I am pretty free and open with my emotions. In fact, I think my M.O. is to be a little too free and too lovey. When things are going great and a girl and I are having fun with each other, having good sexy times, enjoying the points where our lives come together, that’s a great time for me to fuck shit up! I think a good, “I love you,” right now would do a number on this thing.
Of course, I quite correctly wuss out on saying it for a while. I think of clever ways I could phrase it, maybe a, “How would you feel if I told you…” Worse yet, every couple of months I get drunk. I drink a bit socially, but I rarely “get drunk.” So, the other night, there I was, having had way too much to drink, and my phone is right there in my hand. I tell myself, it’s not really a drunk text if you really mean it!
And I do. I really, really mean it. The rum (in this particular case… last time it was super icey cold vodka) lubed me up and stripped away my fear and dialed up my courage. I wouldn’t say something I don’t really mean. It was just so much easier to finally say something I desperately wanted to say.
“I never had the guts to tell you I love you. But I do. Don’t judge me for wussing out every time. You are so remarkable. You make me so happy.”
She took it well, telling me how cute I was, that being drunky cute was nice on me, and that I was all worried for nothing, that I just had to talk to her. I should have, but I kept losing my nerve. Under all the bravado, I’m a big softy. I don’t like to be rejected. And still, I worry that I lost points.
And this is most certainly now the only time I’ve done this. Two of my other partners had their first I love yous when I was under the influence. “As long as you mean it when you’re sober,” one of them said, “I knew it was real when you were drunk, but it was somehow more real when you said it the next day.”