How I Met Adam, Part 8

Two weeks past.  I was feeling much better but I still had not called Hank….but Adam had.  That Friday night he showed up at Hank’s wasted again.  There was probably a lot that went on that I had rather not know about but the most important thing was that Adam told Hank that he had drinking problem and that he wanted to quit but couldn’t.  Hank said, “Well you know who you should call…”  So the next day he did.  Adam called me and said he wanted to take me up on my offer to help him with his drinking.  I congratulated him on his decision and ask him to meet me at the local diner, Eat Well.  When we got there, we chose a table in the corner and I took out one of the crayons from the little plastic cup they keep on the table so people can draw on the paper that covers the tables.  “Before anything, there’s something we should get out of the way.”  I said. ” I know that we have had this attraction thing going on but here are the reasons we can’t date.” And I literally made a list on the table. 1) It would kill Hank.  2) Hank told me that you told him that you are a bisexual and didn’t know if you could go the rest of your life without being with a woman.  There ain’t no way in hell I’m going to be with a man that I have to worry if he’s off chasing pussy.  Sorry. 3) Conventional wisdom dictates that if you’re going to give this sobriety thing a whirl, you should focus solely on that for at least a year and shouldn’t even think about getting into a relationship. 4) There’s no way I’m going to date someone who is newly sober.  I remember how fucking crazy I was and relationships are hard enough anyway without throwing that into the equation!

Then I think I made up a couple more and then parked my crayon and smiled across the table at him, proud of myself for having been so clear about my boundaries.  Now here’s where you get a clear glimpse into the psyche of the man I married.  He didn’t then nor has he ever played along with my little games like I would have him to.  What I had hoped he would say would be something like, “Awe come on Man, I like you so much.  Don’t you think we could try to make a go of it anyway?” …or something like that.  What he said was, “Fine.”  Disappointed and a little shocked I just said, “Well at least throw me a bone, Bro!”  He said, “Okay, I guess if we could, I’d like to.”  It was better than nothing.  So I left it at that and began to tell him the story of my drinking career and how I was able to stop.  He listened attentively and was clearly appreciative of my willingness to help.  He told me a bit of his story, which sounded all too familiar to me.  I asked him if he’d like to hang out with other sober friends of mine the next morning, which was Sunday.  He said that he would.  When I told him we usually met up around 7:30 am, his teeth nearly fell out.  I told him that if he was going to make it, he’d have to throw himself completely into being sober.  It’d have to be the most important thing in his life.  He seemed to get it.  Then he said, “Here’s the thing; it’s Saturday.  I usually make it all week without drinking and then blow it out on the weekends.  I don’t know how easy it’s going to be tonight, a Saturday night.  “Well,” I said “It may not sound like the most exciting Saturday night to you, but I’m watching the HBO series Oz on DVD at my place.  You’re welcome to join me if you want.”  “That sounds cool.” He said.  Now what you have to realize is that Oz is like soft gay porn anyway.  We sat in front of the TV and shared a spit cup while watching to see which of the incarcerated bad boys was going to top which of the other incarcerated bad boys. Each time my lips touched where his did on the shared spit cup, I felt like I was a twelve year old boy again.  Thrilling.  (I fully realize that half of you will think that’s the grossest thing you’ve ever heard.  The other half of you will get it.  Maybe it’s a queer redneck thing.  Y’all can weigh in with your comments.) It got late and Adam said, “Well, I better hit the road if I’m going to make it aaaall the way to Venice and aaaaall the way back over here so very early tomorrow morning.”  I jumped on the hint.  “Au-ight, you stay here.  But I’ve only got the one bed” (and a tiny love seat and two chairs in the living room.  There really wasn’t anywhere else for him to sleep except the floor.)  “But NO SEX!”  “Agreed.”  Who were we kidding?

My room was completely dark.  We were lying in bed and I could tell he was facing my side.  I was facing him.  Our faces couldn’t have been more than a foot apart because I could feel and smell his breath.  I regulated my breathing so that when he breathed out, I would breathe in– taking the air from his lungs into mine. So needless to say the connection of our breath brought our mouths together like magnet and steel and there was no resisting it any more.

Now, of course I can look back and see how ridiculous it was for me to think that night would end any other way.  We put ourselves in a situation where there was absolutely no way we wouldn’t end up doing what we had both wanted to do since the first time we saw each other.  I’m sure, too that many of you will judge me harshly for not doing whatever was necessary to make sure we didn’t end up in bed together that night, especially since he was saying that he was ready to get sober and had come to me for help.  Judge away.  I plead guilty on all accounts.  Let ye who is without sin cast the first stone.

After that night, he never left…I mean he went to work and stuff still, but in essence, all these years later we are still on our first date.

Tomorrow I’ll tell you how I proposed.



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