The other night after dinner and several glasses of wine, my friend Sarah confided in me that her boyfriend was a pre-mature ejaculator. This was a sad story that I could not help but laugh about sympathetically. I gave her my condolences and my promises of secrecy. I kept that promise too, until about a month later at a cast party for something or other that my friend Tom was in and the topic of sex came up. I couldn't help but mention Sarah's misfortunes in the bedroom. Tom, of course, promised he wouldn't tell a soul. Well, it seems our mutual friend Jodi has no soul since Tom told Jodi who in turn asked Sarah if the rumor was, in fact, true. Sarah, much to her chagrin, was forced to unwillingly expel the torments of her lacking sex life.
Later that night, Sarah called me to ask if I had said anything to anyone about the "thing" she told me at dinner the month prior. "Well," I stammered, "I sort of mentioned it to Tom, but only because he had a boyfriend with a similar problem and I wanted to get his advice." This, of course, was a total fabrication invented to save my ass. After an hour of apologies I realized that loose lips do, indeed, sink ships -- even when you think those ships will never cross paths. It's a lot like six degrees of Kevin Bacon; everything leads to something else. But is it ever okay to tell a secret? What if Tom did have words of wisdom that could have helped Sarah with her situation? Would the ends justify the means or only justify them for me? Is finding the answer, no matter what the cost, worth the risk?
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