I tended to the washer and dryer. Off in the corner of the basement is the air hockey game. Logan and I played a few times when we were here before. Logan had the bright idea to play strip hockey. The only problem was we were both already naked. But that didn’t stop Logan. He can be ultra-competitive. We played pretend strip air hockey. “Take off your lacy black bra,” he’d say after winning a point, never mind that I wasn’t wearing a bra. Never mind that I never even owned a lacy black one. “Take off your sequin spangled hip wader panties,” he commanded. “Your genuine eagle feathered semi-invisible all purpose never needs ironing war bonnet. Your bronze butt plug. Your cucumber nostalgia wax.” I had to laugh. Logan scored point after point. I was hopeless. It was like eight zip just like that. Then I got one in by pure luck. He stood there waiting. “Okay,” I decided, “take off your much-too-tight, one-size-doesn’t fit-all, tax-free, debt-free, gluten-free condom and fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.” That I’d exceeded the rules, what rules there were, didn’t bother Logan at all. He fucked me right there on the basement floor. It was cold. It was hot. It was wonderful.

I guess that has to go on my list of memorable fucks. I went over to the air hockey game and turned it on. Air still puffed from the holes, tickling my palm, but there were no paddles and no pucks. Not having a partner, I searched the basement, but could find neither paddle nor puck. I’m not sure I felt like playing myself anyway. I turned off the air and folded the laundry, all four items.

Thinking more about all time favorite fucks. It’s not as if one is in competition with the others. It also occurs to me that a lot of times it’s the circumstances that make the fuck really special. Like that time I just mentioned with Logan’s cock showing through his swimsuit, and the chemistry between us as a result.

Oh, this is so appropriate. Logan claims he hates competition (his behavior on the air hockey court not withstanding). He told me of the time he took part in a junior piano competition. The whole thing made him very nervous. He said it was not just about him and his part, but the nervousness of the others. He said if it hadn’t been for the competitive aspects of the thing, people would have formed real friendships. But for the most part everyone was so into himself and so fraught and so insulated against the others. He said music and the performance of music shouldn’t be a competition. Yet they were there to be judged. And to be judged against each other. He knew the best thing to do was put it out of his mind and just play the best he could. And he did. And he won. But he was bothered by it. One of the girls played her piece beyond compare, he thought. He was so moved. He admitted that he found this girl exceptionally beautiful, but he said that long before her piece ended he had no thoughts at all of the performer or the performance—only the music. It swept him away. So when she was awarded third place, and the silver prize went to a guy whose playing didn’t captivate Logan at all, Logan was upset. He had thoughts of renouncing his gold medal. “The second place guy wasn’t a bad dude, as far as I could tell; he just wasn’t better than Sari, the should-have-been-silver-if-not-gold girl.” I told him blame it on bad judging, and he said that’s not the problem; the problem is that there is this judging at all. This competition. “You had quite the crush on Sari, didn’t you?” I said. Logan blushed.