u are like an incredibly addictive drug.

that's what i told the Blue Light Special upon returning from Copenhagen . . . i waited a day before calling him because i didn't want to seem too eager . . . he returned my call late at night and seemed a little evasive about making a date . . . before we said goodnight, i casually mentioned that i had brought him back a couple of gifts.

the phone rang the next evening while i was having dinner with M, my god daughter . . . do u think it's him? she asked . . . it was, but nerves prevented me from picking up . . . i've never seen u like this she said as we giggled, listening to his message like a couple of teenage girls at a pajama party . . . u are always so stoic . . . he let me know he would be in my area Friday evening . . . an 18 year-old freshman at Columbia who has never had a boyfriend spent the next two hours giving me advice as i explained the situation and my fears, omitting only that we had had sex in the Ramble when we met . . . u are way too analytical she warned . . . just let it happen.

i made plans to meet the Blue Light Special for a swim at Columbia, my alma mater, hoping it would be a way of moving our relationship out of the bedroom even though it also required paying a $15 guest fee, a transaction he avoided by examining the basket where students could leave shoes for the needy . . . he looked even better than i remembered after he put on a blue Speedo . . . though we swam in separate lanes, occasionally he looked over and grinned . . . the chlorine turned his dyed blond hair slightly green . . . do u think that's why the lifeguard was looking at me? he asked.

although he was attired in the same pants (front side white corduroy, back side blue jeans, a rather awful but unforgettable combo) and Abercrombie & Fitch sweatshirt that he had been wearing the night we met, he also had two backpacks and carried a shopping bag . . . he suggested we walk back to my apartment, pressing his body into mine at every opportunity . . . u should have added the grain and the vegetables last after the beans had a chance to soak up more water he said, explaining exactly what might have gone wrong with the Luccan farro soup i had made for M from a recipe in the Times and had just served to him . . . my friends have told me not to give up cooking entirely for acting he explained . . . the Blue Light Special had graduated from culinary school in Germany.

i brought him my gifts on the couch . . . he looked blankly at the key chain with the lovely Egyptian ankh (are u sure u want to send that kind of signal? asked C,one of my traveling companions, when i bought it) but enthusiastically offered to try on the expensive underwear from Peak Performance, a ski clothing store in Malmo, Sweden . . . no hurry, i said, not wanting him to think that i had picked it for this purpose . . . although i probably had . . . the subconscious works in powerful ways asserted C when i had protested the keychain had been the only bargain at the Carlsberg Glyptotek.

i brought something i want to try on for u anyway he said taking one of his backpacks and the shopping bag into the bedroom . . . first he emerged wearing a skimpy red bathing suit and a brown felt cowboy hat . . . gulp . . . then he added a metal chain . . . at which point my rigid sense of fetish gear kicked in . . . hmmmm, each of these elements works well on its own but together they look a little dorky i thought . . . but he got the last outfit exactly right: black hot pants and a leather harness . . . OMIGOD . . . this must be how J. Howard Marshall felt the first time he saw Ana Nicole Smith topless.

the Blue Light Special sat down in this outfit, his dick already hard, clearly expecting me to make my move but i was stricken with DOMP (dirty old man paralysis) . . . is this what i have become? . . . was this private fashion show the quid pro quo for the visit to the gym and the gifts?

aw fuck it who cares i thought . . . we went into the bedroom and the sex was even more intense than the night we met . . . even if the Blue Light Special is hustling me the financial tab thus far--$68.45--has been dirt cheap . . . if i calculate his rate on the basis of the three delirious nights we have spent together so far it works out to about $10 an orgasm or $2 an hour (not including the time we have spent talking on the phone) . . . leave it to me to find Manhattan's cheapest rent boy.

the emotional cost, however, has been much, much higher . . . i could easily fall in love with u i said before he left Saturday morning for a trip to Southampton . . . the Blue Light Special smiled and fucked me as long and as hard as i ever have been fucked in my life . . . i would have preferred a slightly more romantic declaration but i was determined to prove that i was as versatile as he . . . at least the cobwebs are gone.

yes, there's no fool like an old fool . . . the Blue Light Special is playing me like a piano . . . how else to explain his call that afternoon to let me hear the waves as he walked along the beach? . . . or his call later that night to let me know he would be free Sunday evening after he cooked a belated Thanksgiving dinner for the German friends his roommate was entertaining in their Jersey City high rise with spectacular views of New York City's skyline?

now M probably would question my cynical interpretation of his motives but it was she, after all, who said u are right, he's way too hot for u when i showed her the digital photo that i took the morning after we met to prove to myself that i hadn't dreamt our encounter . . . what does the Blue Light Special see in me? . . . after all, i'm 14 years older than him and with a body like his he could work at Splash . . . what gives? . . . analytical minds want to know.

