Some More

I've left out the part where John and I actually did have sex, twice, mostly because it was rather bizarre, and kinda had very little to do with our overall time spent together. Honestly, I only have a vague recollection of those nights, and can sort of place them in a general time frame. I don't even remember intimate details, which is truly strange to me, since I can very clearly picture him and hear his words in my head.

The first time was one of those nights he'd walked farther in the opposite direction of his house, just to call me to take him home. We were literally separated by a mountain at that time, he lived on one side, I lived on the other. Granted, it's not the largest mountain around, but still . . . I got in my car and drove him home. Since I was completely freaking sober, (which may be why it's harder to picture things precisely, I'm backward like that) I remember some confusion as to whether or not he wanted me to stay or just drop him off. He was completely wasted and decided to show me just how much he wanted me to stay. Again, I don't really remember how it went, probably because I do remember feeling horrible that we had spent so much time together without having sex and I was sober and should have at least tried to stop his drunk ass, but I really, really didn't want to stop him. It was a very strange feeling, and also karma biting my ass hard.

We never really talked about that night. He mentioned that he needed more than just a condom, so I bought a bunch of spermicidal shit, etc., brought it over and left it there without saying a fucking word about it. When it was already too late, our mutual friend told me John was probably talking about me going on the pill. *forehead slap* Duh. Chances are, he thought I understood what he meant and chose not to do a damn thing about it. In reality, had he said explicitly what he meant and wanted, I would've gone to the Dr. that day.

The other time we had sex, the situation was reversed. I was piss ass wasted, literally, and he was sober. I don't even know how I ended up at his apartment. I can guess I drove there after the bar, but I'm really not sure. I know he felt bad because I was so drunk and he thought he should've stopped me because he was sober. I don't even know what time of year this happened. In fact, all I really know is I pissed his bed afterward, and left without saying a word or offering to help clean his sheets and mattress. How sweet of me. I know him well enough to know he thought he deserved my drunken incontinence.

We didn't mention that night. Shocking, isn't it?

We kept missing and fumbling our chances for a long, long time.

Four or five years after he graduated, he moved several states away. Instead of a one hour trip, it was a 3.5 hour trip to visit him. We met up in NYC one day with a mutual friend and the guy I was seeing. Not long after, I made the trip to his new town. We went out drinking with another of my closest friends from college. When we got back to his apartment, John mentioned that he would sleep on the sofa. I told him to get in bed. We talked for awhile, and he started to kiss me. I made one of the biggest mistakes of my life when I stopped him by saying, "If I thought you'd touch me when you were sober, I would never, ever even think of stopping you." He said, "Aw, come on, you don't really mean that, do you?" and I apologized. The next morning I kept waiting for him to prove me wrong, but he didn't, so I cut my trip short and went home. That was the last time I saw him, although we did stay in touch for a few more years. He moved to the south and bought his first house. We talked about me visiting, but I could never make it happen. One year when I called to wish him a happy birthday, his number had been disconnected, and no one I know has any idea where he is.