Saturday night, during a routine OSCW post-show triathlon (karaoke, drinking, and woman-charming), a couple of the wrestlers and I found ourselves in one of those uncomfortable two women and three-guys situations. The women invited us back to their van for some free candy, and I ended up the odd man out for the stupid, nitpicky reason that I have a girlfriend I'm madly in love with.
Which is kind of annoying. Granted, in most cases, having a girlfriend would disqualify me from sharing in any shenanigans but in this case I feel there were a couple of extenuating circumstances.
Circumstance One: Both the wrestlers were injured. There was no way they could manage a van orgy, what with one of then nursing a sore arm and the other with a knee that locked into position with every other movement. We in the wrestling business have certain standards to maintain.
Circumstance Two: One of the girls LIKED me.
You know how some people who grow up broke are obsessed with money or people who grew up hungry often have issues around food? I'm like that with women.
Because I was never popular with the ladies growing up, I developed a mental rule that could be best described as "take any woman who likes you whether you feel a connection with them or not."
Or as the voice in my head Puts It, 'Don't Leave Nookie On the Table.'
Tired? Not feeling the connection? Already seeing someone else? Too bad, the voice tells me (in case you're wondering, the voice sounds suspiciously like a well-known African-American stand-up comic). "There are nerds starving in Africa who would be happy with The Nookie. You can't waste The Nookie. You never know when The Nookie will come round again."
I'm sure the voice in my head is well-intentioned, but I'm not convinced of the rightness of its cause, especially when it resorts to such a stock comic device of repeating the word "The Nookie" over and over, hoping that makes the bit funnier.
That was also one of the reasons I've been deeply afraid of committing to one relationship in my life. I was always worried temptation would come along and I wouldn't be able to resist.
Saturday night, I didn't have to resist. The choice was no choice at all, despite the voice's protestations. I found how easily I was able to walk away reassuring. Maybe I can do this commitment thing after all.
I walked to Bastet's house without looking back (although I did make a mental note to check the two wrestler's Facebook pages for any combination of the words "van" and "orgy").
I slipped in the door, rubbed the cat's belly, and went upstairs. I slipped into bed beside my love. She murmured in her sleep and woke up. We exchange pleasantries, and stories about our day (including the one I'm telling right now--I love how honest I feel talking about things like this with her) and she drifted back off to sleep in my arms.
It doesn't matter how much Nookie is left on the table. This is the only woman I need.
I dozed and snuggled closer, feeling the familiar warmth of her body, hearing the familar rhythm of her breath. Inside, I was aglow with the warmth of love and the self-satisfaction of moral uprightness. I had faced my insecurities and emerged victorious. Remain on the table, Nookie; I am nookie-obsessed no longer.
Then, as I was fading into slumber, the voice in my head, calling out as if from somewhere far away:
"But she LIKED you."
It never ends.