It’s funny, I write intimate details about my own goofy life every week, and have very few reservations about sharing what I do. I expect and receive many judgmental comments and attacks on various activities I choose to participate in, most every week.

I am cool with this. I honestly do not expect everyone who reads this column to agree with my morals and ethics.

However, from time to time, it is also necessary for me to disclose intimate details about people with whom I interact; and this is where I struggle with journalistic responsibility vs. personal friendship obligation and courtesy. I suppose if I wrote a column about recipes or cartography, I would not be so concerned about violating trusts and confidentialities.

Jack and Diane, Lesley and Allison, Erica, Emily, several friends, and myriad former lovers, have all been mentioned in my column in the past. I have changed the names of some of these people, and others I have not.

The person I mention most often is Nick. I have written about my feelings, both genuine and fantastical regarding Nick. I have written about Nick's dates, sexual history, and physical appearance...including a rather detailed and graphic description of his penis.

This weighs on me.

I made the decision (mistake?) early on in this column, to identify Nick by name (real name), and then it just turned out that he was a regular in this sexual soap opera I write each week.

I have discussed my feelings about this potential violation with David on several occasions. Each conversation resulted in David advising me to let it go since Nick was unaware of the column itself, and was unlikely to discover it of his own accord...but still.

Last Wednesday was a day off for me, and after tending to my grandmother's needs, I spent some time at the mall. I stopped by to see Nick, and while I was there, and he suggested we might have an informal dinner this evening. David was in Tampa, so I accepted.

Immediately, I thought this might be an excellent opportunity to "come clean" about my writings as regard Nick.

Conscience is a funny thing. You have things that you bury inside; however, their presence cannot be forgotten and you tell yourself that you would feel better if you could just purge them. The burden of acceptance falls on the other person involved, and you are miraculously cleansed of guilt...or at least of that guilt. Then you have that conscience thing going on with the aftermath of whatever selfish disclosures you dumped on an innocent party...was a friendship wrecked along the road to self-absolution? Yeah, it's a whole fucking thing with me.

The rest of the afternoon, I pondered whether to reveal to Nick, his unknowing role in "Maggie On Top".

Regular readers might recall a previous "date" I had with Nick. I primped and cleaned, even shaved my pubic area. I had a great time that evening. Since that night, I have become aware that I could fuck Nick if I decide to...in the right situation, and there might not be a right situation.

In the category of sexual interaction, I knew my options. I could...

Have sex with Nick tonight, and never tell David. Nick and I would both have guilt, and know that we wronged someone who is an integral part of both our lives...Or,

I could have sex with Nick tonight, and tell David. There would certainly be consequences and repercussions, although I doubt it would cost me my marriage.

This was different...my internal dilemma was all about what to reveal to Nick, and what I should continue to hide away.

Most likely, there would be no sex tonight. I showered, and shaved my legs anyway.

I met Nick at Port Orange Grill. We had beers, an appetizer, and ordered our meal. I fidgeted as I debated with my conscience when or if I should begin the purging process.

When the server brought our food, Nick was going on about how his job sucked, and he continued as we began to eat. When he finally stopped talking, I began...

I told Nick that I wrote a weekly column for a website in St. Louis. He asked if I had ever been up in that Arch thing. I could see this was not gonna be an easy conversation. I told him that nobody goes up in the Arch except tourists and morons...kinda like the chain restaurants here. I put down my fork, and watched Nick eat, waiting for the nerve to bring up what I wanted to tell him. Nick struggled with the whole “rolling the spaghetti around the fork thing“; finally giving up and just sucking it into his mouth and then wiping the remainder off his chin.

"My column is usually about sex, Nick" I admitted, and then waited for him to do the carnal math involved. Nick did not respond, instead he nodded his head, and focused on mastering the fork/spaghetti thing again.

"It is kinda like a blog, I write about my life...and my sex life," I continued, as I now recalled the mental image I have of Nick's penis.

