Last night, I seduced myself, and I have to say that, really, I was disgusted.

You know, I can't even really say that I seduced myself, because I definitely didn't feel seduced at all. Normally, I'm a caring, generous lover to myself. Always up for a go. But last night felt perfunctory, like I owed myself to myself. It really has me questioning my feelings about me.

It was late and I was tired. I was laying in bed, dozily finishing up a New Yorker. I think I had just spent the last minute or so staring at one of their little sketches they insert into the middle of stories. It was a line drawing of a very long skateboard, two men standing on either side, pushing off in opposite directions, confused as to why they aren't moving.

"How simple and brilliant," I thought. "The best ideas always are. Why didn't I think of this?" I was ready to toss the magazine aside and turn off the light when I felt the familiar, not always unwelcome 'nudge nudge,' and I knew what it meant.

I wanted myself.

Now, like I said, it was late and I was tired. But, the thing is, I do love myself, and I thought there wouldn't be very much harm in giving in. I'm sure there were plenty of other times when I was more in the mood than myself, and I gave in anyway. I decided to play nice, this time, and besides: I promised myself I'd be quick.

It was off-putting from the beginning. Before I even had a chance to get into it a little, my hands went to work. It didn't turn me on at all, but I allowed it anyway. I suppose that's my own fault, but my resignation quickly turned to resentment.

What could possibly be sexy about this? Did I think this was turning me on? I was still spongy, barely halfway there! This is love? Who do I think I am?

My hands were everywhere.

And then, very quickly, as promised, it was over. I barely said a word to myself. I just kind of turned over, put out the light, and lay there. My eyes were open for a good long while before fatigue finally overwhelmed me.

When I woke up this morning, things with myself seemed pleasant, if a bit distant. After a while, I felt somewhat normal again, as I worked back into my routine of drinking coffee and cheking email. I don't know...I mean, I suppose that, in the grand scheme, it isn't a huge deal, but still...how could I act that way towards me and just pretend nothing had happened?

I guess that if it comes up again, I'll just need to have a little talk with myself, because I know I'm a better guy than that. Yeah, it was just the one time. Besides, every relationship takes work and communication.

I still love me.