“Do you love me?” she asked, staring into my eyes, only inches apart.
Never answer that question in the following two scenarios (either combined, or individually):
During (or just following) amazing sex.
Just after you, or she, drinks copious amounts of alcohol.
An orgasm activates the same pleasure centers in the brain as heroin. If you do it right, it should be a lot cheaper too. In the short run, anyways. I’m not sure if I mean the heroin or the orgasm.
The question itself is not meant to be a trap, but its snare locks down tighter than a pit bull’s jaw. Once that can of worms is opened, there’s no closing it. It’s a beautiful, terrible thing, admission of love. When it’s not yet sincere, you can either backtrack and never likely have another chance, or “fake it ‘til you make it” and hope it works out to be sincere eventually. You would think a smart and insightful people could differentiate between “sober” and “fucked-up” admissions of commitment.
You would think.
“Of course I do.” I answered.
Yep, that’s what happened that drunken sexually charged evening.
All "Airline Love Story" posts: http://thestoriesofbradk.blogspot.com/search/label/The%20Airline%20Love%20Story
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