Marbles and Booze
November 27, 2011 § 3 Comments
Why is 3 a.m. always so full of memories that shouldn’t matter unless they’re part of the plot? I think movie directors who never explain why someone’s finger is missing, or introduce characters who have nothing to do with the story must have plenty of 3 a.m.s themselves, and they make choices based on a half dream logic, and I get it, but what I don’t get is why I need to recall a mean-ass dog giving birth and then eating her puppies, or the time when I was fucking around with a marble, and I put it up my butt and then I couldn’t find it again and I spent years thinking I had a marble lodged inside my guts.
The first time I ever really liked a guy that I wanted to have sex with him instead of just letting him have sex with me, we made plans to meet at his friend’s house, and when I got there I drank so much whiskey that I drank myself into a three day coma. I remember that before I passed out he was laying on top of me and when he kissed me his tongue darted in my mouth like a little goldfish, slimy and wriggling. I was drunk and terrified because I’d come this far and when he took off his glasses, his eyes were weasle-small. How could I cum so hard with these other pigs, these old men touching me and laughing and putting their spongy tongues on my undeveloped body, and yet with this guy I thought I was in love with, the feel of his body on top of mine made me need enough booze in my body to kill me.
“I know I’m an alcoholic, and here’s how I know.”, I was telling Beautiful Art Boy, a man I’ve never met, yet been texting with and talking to for over a month. He used to have a heroin issue. He doesn’t care that I drink, but I’m fairly sure we’ll never amount to anything. “I know it because I’m way too frightened of not drinking to stop. So for now, I’ll keep acting like it’s cute. I’ll keep pretending that it doesn’t take anything out of me, and that I don’t have trouble functioning because of it.”
And I don’t really. I have to be blizted out of my skull to really enjoy sex with strangers. It’s just that sometimes I get kind of weary with all the stranger fucking. It’s just that sometimes I’m reminded that most guys leave me because I drink too much. It just that sometimes at 3 a.m. I’d like to have less to remember.