I'm not a simple man, and I hate Lynyrd Skynyrd, but love, for me, is simple. My girlfriend buys me food and sucks my dick. On the weekends we watch With Nail and I and match, drink for drink, the amount of alcohol consumed in the film. We've been together four years. My liver may fail me, but she won't. I love her.

But love wasn't always this simple. It was once impossible. I'm not gay, but I used to love a man named Jack. I met him at a bar when I was seventeen. The bartender threw me out and I threw up. Jack drove me home. A cop pulled us over. I explained that Jack was driving, but he didn't understand my slurred oinks and locked me up for the night. Jack stayed with me. He helped me sleep and kept me warm. When I woke, he was gone and I felt like shit... but I was in love.

I started sneaking Jack into my room at night. I'd pretend he was a naked Celine Dion and we'd make love till morning light. His body was hard and smooth. His lips glistened like glass. I'd suck him dry and swallow his juices. They didn't taste good, but they felt good burning through my body and fulfill my thirst for love.

Sometimes Jack would sleep with my friends and family, but I was never lonely because—as the pimp at the liquor store said—he had enough love for everyone. My friends and family didn't agree. They were jealous. They said I was spending too much time with Jack, and they called me a drunk.

Maybe they were right—about me spending too much time with Jack, not about me being a drunk—because my grades started suffering from too much fondling and not enough studying. Then one day a teacher caught me in the bathroom opening my mouth and letting Jack's fluids come inside it. I was expelled.

Our relationship had to end, so I joined the AA to help me forget about Jack. Before I was dropped from the team for striking out too much, I met my girlfriend there. She was one of the coaches. I don't love Jack anymore. Sometimes I fool around with a dude named Jose, but it's ok because my girlfriend does too... and it's only when we're watching With Nail and I.

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Christopher Forsley writes and lives in San Francisco. He contributes to 16th & Mission Comix. His book of satire, Bums of the Bay, was recently published by Seven7h Tangent, and he has a graphic novel from Spark Plug Comics coming out later this year. Buy those and read other writings at www.ChristopherForsley.com.