Guinea pig

I'm a good friend.

When Cousin was going through esthetician school, she needed a model for one of her practical exams. She asked around, but because it was on a Friday afternoon, everyone else was in school or work.

I volunteered. You know, because I'm a good friend.

I should probably have asked what the practical exam was first.

But I didn't.

So I got my legs waxed. And my bikini line.

As in: left tuck, right tuck, and straight across the top.

The sides weren't so bad, but when she did the strip across the top I nearly punched a hole in the wall, and held back a high pitched scream.

My pores started bleeding.

But, a tiny piece of wax was stubborn, and decided to stay. Which was apparently unacceptable, so the strip got stuck on and pulled off again.

And again.

My survival instincts finally kicked in and my hands shot towards my boutique of leathers in a protective fashion.

My fingers did a miniature version of the macarena in an attempt to ward off the next attack from the wax strip, and I let out a whimper.

At this point, Cousin was laughing so hard she was unable to continue anyway.

She got 98% on the exam. 2% reduction for 'unprofessionalism' because she was laughing at me. To which she said, and I quote: "TOTALLY worth it!"

I was in a lot of pain, so I decided to grab a drink that night.

My jeans felt weird against my completely smooth legs, and I found out later that comfortable bed sheets are transformed into heavenly satin when you're smooth as a baby's ass. The boxer elastic rubbing against my freshly raw pubic skin felt like the worst case of crabs I ever imagined having. Every time I used the urinal, I had to pry the elastic off, which re-opened the bleeding follicles. It took about three hours of drinking before they had healed over.

So, there I was squirming on my bar stool trying to drink enough rum and coke to make it all go away, when a girl tapped me on the shoulder and asked if her and her friends could use the seats next to me.

Only one thought went through my head, "This cutie is in trouble tonight."

I noticed the ring on her hand and didn't give a shit.

I was already drunk. But not to the point I was out of it. Not 'shit-show' drunk. And now that she was here, I intended to keep it that way.

After hooking up in a cab and getting to her friend's place, as I was taking off my pants, I remembered that my legs had just been waxed.

I decided not to say anything, and just kept the momentum going.

It wasn't until we were done a couple rounds and taking a quick break before she said anything about it. I told her the whole story. And how I was such a good friend.

She told me she was bisexual, and found it sexy. Then she said, "I kind of hate body hair. You may have noticed."

I had.

She asked for my number. And told me she wanted to introduce me to her girlfriend.

Bisexuals are better in bed. I've decided.

Games night

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Good news

I was reading through my previous posts, and realized that even though that shit's funny, almost all the stories don't have very happy endings.

Especially beer fest.

Not all my nights end in horror. The stories of the shit storm that is me ends with a smile more times than not.

So fuck the horror stories for a few days. You get to hear about my happy endings until reading this doesn't make me so depressed.

Deal with it.

Beer fest

Ruben tends to keep his ear to the ground in the world of getting drunk.

He heard that there was a beer fest coming to town, and he asked me to go with him.

I think between the two of us, we bought close to two hundred drink tickets. Each one gave us half a plastic cup of beer of our choosing. Essentially enough to buy us fifty cans of beer each. There were some weird ones, but after tasting ALL of them, I found a couple that I liked, and a couple with girls behind the counter that I liked.

It's important to have that balance in your life... between alcohol and women. Especially for me, since if I have too much of one, I don't get enough of the other. Actually, it's kind of a one-way scale, but I have priorities.

I'm not sure if it was the beer goggles, but I remember there being a lot of girls there that raised my eyebrows. Ruben and I ripped the place up like two tornadoes of destruction. I remember pretty clearly making out with a blonde girl, and ended up getting a picture in the local newspaper of me chugging a full bottle with a hot brunette that had tattoos like Bif Naked.

I used all of my tickets. All of them. Fifty cans of beer consumed in about four hours. That's a whole can every five minutes.

It was one of the first times Ruben and I drank together. I think I had grossly underestimated the level of alcohol consumption he could influence me to drink.

By the end of the night, I was a mess, and it ended up being the second time I'd ever gotten sick.

