Alcohol and Sex


“Eve” by Altay Sadigzade


Made you look.

How do I put this delicately? When I was a drinker, I occasionally ended up in what might be called a compromising position. The best way to describe it is a fugue state: I didn’t black out exactly, but I’d find myself half dressed, or in an unfamiliar location, or with an unlikely man wondering how in the world I had materialized.

I was the worse possible date. Oftentimes I would startle the poor fellow with a shove and an exclamation of horror that sent him running like the swain in a period piece when the cuckold comes home and there is much gathering of doublets and poet’s shirts and tumbling out of shuttered windows….

I remember one eventful Halloween, dressed as Cruella Deville.  I ended up in a very dark room, dying of thirst.  I had no idea where I was until I heard the voice of a pretty, young thing say quietly, “Are you okay?”  Oh boy.

I really didn’t want him to turn on a light – God only knows what I looked like –  but his house was like one of those caves, where there is an absence of light so profound your eyes never get used to it.  And I really needed to pee.

“Do you have a flashlight?” I asked.

The bed looked like a flock of crows had been murdered on it with my costume feathers and Deville red lipstick smeared across the pillow cases and the edges of the sheets.

I ended up dating him for three years…

Today I’m not drinking because a fugue state is no way to start a relationship…

How come you’re not drinking?