Something about the ambience that the combination of sweat, cherry chap stick, cigarettes, and cheap beer that sets the mood just right. Couples who have been married for ten years don’t have the kind of passion created in a single slice of intoxicated underage promiscuity. Now I'm not a believer in blaming alcohol, especially the type that is cheaper than water, for the mistakes one makes under the influence and just over the sheets. Rather I praise this divine liquor for setting aside our inhibition and settling the nerves to allow for such a poetic couple of hours to pass by thereby changing the way a boy thinks about sexuality from then on. These spirits… funny word, spirits. Does more than just a mediocre job of describing what we suck down with a sugary chaser closely behind. They give us life, a soul even. Not in some theological sense to be as brash to assume that this will induce some religious experience, but more to the point that never do we feel so alive. That’s what our spirit is; it’s out mind recognition that we are alive so therefore we act as such. We live, to die. This is why men and women constantly hurl themselves out of planes with nothing more than an oversized garbage bag in our backpack to save us from becoming more one with the earth than a tree hugging, hippy, with a hefty set of pubis and a protein deficiency. Back to these drinks of enchantment. This is a potion that enlists the powerfully morally weak parts inside us. Our lust, which to be quite honest is nothing more than the feeling you get when you stub your toe, that same rage only is located in the loins. Now not all of it is the alcohol, yes that is what gets us into the situation but what keeps us there. What is the factor that takes our hands from behind the ears pressing their head against yours, to having one handful of breast and two fingers full; or well filling. I think it all depends on those first moments before the kiss. When the eyes are doing what the lips will accompany in moments. Girls of course always have some kind of smell. A fragrance that in that moment is what men imagine we would smell if we had been strolling through the pearly gates. Call us fools, because we are. Not fools as in foolish, but the type of fool that in medieval times would be a jester and masquerade ourselves just for the queen’s delight. Men are simple creatures and only find depth because it is in direct relation to the counterpart’s profundity. This all is being explained because to truly know what has occurred one must figure out how it took place and why. These were all things I learned after the fact but learned them well I did. I don’t think that without those events I would be the person, man, I am today as I sit here writing this monologue with a small amount of this ambrosia, I mentioned in the previous sentences, running through my system. For that matter because intimate details will be revealed names will not be given and the players in this theatrical adaptation of life in the 21st century. I had at this point in my life laid down very few girls, and even fewer women beside me. But in this half a page’s worth of black book entries I had already found one true love. I don’t say this term frivolously I surely loved only one. Not in a storybook way but in a realists way. I lived everyday as though she was the only one, because although many would argue the contrary, she was the only one. I knew (and still know) more about her than any soul living or dead. I know exactly how to get her metaphorical engine running. And I also know how to take it to its top speed and break down shortly after. Excuse my car similes but having a penis I am required to refer to woman’s delicate parts like that of a 250lb second generation Italian immigrant named Tony. So with this vehicle that I loved to ride came a price. She was far and away too perfect. And what does any immature 18 year old male with a superman complex do with perfection. Yes, I too took it for granted. And finally it caught up with me so after an accusation of infidelity that bystanders refutably contest occurred one drunken night. I was left in the parking lot keys in hand and tears in eyes. I couldn't blame her she was always right. And with this heavy heart which had been torn in half I proceeded to do what I had grown accustomed to after two years of monogamy. I started to sleep around. But only one that I had ever sat next to, with nothing between us but warm breath and an aura of satisfaction, did I ever look back and think that was right. As I declared and have been I have only one love. Therefore my personal feelings towards any member of the opposite sex would be called by face vale intimate. Although there was anything but intimacy in events that transpired. Except this one. She and I had never really been friends, nor had we been enemies. I think the beauty was because her and I, well we just were. And that was enough. Ill never forget the night that we had been drinking and after a while went outside and smokes cigarettes until we were entangled in what would be regrets. I don’t recall having this kind of passion with anyone before her. Granted I was in love with some one else so although physically I was more than fulfilled my body felt where the void of where my heart had previously resided. Now I never considered myself to be anything special in the bedroom, especially when this bedroom is the back of a car after being soaked in the rain. I always had a restriction on how much I felt with anyone. Still even with my heart temporarily on a sabbatical trying to remove itself from this solar system. I was able to perform and perform well. I wouldn’t say I was surprised but I definitely did not think that I could put as much into corporeal acts; as I had when I had enough love to sink a ship behind it. I don’t want to say it was luck either, maybe it was just compatibility. Whatever it was, it was good. For her at least my body wasn’t very much into it although I did like pleasing someone in a way to where afterwards I got a “Thanks”. At least made me feel right. Now I only mention this event because the following weeks would include the most amazingly passionate hook ups and expression of lust I had ever experienced. Something about her and I worked well and I made an honest woman of her. No I dint marry her, I did quite the opposite I found out the girl who had put my heart on leave, decided she would be good enough to enact another tour of duty. Now because my battlefield record had been slightly gory I had the choice to just call it quits and leave the service. Or I could battle it out and try to go for broke. Die in the battlefield gloriously or become a civilian. Fast forward two hours and one condom full of repressed anguish. I called up the new girl and said I must try one more time. I'm sorry. And as was this girl’s custom, she was cool about it. Claiming she couldn't stand in the way of love. Luckily for me I believed she was telling the truth. Little did I know I hurt her dearly. And it hurt me dearly. But the second I had pressed my body against my ex’s tepid exterior. I had flushed away all sentiment for another person. Now to jump ahead a lot of tears, more fears, and even more sex (and nearly infidelity). I sit here. Trying to see if my sorrows can tread water to keep from downing in this pool of vodka I fill in myself. I'm completely alone with nothing to show for it but this mournful disposition, and the wish that I didn’t believe “its better to have loved and lost, than to have never have loved at all”. Because before her, I didn’t believe it was true. That was a hard lesson to learn.