In math, we have two main types of functions: implicit and explicit. Everyone's seen explicit functions. a = 4b - 7 for example. Implicit functions are trickier devils since they're usually expressed in relation to the variable is given by an equation for which the function has not been explicitly solved.

x + y = 2, for example.

Since solving for both variables requires implicit differentiation, finding a solution often takes more time than an explicit function. Same goes for relationships. Two different people coming together to form a constant. It begs the question: if I had an (e)x, do you need to know (wh)y?

"So tell me about your ex," he asked while cuddled on the couch watching American Beauty.

"Which one?" I was in the kitchen wrapping up the remaining dinner for lunch tomorrow.

I'd heard the line before. Too many times, actually. It always arose, like a bruised taste bud you can't stop flicking for savoring the salty pain it brings. In the middle of a conversation or while cuddling on the couch during an intimate date, it seemed like a valid thing to ask. What guy doesn't want to know about the one who made you available? The one who freed you from one more lie, another cheating tale, or an eleventh-hour stand-up?

Me. I don't want to know, and I don't care. So you had an ex? Big hairy deal. My exes are exes because I'd like to keep them that way. Unsolved and unknown.

"Well…my ex. Hmm. I'd rather not. I'm having such a good time with you; let's not go there."

Too late. We were already there, seated, and halfway through the main course. Admitting to anything else would just be the cherry on top, so to speak.

The guy in question was McQuickie. Somehow, after our recent marathon sex session, he decided to want to stay over instead of fleeing like a robber from the scene of a crime. I ordered pizza, we made out, and then came the $64 question.

I figured I might as well answer the kid.

"Well there's The Ex…"

I ran across The Ex last weekend. He responded to my Adam4Adam profile, his picture a double-fisted, middle-finger salute to "all y'all hataz". He dropped me his digits, and I reluctantly called. He wanted us to catch up and go over old times. He was still with his girlfriend, but had recently picked up a boy on the side to tide his "leanings". He suggested we hook up and have sex. I told him no. He said I was still the same scared kid he knew five years ago. Sure. You go on believing that if it makes you sleep better at night. I asked him when was the last time he got tested. He said he didn't need to because he was uncut.

The Ex + Karsh = Big Mistake.

"…and then there's The Why…"

I ran across The Why last week while I was at lunch with Goofball. He was downtown for MegaFest and said he was hiding out because while he came with his fiancee, his boyfriend decided to "surprise" him by dropping intown from Macon for "good Christian fellowship". Or maybe just some good Christian fellow's hip. He said I was looking good. I returned the compliment, as his meaty pecs were looking damn nice under his tight-stretched crisp dress shirt. He hugged me and whispered in my ear "I want you so damn bad right now."

The Why + Karsh = Sacrilegious.

"…and then there's Opportunity."

I last saw Opportunity about two months ago while at a concert. We didn't exchange words, but I wanted to so bad. And not bad words either, which is surprising. He was the only guy that matched me in my musical leanings, got all my jokes and appreciated all my eccentricities. Not to mention great head. But for all that openness, his heart still remained off limits. Mine on the other hand…

Opportunity + Karsh = Failure.

"And so that's them…those are my exes. What about you?" I looked up and he had stopped the movie and was putting his shoes on.

"Umm…I just remembered…I think I have to go. I forgot something I had to get done for tomorrow."

"Oh…ok. Well, I'll talk to you tomorrow, OK?"

"Sure…I'll call you." He leaned over the breakfast bar and gave me a quick peck before leaving. He hasn't called back sense.

Damn equations.