I Just Said "No"

The only thing I fear more than death-by-loneliness is being stabbed to death in my sleep by a deranged girlfriend...no, that's not true. I'd rather be murdered in my sleep than endure a lifetime of bad relationships, so at the moment I am alone. That's a choice. I've actually had several overtures recently but I walked away from them all for reasons ranging from prejudice to self-preservation.

It's amazing how much you can learn about sex by not having it- the absence of humpage seems to encourage thought and reason.
Maybe I'm smarter now.
Or maybe I'm just picky.
Or scared.
Or all of the above.

In any case, I wound up giving my version of The Speech ( Let's Just Be Friends) again lately and it's starting to bother me; I am accustomed to being on the receiving end of The Speech, not to giving it- and after giving it, I realize that no matter how well-intentioned, The Speech has a tendency to be a bit disingenuous. Especially the part about remaining friends.

I have a friend here who drinks. Heavily.
Last winter, she reached out to me for help with the drinking. I can't do anything, I said, that is up to you. All I can do is listen and I will- call me anytime but don't call me if you are drunk.

She didn't call for months.

Then we bumped into each other a while back and started talking , she seemed sincere about quitting, she wanted to talk more, in private.

OK. I am cool with that.

So she invited me to dinner and when I arrived, she stank of vodka. Alcoholics like to think vodka is odorless and hence undetectable, but that is a fallacious assumption. Vodka has a strong odor and anything that's 80 proof will noticeably impair you and this woman was impaired. Wobbly drunk.

I got angry. Usually, it doesn't bother me very much to be around people who are drinking, but this was different- we were supposed to be talking about sobriety, a useless conversation to have with a drunk.

Look. I like you but I can't be around you like this.

Don't you think I'm attractive?

I should have said "no, not at the moment", but I was too nice. She is very pretty and I told her that - the next thing I knew she had slipped her distillery tongue into my mouth.

Aughh!

I swear, I could feel a 'contact drunk' from that stolen kiss. I wanted her (or at least my body did) but I knew what would happen if we slept together- I would convince myself that I was in love with her (I'm not) and try to 'rescue' her, which would fail and lead me back into drinking just so I could be with her.

I know this because I've been through it before.

To repeat my mistakes would be insane, so I did the next craziest thing, which was actually
the only sane option- I gave her The Speech.

Dickless asshole!

It didn't go over well.

Rule #1 : Don't date drunks.

Sub-Rule #1a: Don't date drunks who call you "dickless asshole."

Anyway, I must be putting out major pheromones, because a few days later I was getting a ride home from a woman I don't know very well and she asked me if I wanted to go back to her place and get high- sure, I said, why not?

I know her husband, so I assumed he'd be home and that this was just a social visit- I really should have known better. As soon as we sparked the first joint, she started talking to me about her impending divorce...man, I shoulda seen that coming. I've been there before too.

Most guys would probably have just fucked her and vamoosed, but I am not wired like that. I know what would happen- I'd wind up convincing myself that I was in love and it would end in humiliation and tears when I found out the feeling wasn't reciprocal.

Stupid, but I can't help it. It's how I am. I have an extremely naive and idealized notion of romance- it's as if my emotions stopped growing when I started my drinking career in high school and have only resumed progress now, twenty-odd years later.
I don't know where I get my ideas from- I certainly didn't grow up around well-adjusted relationships- I think my ideals are the merely the reverse of what I saw as a kid.
In my perfect world Daddy comes home at night and Mommy doesn't play with guns.
That's pretty much as far as I get with the details of my expectations.
Useless. Dreamer.
I wonder how many hopeless romantics come from broken homes?
Anyway.

So again with The Speech.

Don't you think I'm attractive?

Yes, yes I do...but I like you too much for this...which was a lie, because I don't know her very well at all. This lie made me feel bad, so I compounded the harm with honesty.

Look, I've been through this before and I'm just not emotionally suited to having affairs. I'll get hurt. You'll get hurt. Stop.

Man, I should have stuck with my lie. To her, I think it sounded like I was confessing to bedding every married woman in Virginia except her, because I somehow found her less attractive than all the other women- which wasn't true at all...I buried myself in a deep verbal hole and handed her the shovel. Instead of a spadeful of soil, she tossed this poisoned rose into my freshly-dug grave:

My husband won't touch me anymore.

Try walking home alone late at night with those words echoing in your head.
On second thought, don't.
It sucks. Take my word for it.

Rule #2: Don't sleep with married women.

Rule #3: Don't be a plot device in someone else's revenge drama.

The third rejection slip was the easiest one. It's much simpler to reject someone if you aren't interested in the first place -a gay acquaintance made an awkwardly polite move on me...dude, that's flattering and all, but I'm not gay. I didn't have to give The Speech at all, I just said "no , thanks."

When I was in my late teens I spent two or three days lost in a New Orleans dungeon.

It was during Mardi Gras and I don't remember how I got in or how I got out , but it did dispel any lingering adolescent doubts I had about my sexual orientation. It's a one-way street.
If a three-day absinthe and cocaine binge in a French Quarter dungeon doesn't bring out any hidden peccadilloes, nothing will.

Still, I thought it was kinda flattering to get hit on- most of the gay guys I know are very particular about appearance, clothes and general hygiene, so being hit on by one must indicate that I'm reasonably attractive, well-dressed and unfunky. That was rarely the case when I was drunk, so I guess I'm making progress.

Progress.

Did I tell you about this girl that I really like?

No?

Good.