When I got home, I got naked and got in the shower. Kind of my way of sobering up. It helps, sometimes.

Not this time.

I regained consciousness from a blackout covered in carrots and potatoes. I'd had stew for supper. I didn't remember actually puking, but most of it had already been washed off by the running water. I thanked the shower out loud for being a comfortable place to sit, and passed out again.

I woke up in my bed, fully naked and still drunk.

The shower still had vomit in it.

A lot of vomit in it.

With large chunks of food.

I made a mental note to chew my food better and started cleaning it up. I had to pick it up in handfulls. It was too big to wash down the drain. Every handful would soak through the paper towel and leak, so it was all over my hands and dripping down my arms.

Still drunk, my coordination wasn't great, and at one point I lost my balance. I put my hand down to catch myself and slipped in it. My hand splashed chunks into my face and I landed on my elbow. It was foul and slimy. It still kind of tasted like stew, but was mostly just essence if bial.

Yes. It went in my mouth. Mmmmm, six hour old vomit. Delicious.

When I was done cleaning up, I called Ruben and we went and got hangover food... and a few pints of beer. Nothing like more alcohol to cure a hangover.

And, to get another night started, of course.

Blind date

I've moved around a lot.

Building a new social circle over and over is a tiresome task, but I've gotten pretty good at it.

Back in the day, I relied on some unconventional methods. Like ICQ and MSN's random chat feature. You could ask it to find you someone in your city to chat with. More often miss than hit, but it was a good way back then to meet new people in your area.

Freshly moved into another new city, I had met a few people that way, and had actually gotten into a relationship. But, I was still looking to expand my social circle, so I continued to chat with random people.

There was one random girl I met online that seemed to be pretty cool. We made plans to meet up with each other at a bar with a few of our friends. A few of my college basketball buddies said they were down for a night out, and she said that a few of her girlfriends would meet us out. Sounds like a good way to do some networking, right?

Well, if it went down like that, it would have been.

And, before I get any further, I want to point out that she knew that I had a girlfriend. I told her that several times.

She manipulated the situation so that she could be alone with me. She told me that we would meet her friends out, but that they didn't have room for her in their car.

I drove up her block and saw a large pink fuzzy growth on the lawn of one of the houses. As I got closer I realized that it was, in fact, a person.

This must be 'playboybunny22'. It crossed my mind that she was likely unable to wear anything that could be purchased from the playboy store. Probably since the age of nine.

She looked like one of those women you see at Walmart shopping for jujubes in bulk.

Her body didn't have a defined shape. It was just lumpy. Folds and rolls everywhere. She had a solid black eyebrow. From one side of her head to the other, without a break. A unibrow like no other I'd ever seen. She had one of those backs that kind of just turns into legs. No indication of where her back ended and her ass began. And that thing where her neck was the same thickness as her head, so it looked like her face entered her chest and her cheeks ran all the way down to her shoulders. Her skin had deep holes in it from what must have been an epic battle with acne.

She was wearing large hoop earrings, and one of those pink fluffy sweaters that leaves little pieces everywhere.

I saw her approaching the car. She was waddling. She flashed a snaggle toothed grin at me.

I was in so much shock, I froze.

She got into my car.

I felt violated.

She told me that none of her friends were able to make it anymore. So it was just her and me.

I immediately changed plans. Instead of meeting up with the guys, I decided it would be better if we did something that involved her not being introduced to anyone I knew. Like chess club, or driving to the coast and throwing her off a cliff.

We went to a pool hall on the other end of town.

One of my buddies texted me. "What's the plan, dude?" I told him that I needed to be rescued, and he told me that he would be there as soon as he could.

It can be hard to find friends like that.

When he arrived, he saw playboybunny22 and froze. His eyes got wide and he looked at me. I saw fear.

I didn't want to spend another minute with her. As she took her turn at the pool table, my buddy and I discussed the plan. He was going to leave, saying that he wasn't feeling that well - which at this point was probably true, I think I heard him gag two or three times. Then, a few minutes after he was gone, he would call me pretending to be my brother and make up some kind of emergency.

