Sylvia had just set the fourth glass of wine on the table in front of me. For the fourth time I listened to myself say no and for the fourth time she raised her glass and toasted some obscure notion of our relationship. I was losing control again the way I always lose control after a few drinks. I could feel myself being pulled back into the pillows on the couch with no chance to save myself. My thoughts of standing up and walking out were useless. I always seemed to find the energy to raise the rejected glass of wine one more time to my lips though. This act was sanctioned by all those parasitic manifestations of humanity I called my family and friends. We all had the uncanny ability to suck the life out of each other, then wallow in the collective misery we had created for ourselves. We pretended to drink in order to numb the pain, but in reality we were drinking to create more pain so we could believe we were really alive. Nothing was more frightening to us than standing alone, healed, in a world full of sick people. And so I drank the fourth glass of wine, said no to the fifth, then lifted it also to my lips.

Sylvia and I had slithered onto the floor together. She had removed her top and was struggling to slink out of her panties. I refused her as I had refused the wine. I laid upon my back, limp, as she struggled to remove my shirt and pants. I closed my eyes and watched the images of my family cheering her on to victory. The alcohol, the lack of self-respect and the dysfunctional support system made any attempt of protest on my part impossible. I felt the warmth of her mouth as she attempted to stimulate my semi-flaccid penis. She inserted two fingers of her left hand between her legs, then on every fourth stroke she held them under my nose as I turned my head from side to side in protest. I understood what she was doing and I knew she would succeed, for we had never made love sober. I was not sure I could even do it sober! She inserted her fingers inside me, rubbing my prostate to keep me hard. Each time I said no she lowered herself onto me with an emphatic "YES!" I had come to discuss our breakup, to tell her I wanted no part of her in my life anymore. I had needed the alcohol to give me courage to go through with it. Now I was laid out helpless on the floor, unable to defend myself again.

I awoke the next morning to find a note on the kitchen table. "My darling, last night was wonderful. Perhaps we should reconsider getting married!" Reading that note made me more sober than I had ever believed possible in my entire life. How could I ever explain that I, a man, had been raped by a woman. The thought of the humiliation I would have to endure only made me want another drink. That was six months ago, the same day I moved to the valley and left no forwarding address. Out of a desperate need to survive I left my friends and family behind, along with the sickness and misery that was such an important part of their lives. I started a new life with no alcohol and a new self-respect. I began a healthy relationship with a man I had met at the Alcoholics Anonymous meetings. My life seemed to be good for the first time in conscious memory. With Norman I was able to learn how to make love without drugs. For the first time I was able to connect with someone who supported my health and self-esteem. I was able to learn how to connect my feelings with the physical act of making love and to accept love from someone else.

But then one day last week Sylvia showed up at my door, six months pregnant and full of alcohol and threats. I wasn’t strong enough yet to keep from being pulled back into her world. My boyfriend was able to get rid of her for the first night. The next day she returned with the sheriff and a warrant for my arrest. When I was finally released from jail I went straight to the nearest bar and got drunk. How could I possibly prove it was I who was raped? Norman stood beside me and helped keep me from being pulled back into the trap. I was tempted to go back to Sylvia just to save him the pain of being dragged into our sick lives. She had offered to drop all the charges against me if I agreed to marry her. I was not accustomed to someone strong enough to remain sober under such pressure. Without Norman I would never have seen the possibility of having positive support around me. Now it is impossible for me to be pulled back into the trap that Sylvia is so adept at setting. Perhaps one day Norman and I will have the chance to adopt my baby and save him from a miserable life.