While Greg was in the bathroom, Harvey started gathering all of the empty beer bottles off the kitchen table. We had gathered to discuss the hanging of the show and while everyone was in agreement, there were some questions that could only be answered once we were in the space.

Harvey's penis and balls art was more than misogynistic, it was grandiosely hip-- pop art of the 70's that was attempting to sell as art of the 90's. "It's rebelling against the political correctness that's strangling our culture." Stated Harvey. Or rather, that was his pathetic rationalization. I didn't really care because I knew it would only make our good art stand stronger against his bad art.

As he began to do the dishes, he rolled up his sleeves, when suddenly he did something I didn't quite understand. He unbuttoned his top shirt button, exposing a fan of chest hair. Was he hot? He continued with the soapy water, taking the sponge and wiping streaks of foam across the porcelain dishes.

He wiped his brow.

"Are you all right?"

"Just...it's warm in here."

He attempted to open the window above the sink, but with his wet hands, he had difficulty grasping the handle and pushing it forward.

I rose from the table and reached across the sink, when suddenly I could feel Harvey's body leaning against mine as we both pushed at the window handle. I could feel his breath across my neck as he held onto the handle.

"Let go. It's open." I said.

He calmly looked at me and then suddenly released his hand. The window opened. I lost my balance, moving towards him, his muscular hands dripping in soapy water, catching me before I fell to the floor.

And then I realized his game. Like some primordial beast strutting his appendages, Harvey's unbuttoning of shirt and rolling of his sleeves exposing his hairy forearms was some kind of male dance.

I had one question for him. DON'T YOU KNOW I'M A LESBIAN!?!?!

"Harvey, what are you doing?" I asked, moving him away from me.

"I was just helping you from falling." He quipped, wiping the pretend sweat from his brow as he unbuttoned another shirt button, his furry pecks now in full view.

"You're coming on to me, aren't you?" I asked.

He froze, a tad surprised at my blunt question. "No, it's hot in here."

"Don't you think you're barking up the wrong tree?"

"What...do you mean?"

"I'm a lesbian. You know that. Why are you doing this?"

He paused, smiling, until finally he responded. "I don't care if you're a lesbian. I find lesbians attractive-- in fact, I've slept with a couple."

Greg came back into the room, feeling the tension in the air. "What's up?" He asked.

"Harvey here is pretty much like most straight men. He thinks he can turn a lesbian straight."

I walked out of the room, hearing Greg talking to Harvey whom quickly denied doing anything.

Great, I thought, not only does this confirm I don't like Harvey's art, but it also confirms I dislike its inspiration.