued. The lookout wasn’t busy, but he wanted complete solitude. They followed a winding path through dense trees and overgrown brush. Soon the stars above were swallowed by the canopy.

She stopped. “I don’t want to go that way,” she said, apologetic, perhaps fearing he’d think she didn’t trust him. Despite their easy rapport, it was their first date—two weeks of knowing each other wasn't much. For all she knew, he could be a charming serial killer.

“No problem,” he said, joking about what might leap out from the bushes. She laughed. His confidence put her at ease. As they returned to the lights of the main lookout, her smile returned with the glow.

They sat on a bench overlooking the city. The skyline shimmered in the distance. Conversation drifted from mutual friends to personal stories. Both believed that every person enters your life to teach you something.

They talked about exes. She mentioned her recent heartbreak but didn’t go into detail. He shared his belief: “The more time you spend crying over someone, the more likely you are to miss the next good thing.”

When she began to open up more, he knew it was time. He reached for the joint—but had no lighter. Neither did she. He asked around. The third person he approached offered a flame, thinking it was for a cigarette. Sensing otherwise, the stranger struck up a conversation. Soon, she joined in.

The group had hitchhiked from Vancouver and were searching for local cannabis. “Sorry, only brought this one,” he said. “Try the skater kids on the other side.” They all laughed and parted ways.

Back on the bench, they passed the joint between them. The chemistry was undeniable. Her big, bright eyes and shiny black hair made her hard to resist. She was used to getting her way—especially with men. She had a natural charisma, sharpened by being the youngest in a tight-knit family. She wasn’t shy about showing interest; she had made it clear she found him attractive.

He watched her talk, her face framed by the hood of her blue sweater. She shifted the conversation to homesickness—she was in town temporarily for school. His mind wandered. He remembered how she never described her ex, only said he’d broken her heart.

Then she looked him directly in the eye and said, “I always get what I want.” Her gaze lingered deliberately, darting from one eye to the other. “Is that right?” he said, trying to sound cool, though her intensity caught him off guard.

They were already three-quarters through the joint, and he was feeling it. He thought he knew where the night was headed. “So... do you still have feelings for that guy back home?” he asked casually. “I mean, you’re miles away. You’re not still thinking about that, are you?”

She straddled the bench, leaning forward slowly, eyes glittering. “I’m right here now. Come and get me.”

He froze. The invitation couldn’t have been clearer. But something inside held him back. She leaned away slightly, studying him. He smiled awkwardly and glanced at the moon.

Why can’t I just kiss her? he wondered. Because if I do, I’ll care. Because she’ll leave when school ends. Because I’ll want more than she can give.

“It’s getting cold,” she said, breaking the silence. The wind was picking up.

Another perfect excuse to get closer. Another moment passed.

Something in her comment—“I always get what I want”—lit a spark of defiance in him. He didn’t want to be another notch on her belt. So they sat, stubborn and sexually frustrated, neither willing to make the first move.

Finally, they stood to go.

As they walked back to the car, she teased, “Look at your posture! So regal.” She mimicked his stride. He smiled, flattered but frustrated. He could’ve kissed her. He wanted to. But now felt like the wrong moment.

He drove slowly—still high, but mostly cautious. The air between them buzzed with unspoken thoughts. When they reached her building, he offered to walk her to the door.

There, she stopped him.

“Look... I told you about the guy back home. It’s not really over yet. One reason I moved was to clear my head. If I get involved again, I’ll just have to run again. I need to stop leaving things unfinished.”

He nodded. “I get it. I think the same way sometimes.”

Wow, he thought. We’re so alike—it’s scary.

“I’m not looking for a relationship either,” he added. “But sometimes I wonder why two consenting adults complicate something that could just be… simple. If you can separate intimacy from expectation, sex doesn’t have to hurt. It can even help.”

A bold move—but one he felt he needed to make.

She smiled, looked down, then met his eyes slowly.

“I don’t know the difference between sex and love,” she whispered. “But I’ll be here a while, and we’re still friends, right? You’re a great guy. We should definitely hang out more.”

Ah, he thought. The letdown—soft, but unmistakable.

“Of course,” he said, smiling wide. “We’ll definitely hang out.”Yeah, right. Hang out and keep denying this? Pure torture.

“Great. Take care, okay? I’ll see you soon.” She disappeared into the building.

“I’ll call you,” he said, turning away quickly, hiding the disappointment behind his grin.

Driving home, he reflected. A single decision can shift everything. But maybe not kissing her had spared him heartbreak. He respected her—and that meant something. If a connection could only lead to pain, perhaps restraint was wisdom.

At home, he changed into pajamas, brushed his teeth, lay in bed—and picked up the phone. He dialed.

She answered on the second ring.“I was hoping you’d call,” she said.

They talked into the early morning hours. No kissing. No sex. But something meaningful had been exchanged.

Maybe that was why they met—to learn the difference between sex and love…and between sex and friendship.

As he drifted off to sleep, one thought lingered:

To assume makes an ass out of “u” and “me”…But the one who assumes? Always the bigger ass.

And sometimes, when you don’t seize the moment—your hormones will make sure you never forget it.