He called and said that he had a flat tire and needed me to come help him fix it.

I tried to make the conversation sound genuine. I feigned disappointment, and said I was out. I even asked if he had already called anyone else. My buddy told me to stop being a shit head, "Keep it simple, idiot. If she figures it out, no one will ever find your body."

So, I told her that I had to drop her off so I could help my brother out.

She bought it.

The whole drive back I couldn't talk or make eye contact with her. I was scared she'd smell my fear and attack. My ears were ringing. My cheeks were burning.

We got to her place and I mumbled some sort of good bye. Before I knew what hit me, she was across the car, with her lips on my face.

I panicked. What was happening? I could feel her moustache on my skin, and there was a moment where I swear she tried to push her tongue into my very tightly closed mouth. I clearly remember not being able to breathe. It was like her face had wrapped itself around mine and entered my nostrils and mouth. Like something out of a horror movie, her face was trying to eat me.

I found the strength to push her off me, and told her to get out of the car.

It maybe lasted 2 seconds. Just long enough to know what the fuck was going on, and react.

She got out of my car.

I felt horrible, and disgusted. I had to tell my girlfriend about this. This was not okay. I tried to imagine a positive response to the news some lagoon creature had taken advantage of my face. Maybe she wouldn't be mad. Maybe she'd see it wasn't my fault. Somehow.

The next day, I told her the whole story. There was disbelief in her eyes. And I could see her holding back unkind words.

But, she said she believed me, and that it was okay. I could tell she was still upset about it, but she was mature enough to recognize that a story about being mouth raped was probably too crazy to be made up.

A couple months later, we were at the local pool together.

I saw playboybunny22, and slid down into the water all the way to my eyes, so only the top of my head was visible. My girlfriend looked at me like I was retarded and said, "What the hell is wrong with you?"

I pointed.

She looked over and said, "Oh my god, is that her?"

I nodded my head slightly.

I thought the monster had looked bad fully clothed. She was at a pool now, wearing a bathing suit. The lumps and folds were hanging out. Not concealed. Just out there for everyone to see. The crease through her crotch completely hid her bathing suit. The fat completely swallowed the fabric and looked like a giant vagina.

My girlfriend slipped down into the water next to me and looked at me with wide eyes. "Woah."

It was a bonding moment.

Birthday crawl

Writing about my last birthday reminded me about a previous birthday. Another that I had gone totally overboard with a few years earlier.

I invited close to a hundred people to come on a pub crawl birthday party, and probably forty people said they would come. Didn't turn out to have quite that many people, but the crawl was still a huge blast.

The bus picked us up from our hotel around 8:00. By this point, I had already done several shots in the hotel room, was wearing a pair of white underwear outside my jeans, and had pulled out the markers so people could sign them.

We got to our first night club, and surprise, we were pretty much the only people there. I think the only other people there were also a birthday party, and had decided to get there early so they could find tables for their whole group.

I told Cousin to write a birthday scavenger hunt across my abs. It included:
 - Get two girls to makeout with each other
 - Get a bra
 - Makeout with 5 girls
 - Get 6 free birthday shots

The list went right from my sternum to my boxers.

As soon as it was completed, I walked over to the other birthday party and pulled my shirt up. "IT'S MY BIRTHDAY!!!" This method of starting conversations proved to be very effective for the rest of the night.

The birthday girl checked off one of the 5 'makout with a girl' boxes, and made out with me.

Good start.

We ate club pizza and jumped back on the bus.

A few people had snuck booze onto the bus. There was a bottle of peach schnapps, cherry whisky, Patron, and a 2L bottle of gin and juice. At one point, one of my buddies stood over me and said, "You're not drunk enough yet!" and started pouring the gin and juice down my throat. I probably chugged half of it before I realized what was happening, and waved jazz hands at him to get him to stop.

The next club was quite a bit busier, and I started getting items on my list checked off fairly quickly. But with all the gin starting to hit my system, I developed a growing case of A.D.D.

My buddy and I started talking to a few girls, and the brunette one was about to give me her bra - like, her shirt was off, and she was trying to get the bra clasps undone - when I noticed her short blonde friend and started talking to her. The brunette got all upset and put her shirt back on, and sulked. No bra, so, I got her and her friend to makeout with each other instead. Check mark.