"Really...does David know about this?" Nick finally spewed, along with a little meat sauce and spittle.

I told him that David not only knows, he reads every column since he plays a pretty big role in my current sex life.

"Did you write about those two lesbians?" Nick asked.

I told him that I write about most everything...and waited.

"You didn't write about that little trick we played on David after that lesbian thing, did you?" Nick asked, with a look on his face as if he was sure the answer was gonna be totally different than the one he was about to get.

Good grief…

“Yes, Nick, I wrote about the little trick, I wrote about how your hard penis felt against my vagine, I wrote about you and David watching me with Lesley and Allison, I wrote about the sex David and I had after you all left that day, I wrote about the Nick game that David and I play, and I wrote about seeing you naked in the hotel room in Orlando” I blurted without a stutter and with hardly taking a breath.

“What did you write about my penis?” Nick asked, as if he had heard nothing else I had said.

I did not answer his question, instead I asked Nick if he cared that he was often a subject of my column. I told him that I felt bad that I had included him without his knowledge, and that I thought it proper to let him know that he was being written about on the internet.

“I knew you were gonna want a cigarette that night” Nick admitted, and then continued... “Sarah passed out almost as soon as we got into bed, and I tried to keep her awake so we could have sex, but she was gone.”

I nodded and asked Nick if he had done anything at all with Sarah that night, and he said he took a picture of her with his cell phone.

Nick went on to confess that he had intentionally waited in the living area of the suite, listening to David and I have sex. When I asked him why, he said he was horny, and knew that I wanted to see his penis…and that he hoped I would come outside for a cigarette…naked.

Suddenly, my decision to shave my legs did not seem so silly.

As I looked about the restaurant for our server, several things crossed my mind, randomly and without thought of consequence…I wondered if Nick had condoms, I tried to recall where I was on my ovulation cycle, I imagined how that Katharine McPhee must feel, and oh yeah, I tried to remember which commandment that adultery thing was.

I stared silently at Nick as he wiped the remaining meat sauce off his plate with a chunk of bread. I wondered how a guy, who seems confused about the sequence of traffic lights, could mastermind such an elaborate scheme to see me naked. He had seen me naked countless times prior to that night…did he want more that night?

Did he want more tonight?

Until this point in the conversation, I figured to spill my guts about writing about Nick; buy him dinner after we had a few laughs about it, and then go on home and maybe send him the columns in which he was featured, or read them to him if necessary. But now things were different. My husband’s best friend had intentionally waited naked for me in a hotel room. I was no longer the predator, I was the prey.

And my predator had a six-pack and a thick penis.

Adultery…that is the Seventh Commandment. Yeah, now I remember.

“What were you hoping would happen when I came out of the bedroom that night?” I asked Nick, almost hoping that I had the wrong idea about his intentions.

“I dunno, I guess I just got caught up in the game you two play, and thought maybe…” Nick stopped short of finishing his sentence, but I knew where he was going.

I did not tell Nick how turned on David was that night when I went back into our room and told him about seeing his penis. I did not tell Nick how I had masturbated thinking about him fucking me…with or without David. And, I did not tell Nick that I wanted to take him home and fuck him right now. No, instead I told him we should all sit down and talk about this sometime. Sometime when we are not drinking.

And then I changed the subject.

I told Nick he should find a nice girl to have fun with, and I offered my help if he was interested. We talked about a few of the girls he has dated in the past, and I voiced my opinions about each of them.

Once again, the mental aspects of sexual matters amaze me. Here I am a married woman, alone in a bar with my husband’s best friend. I know I could fuck him by saying a single word…and yet, I offer cupid service instead.

I did not tell Nick which website hosts my column each week.

I did not tell Nick about the dozens of e-mails I will receive from girls in St. Louis, offering their services and phone numbers.

I did tell David about my evening and conversation with Nick. 

I do not think Nick has met the girl for him just yet.

I do wonder if Nick thinks he has met her, and if she just bought him dinner.