to get laid awfully bad to put up with that squeaky voice, the irrational demands, the vapid conversation, and her belittling of him because she makes more as a waitress than he does as an intern at a local law firm – disregarding what their earning potential will be 5 years from now, when he is an established attorney and she is still – a waitress. If she were supporting him through law school I could half-way understand her insulting – and very public – remarks, but the fact is, she lives in his apartment, which he pays for, and contributes almost nothing except an available cunt and an occasional home-cooked breakfast afterward.

Brian turned his deep-set, haunted eyes on me, and said “Let me off the leash permanently – the bitch moved out this week. Found another guy who makes better money.”

Secretly exulting, but publicly commiserating, I said “Oh, man, that’s rough. How the hell could she do that, after all you’ve done for her?”

That opened a floodgate of venting, and several beers (and more than a few shots) later, partly through my subtle suggestions, he had come around to the fact that her departure was a good thing. By that time, the basketball game was over, and the final scores for baseball were posted, and The Taverne was closing. As Brian got up off his barstool the full force of the evening’s imbibements hit him, and he staggered a little. I knew that he usually drove to The Taverne, and sure enough, his car was parked just outside. When I suggested that he was in no condition to drive, and that he should come up to my place across the street for some coffee, he readily agreed. We both drained some essential fluids in The Taverne’s men’s room before we left. I had one arm around his broad shoulders, guiding him into my building, and as we got on to the elevator up to my loft condo, he leaned back against the wall of the elevator car and said “Oh, man – you’re the only one I could talk to about all this stuff. I don’t have anyone in town here that understands like you do. I’m so glad you were there for me tonight.”

Being myself several years older than Brian, and having experienced the reactions- or should I say rejections? - Of some of the cute young bar guys to the touch of grey at my temples, I was quite gratified to hear that he appreciated the fact that I’d been around the block a few times, and knew at least something of what he was feeling. Most 20-something guys look at someone like me, who is 30-something-nearly-40, as positively dinosaurian.

I got him out of the elevator, and into my place, and sprawled on my couch with his leather mules kicked off, his bare feet with their sweet morsels of pink toes curled in the sheepskin rug in front of my couch. I brought him some coffee, with Bailey’s instead of cream, and he sipped it and said, “I’ve not felt this close to another guy since high school. I used to have a lot more guy