My brother started making out with one of the beer tub girls, and asked her if she would give me a tittie shot, failing to notice that she did not have any titties.

She poured the shot into my face, missing my mouth almost entirely, grabbed my head, slammed it into her chest, and forcefully shook back and forth.

I'm fairly certain she fractured my nose on her breastbone. When she let me go, I wiped the alcohol off my face, looked at my brother and said, "Golly, that was fun," and walked away.

Everyone thinks my brother is an angel. It's because of moments like these that I know that's just a facade.

That asshole had just made me eskimo kiss a fucking two-by-four.

I remember nothing at the last club, and only have one or two sparks of recall from the rest of the night. So, the rest is based on the stories my friends told me the next day.

By the time we bounced to the next (and last) night club, I was well beyond okay. I still approached people by lifting my shirt and yelling at them, but there was very little follow through. Most of the time I got distracted by Cousin trying to take away my alcohol and replace it with water bottles. Don't ask me how, but every time she turned around, I would have more beer. She'd be like, "Where did that come from?" and I'd look at my beer and say something like, "Is miiiiiiine backuff."

At one point she took me outside so there was no way I could get ahold of/steal any more alcohol. We were standing there in the smoke pit when I saw a really hot girl, and walked up to her with my shirt up to my chin.

She was wearing a tutu and a corset. I pointed to the list on my stomach and told her that I still needed to get a bra. She blushed and said that her top was all one piece, that if she took it off, she'd be topless, and that was illegal.

"It's okay. I won't tell the cops."

She blushed again, and looked around. I stared at her dead in the eyes with an expression of "So what are you waiting for?"

She pointed to a man about 6 feet away who was talking to some other guys. "But, my boyfriend is right there!"

Without even breaking eye contact, I said, "It'll be our little secret. Come on, stop being a pussy."

She giggled and slapped my shoulder. Her boyfriend told her he was going inside, and she said she'd join in a minute. But after that, my composure broke down, and I was just staring at her. She ended up giving me a kiss and leaving.

I think this was the turning point. Things went from 'awesome-time-drunk' to 'fuck-shit-jesus-shitshow-drunk'.

I started getting... a little grabby.

I tried fingering one of the nearly naked bar tenders that was serving drinks from up on the bar. She bent over to pour a shot, and I could see her pussy. So I went for it.

I grabbed the tit of a server that was just walking by and started squeezing it. I told her it was my birthday, and she congratulated me. We had a short conversation. The whole time I didn't look away from her tit, or stop squeezing it.

I started getting noticed by the bouncers, and Cousin told me that if I did anything like that one more time we had to go, or we'd get kicked out.

I said, "Anything like what?"

Literally had no recollection of it even ten seconds after.

She caught my hand just before I grabbed the ass of another bar-top server.

And we all went back to the hotel.

For a couple hours, I sat in an armchair holding my head in my hands, and stared at the floor. All good feelings were gone. They had been replaced by uncontrollable spinning and the taste of tequila soaked pizza.

Food was ordered, and movies were watched. I remember only carpet pattern.

It became obvious that I was done, so Cousin escorted me to one of the rooms, and tucked me into bed.

I'm not sure if it was because I had laid down, or if I had just finally reached that point, but it came up so quickly I didn't have any time to react. I spewed out a solid stream of vomit onto the hotel carpet.

I looked at Cousin and said, "I'm really sorry you have to clean that up."

She swore at me, and said, "There's no way I'm touching that. Can't you smell it? You can pay for the hotel to clean it."

She was right. The smell of mixed alcohol, pizza bits, and bial smelled like turpentine and month old orange juice with a hint of moldy carpet.

I went to the washroom and cleaned off my face, looked at Cousin and said, "Thank you for taking care of me," and went to kiss her on the cheek. She slapped my face away and said, "No way, you still smell like vomit."

"You're right. I still have chicken stuck in my teeth," I said as I tongued the bits out of my teeth and swallowed them again.

