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Eddie never gave much thought to sex.
Of course he had his concerns about germs, STIs, STDs, and the various hygiene problems that came with exchanging bodily fluids, that was only normal. But beyond that, he didn't really care about sex. He knew his disinterest wasn't the norm, he watched countless guys in college make fools of themselves chasing after women, he heard all the jokes on TV and in the movies, he heard the bragging and whining in class, at the gym, in the office after he graduated and entered the workforce. He knew that people were obsessed with it and he wasn't and it was all fine.
Even after marrying Myra Eddie didn't care about it and his wife seemed just as happy not to have sex with any kind of constancy. She even bragged about it herself every once in awhile. Something would happen to a coworker or a book club member - a husband would be unfaithful, a boyfriend would look too long at another woman - and Myra would tell Eddie how happy she was "her Eddie-bear wasn't like those men, he was more civilized, more evolved" and they would go to sleep in their separate beds and it was all fine.
The closest Eddie came to enjoying sex was the occasional habitual relief he got in the shower after waking up with morning wood. He didn't think about anyone in particular, just focused on the sensation, and it was nice. He liked it. It was like an excellent morning stretch. Or the satisfaction of a personal best at his morning run. It was fine, but he wouldn't exactly upend his life or his routines to chase the feeling.
Then he turned 28.
Myra was out at a book club meeting and Eddie was lazing around after a surprise early day at work. Normally he wasn't back at the apartment until after dark, Myra always there and ready to fuss. It was a relief to have the place (and the TV) to himself for a change. Myra chose what they watched and when they watched it so Eddie was going to take advantage of her rare absence. God knew when he'd get another chance.
He flipped through the channels, pausing on a stand up special.
The guy wasn't funny.
Eddie didn't get why he was still watching.
The jokes were bland, phoned in vulgarity.
The only redeeming quality was the comedian himself. He was charismatic, energetic, his expressions opened him up to the audience's laughter and he seemed to bask in every drop of attention. He was tall, long limbed, poorly dressed, his glasses took up a sizable portion of his face.
Eddie's gaze kept darting across his features. Certain gestures he made caught Eddie's attention, his occasional laughs (at his own jokes, of fucking course) made Eddie reluctantly smile, and his eyes were admittedly arresting - there was something behind them that made Eddie question who the guy was beyond the played out dick jokes. Eddie watched the comedian in rapt attention and ignored the fact that he didn't even like his comedy that much.
