I started dating the Minotaur because of Colleen; at the time she was going with a friend of his. The whole thing was a surprise to me because I’d never been attracted to Greek men.
    This is how it happened. Colleen’s new guy, Ian, was known by many names, most commonly The Dullahan. But when I met him, Colleen said, “Please, just Ian. You wouldn’t believe some of the things people call him!” I was stunned she would talk that way in front of him, but then again, he didn’t have any ears. He was a headless man on a headless horse, and carried a whip made of human spine everywhere he went. He was a real hit at dance bars on Goth nights, a local legend, but otherwise his life was fairly lonely, Colleen confided. Ian worked from home, driving up traffic numbers for various websites by clicking on certain ones all day long. That was how he and Colleen met — through an online dating site. She said he gave good email. She’d always had a penchant for the dark and the bizarre. They’d had a few drinks, hit a club, and gone home together that first night. Colleen told me that Ian was insane in bed. He really knew how to take control, not like these metrosexual types the city was so full of who she usually wound up getting fixed with. The fact that Ian couldn’t talk really did it for her; she’d always liked the silent type and here, he had no head at all. An Irishman without an accent — what was the point? I wondered.
    They’d had four dates and she felt it was time for him to meet her friends. I was the only one to agree. We went to see a movie. Dark places seemed to be the one spot she could take Ian; people got scared if they saw them out together. The three of us quickly crossed the lobby, making for the cover of darkness when the Minotaur recognized Ian and came over.
    The Minotaur was the buffest guy I’d ever seen. Maybe it’s a tired old cliché, but my knees got weak, that’s just what happened. He kind of scared me with his horns, but were they any worse than the stupid hats worn by college boys or the stylized helmets of avid cyclists? I’d dated a few of those. The Minotaur’s name was Ambrose, and he seemed like a really sweet guy. I mean, you’d expect him to be an egomaniac with that bod, but he wasn’t. He just caught Ian up on what he’d been doing — it sounded like he was into a totally different scene than Ian — then said he’d catch us in the show, that his girlfriend was getting popcorn and he should get back to her.
    “But we’ve barely gotten to know you,” Colleen put in expertly. “I’m Colleen and this is Carrie.”
Colleen must have seen me sneaking glances at the leather skirt Ambrose wore which barely covered his you-know-what (and let me tell you, like an ox). A true friend, she was quick to invite them out with us for drinks afterwards.
    We all sat together in the darkened theatre. Somehow I wound up elbow-to-triceps with Ambrose. His date was a real harpy. She was the ugliest thing I ever saw. Her skin was positively gray, and where it turned into feathers, yuck. She had giant black wings and she wouldn’t just lean over Ambrose for the popcorn, she would practically swoop down with a hiss and steal it before Ambrose could get any. I couldn’t help but notice. One time it happened, he and I exchanged glances, actually. I gave him a sympathetic look and wondered how long he’d been with her.