the Blue Light Special sounded pretty overextended when he told me all the things he had scheduled for Sunday (rehearsing, seeing a teacher perform in children's theatre) before coming to my place but when 7 p.m. rolled around i began watching the clock as frequently as a bad student in detention . . . where is he? . . . i can't wait to see him another minute longer . . . finally, an hour after barely managing to distract myself with Manhunt: The Search for America's Most Gorgeous Male Model (Rob, cocky doesn't always pay), i dialed his number . . . to my surprise, he picked up right away.

i have been so busy he explained preparing the dinner, cleaning the dishes, mopping the floor, making soup for tomorrow but i will be on my way soon if u still want me to come . . . of course i wanted him to come but only if he wanted to . . . then he started telling me how he might not be able to stay on Monday because his roommate's guests were going to treat him to the Guggenheim which was too expensive to afford on his own and how one of his acting partners had paid a $30 fee so that he could join her for an add-on class . . . all this money talk poured out of him very quickly, without any prompting, reviving lingering but suppressed suspicions that he might be yet another friend of Tina's . . . which also would explain his remarkable sexual energy and the bags under his eyes.

yes ok i will be there in a little while he responded with more resignation than enthusiasm when i said i still did want to see him if he wasn't too tired . . . but seconds after i hung up i called him back with suddenly cold feet . . . u know what? i'm tired. let's do this some other time i said, hanging up before we had a chance to discuss my decision any further.

it's over i said calling D, a friend, immediately . . . i want to break this habit when i still can even tho this guy literally made me cry with happiness yesterday . . . blame it on the sleep deprivation . . . while D didn't entirely understand or share my suspicions he did agree not calling when u are two hours late would be enough to end it for me . . . maybe that's why we're both spinsters: we place a higher premium on punctuality than the messiness of dealing with another person.

but D couldn't provide the kind of solace that a visit to the Ramble might so i began dressing to go out . . . i don't drown my sorrows, i get them sucked out of me, weather permitting . . . how sick is that? . . . just as i was about to leave, the buzzer rang . . . i knew immediately who it was, i just couldn't believe it.

i rushed downstairs and there stood the Blue Light Special, at the entrance to my building, holding his scooter in one hand and a plastic bag in the other . . . what are u doing here? i told u not to come i said as sternly as a parent admonishing a wayward child . . . he smiled and said i told u i was going to bring u some Thanksgiving dinner, didn't i? handing me a bag filled with turkey, stuffing and mashed potatoes.

of course i asked him back up . . . what would U have done? . . . but i also bared my drama queen soul . . . he denied having a drug problem except maybe too many poppers and declared i told u i never had used crystal meth, only G . . . and when i asked him what he saw in me, he said i'm just looking for some fun . . . fair enough, i thought, but also insisting as an actor u cannot be unaware of your effect on other people . . . that observation got him to admit my friend who wants to sleep with me calls me a cocktease he admitted . . . more like an emotional tease in my case i accused before reminding him that during our discussion of Bad Education u told me how some people derive their power over other people through sex.

do u want me to go or stay? he asked . . . i can go over to a friend's apartment here in the neighborhood to return these wigs. or i can try them on for u if u want . . . so the Blue Light Special has a friend in the neighborhood and an endless bag of tricks, some less erotic than others . . . u might as well stay if u want i said even tho his drag profile couldn't compete with Gael Garcia Bernal's.

i managed to maintain some emotional and physical distance between us by making it a point to show him how i used AOL to troll for sex . . . the demonstration even included extending a tag team invitation to some cute Chelsea bottom once he expressed interest in a solo encounter with me . . . nothing would have been more destructive to my self esteem if it had happened but entertaining the prospect had the desired effect.

the power has shifted, hasn't it? asked the Blue Light Special when i made no attempt to cuddle with him after fucking him silly in the bedroom . . . maybe, i said . . . do u know that lyric from "Someone Saved My Life Tonight"? . . . when Elton sings "u almost had your hooks in me, didn't u dear?/u nearly had me roped and tied" that's kind of how i'm feeling right now . . . but by the time he left Monday morning i couldn't tell who had taken charge of our relationship or its dynamic although i was convinced i would never hear from him again.

i mean really, would U call me?

so when i picked up the phone Monday night and heard his unmistakable German accent i felt a rush as powerful as a hit from a new bottle of poppers . . . once more he succeeded in confounding my expectations . . . whenever i'm asked about what i want in a boyfriend i always reply somebody who can keep me on my toes.

u were right when u told me that i needed to spit out the words with more contempt in the speech i'm rehearsing from Richard II. my teacher told me the guy is still King, after all, defending his territory.

no question about it, dear, i'm not quite free of your hooks yet . . . the Blue Light Special can keep his rapture meter running for the time being.