Right, this is off-topic, but just too funny.
He wasn't my first love, nor my last. In fact, it wasn't really love at all, more like eight months of screaming interspersed with shagging and road trips.

But he's the first man with whom I have been trapped on a roof, naked, for more than an hour. That's got to count for something, if not love.

The story goes: Being young, crazy, and in possession of a small single-story apartment with a walled garden and a flat roof, we boosted ourselves (by climbing onto the garden wall), bare-assed, one evening to watch the sunset. Why we did it naked, I don't remember.

Coziness ensues, very romantic, very risque, et cetera. Quite nice, really.

Quite nice until my loud, drunken, horrible neighbor comes home. With a friend. And decides to have a drink in her garden. Which shares a wall with my garden. The wall we've put the ladder on. So, in effect, we can't climb down until she goes inside, unless we feel like showing her our goodies.

Keep in mind, gentle reader, that at this point, I lived in a desert. Deserts, although hot during the day, drop in temperature very, very rapidly at night.

We had climbed up to watch...the...sun...set.

Cue me and him, naked and shivering, no longer feeling romantic at all, waiting for the drunken bint next door to stop drinking and go indoors. We couldn't even walk around, for fear someone would spot the two naked idiots on a roof.

Well after dark, she went indoors, and we scrambled inside, frozen and shivering. Romantic mood completely shredded. Destroyed. He drove himself home, I went to bed.

Off topic, I know. But had to be told.
(herbivorous, Tue 25 Oct 2005, 23:29, Reply)