I was almost in love with Dane. He was smart, funny, handsome. You could tell he was an ex-hippie just by looking at him, with the thick beard and friendly demeanor. But I'd never dated anybody who had kids before, and wasn't sure I could handle it. Sure, it gave Dane an air of responsibility and masculinity, but also a kindly-dad attitude that wasn't quite as easy to take.

After five months of dating, he invited me to his house for a Friday night. This was definitely a smart move. I drove from seedy brown North Hollywood to beautiful green Sierra Madre and it was like Dorothy entering Oz. The streets were clean and narrow, and lined with restored old Victorian homes. Dane's was the nicest, all filigree and gingerbread, and as we walked up the cobblestone path he pointed out the chickens roosting high up in the orange trees.

And that, as they say, was that.

That night the four of us had dinner like the family in a 50s sitcom, except with dad cooking vegetarian food. The kids were sweet but had clearly inherited Dad's boring. Thirteen-year-old Darren and ten-year-old Suzi talked about nothing but the environment. The planet was heating! The ice caps were melting! Animals were going to go extinct! Still, I was startled by the ease with which I was being integrated into their lives. Ordinarily when I went home with somebody I'd feel like I was just there for the sex and shouldn't intrude on real life. Here I was pulled in with open arms. There was no "Who is this dude?", no "Does he have to be here?" When the four of us cleaned up after dinner it seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

Since they didn't own a television set, bedtime came early. By ten the kids were in their rooms, and Dane and I were naked atop a wrought-iron bed. For a while we wrestled under the comforter, but pretty quickly decided we didn't need the extra heat. We'd just taken what I assumed would be our final position when I heard Dane say something other than "Oh, yeah!"

"Darren," he said quietly, "do you want something?"

I followed his eyes and saw Darren standing three feet away. "I'm worried about the great white whale," he said.

I froze, unsure what to do. Uncouple? That'd be awkward. Sure, we'd look a little more comfortable, but we'd also expose more flesh. Throw a blanket over us? We were laying on them. Scream? Whistle? I decided to follow Dane's lead, which was pretend that nothing was wrong.

"They'll be okay," Dane said. "A lot of governments are taking steps to protect them. We'll talk about it tomorrow." Then, almost as an afterthought: "And remember, when our door is closed it means we want privacy. Okay?"

Darren murmured his assent and wandered out. Dane and I resumed what we were doing, though it was hard to get back into the mood. I'd never had a kid walk in on me before, but assumed it was a one-shot deal.

The following Friday the same thing happened. This time Darren was upset about the African elephant. Dane told him scientists were saving their DNA so they wouldn't go extinct, then reminded him of the closed-door policy. I figured it wasn't my place to interrupt so I didn't say a word. Besides, my mouth was full.

The third time it happened I knew I had to do something. The kid was destroying our sex life. At the ripe old age of twenty-five I was having problems getting an erection, intricably linking my tumescence with the appearance of a tow-headed thirteen-year-old. "Can't we put a lock on the door?" I asked after Darren had gone off assured by dad that polar bears could swim to safety.

"I don't like having locks in the house," Dane said. "I don't like saying there's somebody I don't trust."

"It's not trust, it's privacy," I replied. "I don't like knowing that a kid can name fourteen positions his dad takes in bed."

"He's a kid," Dane repeated. "He doesn't care what we're doing. He's used to being the center of attention, and now he's upset that he's not."

"He knows exactly what we're doing. In fact, I don't think he gives a damn about the environment: I think he wants to watch."

Dane didn't get mad: he went quiet and the lights went off. The next morning he was cordial at breakfast, then I remembered non-existent things I had to do. We didn't speak again until Thursday, when Dane called and asked if I'd be over on Friday night. Judging from the patriarchal tone in his voice I knew we were skating on thin ice. On the way over, I came up with a plan that'd settle things once and for all.

Usually after dinner we'd tear off our clothes the second the bedroom door closed. This time, I decided, it'd be different. "I'm not especially tired," I told Dane, laying out flat and fully-clothed on the bed. "I think I'll read a magazine." I shuffled through the stack on the night stand: Vegetarian Cooking. Victorian Homes. Mother Jones. I grabbed the latter and flipped through, desperate for anything interesting. "Look at this!" I said, randomly pointing at a picture. And then, in a louder voice: "Wow! That's amazing! Wow! That's FANTASTIC!"

Dane looked at me before looking at the picture. "Composting? You're interested in composting?"

"I've always wanted to do that!" I confirmed at the top of my lungs. "It looks fantastic. C'mon, let's do it! Let's do it!"

"We don't have a garden, so we don't need to."

"But I want to!" I all but screamed. "LET'S DO IT! Yeah, baby! That's what I want! That's what I really, REALLY want!"

"Okay, okay. I'll look into it."

I peeked over toward the door. Nothing. Dane was already eyeing me like I was going to lunge at him with a sharpened zucchini, but I knew this had to work. The kid was probably standing at the door. One more bizarre outburst and he'd come barreling in.

I jabbed a finger at the article. "THAT'S SOOOO GOOD! OOOOH OOOOH! THAT'S REALLY, REALLY GOOD! OMIGOD! Oh. My. GODDDDD!!!"

I looked at the door expectantly, and this time Dane caught my look. "I don't believe this," he said.

"ME NEITHER!" I replied. "I'VE NEVER FELT ANYTHING LIKE THIS BEFO -- "

"Maybe you should go."

I glanced over at him just to make sure, then grabbed my overnight bag. I said goodbye quieter than anything I'd said in the previous five minutes. Sadly exiting that gorgeous house I passed Darren on the porch with a cigarette in his hand. "Well," I snapped, "you certainly got a good education."

He nodded, exhaling smoke through his nose. "I learned all about faking it from mom."