All the men come in these places
Baker would crank Coldplay on his iPod, laugh about how it was make out music, and then silently refuse to make out with me in bed. The sex was good (the first time we hooked up after a Sleater-Kinney show at the Warsaw on a rainy night in Brooklyn was the best hayroll I could remember having in years -- and I distinctly remember kissing) until we started to see enough of each other that it became fucking for the sake of fucking and it didn't matter who I was expect that I wasn't someone he could reserve kissing for.
That must be the reason why the smart people say what they say. What they say is that there is no such thing as casual sex twice. Actually, Baker said it himself to me once in the context of an apology for the frattish insult of instituting a no-kissing rule. But by then, of course, it was too late.
