One night a while back, I got pissed-off at him for not giving it up until we'd talked for hours and I just told him that I wasn't with him to TALK but to F*@k and if we weren't going to for another five hours, I had to go. These weren't dinner and conversation length interactions, these were him up and down off the couch, changing the music on the television ten times, going on-and-on about his ex, how great hockey is, how much the market sucks, or how fantastic the early Rolling Stones were but they lost steam after a while. He had called me, after all. I assumed he knew the deal. And his response was beyond. He tried to placate me at first with words - Aw, c'mon! Why so crass? What happened to talking before sex? - and when I wouldn't budge, he yelled in real pain, "SHE BROKE MY HEART!" And that was my cue to leave, but not before I asked him for twenty dollars for a cab home, which he gave me.
Back to last Wednesday night, we're talking about her and he just cannot help telling me about their last encounter and how she'd called him up and told him that all she wanted was to get wasted and screw, and he wanted her even more for that. (That wounded me.) And she's not even the best-looking woman he's been with but there is something about her smell that makes him crazy.
I'm sitting patiently for him to breath and then I said, "You do know why I'm here."
"Oh. You're right. I'm sorry. It's just that you're my sounding board for all of this stuff with her, you know. You're right. I do know."
I figured he'd already been pounding back the vodka and orange so I repeated myself, "You know WHY I'm here?"
"No. What? I thought you said, 'you know I'm here," A brief pause and he said, "Sex?"
Bingo!
He smiled, he knew all along what I was after. He said, "Well, to be honest, I don't know if I can. I had it last night at like 3 a.m. But, I was thinking we might just after we've gone out."
I should have gone back to my neighborhood and hung out with my friends, but I wanted to see where this was going. It's really not the sex that I wanted (not anymore) A part of me wanted to be there for him because I could. I also really wanted to go along for the ride that is Mr. Hockey. Going out with him is like riding the tilt-a-whirl that uses alcohol for electricity. It still kinda lights me up, makes me dizzy, and I feel like I've had an experience, every time I see him - good and bad. It may sound weird or sad of me to say, but most of life is not nearly as eventful.
The rest of the evening, we talked with lonely-hearts and party-goers alike who all told Mr. Hockey that I was fantastic and he should hold on to me, that I was a keeper. Around 1:30 a.m. we're outside smoking and we kiss like horny teenagers. I was back on the bandwagon again and we left. Back at his place I think things are going in one direction and then he starts playing music and pours himself a drink. He wants me to wait but I just can't and I pass out.
Here comes the Doogie Houser ending. I have said it before and I'll say it again, recycling is not always cost-effective.
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