The next day, I slipped a twenty under the door with a note apologizing for the mess. The smell was so bad, none of us could bring ourselves to open the door to see the damage.

On my credit card statement there was an extra charge from the hotel for $150.

Vegas birthday

Every year my birthday parties seem to get progressively more awesome.

At least... from what I remember.

There have only been a few times that I have gotten drunk enough to actually be sick. Four total. Of those, two were at birthday parties for me.

For my last birthday party, I wanted to go to Vegas. But not everyone I wanted to be there could get the time off, or afford the tickets, or whatever. So I did a Vegas themed party instead.

Gambling, tits, and clubbing. In style.

I rented an Elvis costume, including wig, and bought gold Elvis sunglasses for everyone, rented a limo for the night, and got everyone to bring alcohol for the limo ride.

Another brilliant plan. And, besides my shenanigans, the night was a phenomenal success.

And, the shenanigans started early.

Actually, I probably had the most fun out of anyone.

We started with shots at the hotel, and drove ourselves to the casino. I pulled out $800. Cousin's jaw nearly hit the floor. "Give me that, there's no way drunk you is carrying almost a grand."

See? She's awesome.

I started drinking doubles, and we played blackjack until the limo showed up. I used my winnings to pay for my drink tab. Even drunk me can half-ass count cards. I remember one hand where I split double aces, got another ace, and split again. Three 'blackjacks' on one hand. I yelled "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ME!!!", and everyone within earshot cheered. I smiled. It was going to be a good night.

We all hopped in the limo with the bottles of alcohol we'd brought, and headed to the strippers.

Shots, shots, shots! I don't even remember what they were. I was already at the point where everything starts tasting like water.

We spent a blurry hour at the strippers. The limo stayed outside the whole time, and any time we were like: "SHOTS!", we all went outside and did another round from our own supply.

Getting into the limo, I tripped on my Elvis cape and fell square on my face. I bounced off the seat and rebounded like a ninja back into the seated position.

I vaguely remember doing more shots.

And getting into the club.

Then, I don't remember anything until waking up the next day in my hotel room.

As my eyes started to regain focus, I saw my buddy and his girlfriend in the other bed across from me.

"What... the fuck happened? Why am I in my bathing suit? And, why does this trash can have piss in it?"

"Yah, the sound of that woke me up," he said. "You had your dick out, pissing off the edge of the bed. But, in order to aim right, you had to arch your back, and your face was pressed against the headboard."

"Jesus. Looks like I didn't miss at all! Drunk me is an impressive me. Uh, what about the bathing suit?"

"Well, after you took off the Elvis jumpsuit because of the puke, you were fully naked. You sat in the shower for about two hours, and then your bathing suit was what you wanted to wear. I had to help you put it on."

"Holy shit, I puked?"

"About 30 seconds after you downed the chicken nuggets on the way back to the hotel. You were in the back seat, and you just rolled the window down and started projectile vomiting. Not far enough, though - you got it all over the side of the car. Cousin was pissed, because she was the one who had to clean it off."

"WE GOT FOOD???"

He continued to fill me in on some of the details of the night, and showed me some pictures from his phone.

Shit. Show.

I discovered I had been a little roughed up by the bouncers, stomped on my Elvis wig because it was making me sweat, hit on women by saying things like, "It's my birthday. I'm Elvis," and successfully made out with/got phone numbers from/took home exactly zero women. Apparently without the wig or sunglasses, combined with my shaved head, made my costume look more like I was a giant baby in footie pajamas, instead of Elvis in a onsie.

I haven't had birthday sex in about 5 years. This is why.

Very drunk me, though very funny, has no game. One time I walked into a 24 hour store wasted and started talking to a life-sized cardboard cutout, because it had a picture of a hot blonde on it.

I thought it went well, even though she didn't give me her number.

At least drunk me isn't afraid to talk to strangers.

Ruben the great

I came home from a night out a couple years ago to find a very muscular man sleeping in the hallway just outside my condo. He had pissed himself, and vomit - well, mostly liquor - soaked the carpet under his face.

I thought to myself, "Now, HE looks like fun."

