Brutal Honesty By Randal Houle

My friend Dave once insisted that I have sex with his wife while he watched. I refused, of course. Not out of honor, though — she simply wasn’t my type. Dave drank constantly. Still, I hung with the two of them because they picked me after my divorce. I lived downtown and Dave encouraged me to “get out there.” “You gotta get down to the Eagle,” he said. I trusted Dave’s recommendation and checked it out. Preferring women myself, I thought it was funny that he had sent me to one of Portland’s great gay clubs. The “gayness” never rubbed off onto me, though. I suppose you have to be born with it. After about a year, maybe two, Mrs. Dave called me. She said she had left Dave and could I stay with him and make sure he stays off booze? I agreed because I had been their best man and felt some obligation to help them work through it. A little more than a week passed. We repainted the house, fixed things. He stayed sober. The next day I was due to report to Mrs. Dave. Dave had been drinking that night. I was half-asleep when over a half-fifth of rum went missing. He reached for me under my sleeping bag. I told him no. He insisted. After a short physical altercation, he retreated to the other couch and jerked off. In the morning, I told Mrs. Dave that her husband missed her and she should come home.

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