A couple days later, he knocked on my door, and asked if he could use my wireless internet, offering to split the bill every month.

He had a black eye.

I thought to myself, "This guy REALLY looks like fun!"

He handed me five bucks, and I gave him my wireless password.

The very next weekend, I left my place early on the Sunday, and there he was again passed out in the hallway.

So the next time he came to pay for internet, I told him if he forgot or lost his key again he was welcome to knock on my door and crash on the couch.

It was the beginning of what has turned out to be the two drunkest summers of my life (so far), so he's in a good number of my stories, as well. He will henceforth be called 'Ruben'.

Shit happens

I had so much fun on the Bud Light cruise that I went to all the Bud Light parties the next summer to try and win again.

No such luck.

In fact. Terrible, terrible luck.

The last party night, I went with Cousin to double our odds of getting a winning text message to be a finalist. I had that gut feeling. The one you get right before you get struck by lightning, or get into a car accident, or have a pregnancy scare.

It was palatable. I knew we had it. Tonight, we were going to win the cruise.

We showed up super early. I think we were literally the only people there. It was like, 8:30 or 9:00. Our plan was to get a stamp, and go to our favorite pub down the street, and come back to the club ten minutes before the draw.

It was an excellent plan.

But it turned out that the gut feeling I was having was something not premonition, but something I ate. Nearly as soon as we got into the club, it hit me. I had to shit. Right now.

I have a serious hate on for bar bathrooms. Not sure why, but the men's bathroom is always a wreck. Even though we were the first people there, the stall looked like it had recently been in a Quentin Tarantino film. The seat was barely hanging on with one of its hinges, and had deep scratches in it like someone had tried to flush their mongoose.

I sat down.

And shat.

And shat. And shat.

It was coming out like my rectum turned on a hose. All liquid. And the smell was rank. The bathroom attendant used a whole can of Axe to try and cover it up. I heard him clear his throat a dozen times. I think he was trying not to vomit.

It was awful.

I got a text from Cousin: "You alright?"
"No, I think my internal organs have decided to evacuate in liquid form through my anus."
Supportive as always: "Hahahhaaa, omg I'm crying"

Many minutes later it finally subsided and I had a chance to breathe. I noticed I was sweating, and that my ass was sliding around the barely attached seat. I thought to myself, "Oh god, please be sweat on my ass cheeks." I grabbed some tissue and checked. Just sweat, thank Jesus.

I grabbed some more tissue, and started to wipe. But I was not done. But I did not know this.

As soon as my wiping action crossed my asshole, more liquid came out. I barely felt it come out. But I definitely felt it on my hand.

I had just shit.

On my hand.

In a bar bathroom.

Fuck me.

Fuck me sideways.

At least there was enough tissue to do a thorough scrub. I cleaned my hand off the best I could.

You know when you have chicken wings, and you clean your hands off with those wet wipes, and you're like, "I'm super clean!", but somehow you miss that spot on the base of your pinky?

I had a flash of that happening. Except it would be my own feces - not barbeque sauce - that I might find an hour later still clinging to my hand.

I scrubbed again.

And then I exited the stall. The bathroom attendant looked at me through teary eyes. I couldn't say anything. I just put my hand out and let him pile some soap in my palm. I had damaged this man. Probably for life.

I finally got back to Cousin, and we left to go to the pub down the street.

About 15 minutes and one martini later, she looked at me and said, "I'm just not feeling well tonight. I think we should just go."

I protested.

Yes, even after shitting out more insides than I knew I had, and doing a medical grade scrub in the bar sink, I STILL wanted to stay long enough to find out if we had won the cruise. But, I was honestly kind of thinking the same thing.

I wanted to go home, too.

So we left. We went back to Cousin's place.

Just as we were winding down - her snuggling into the blankets on her futon, and me just starting to close my eyes on her bed - she said, very quietly: "Fuck."

"What's the matter?"

"Oh my god, I feel sick."

"What?"

"I just got a text from Bud Light. We're finalists."

...

"Cousin... You owe me a cruise."

Close doesn't count

I've been drunk before.

But when you win a free Bud Light cruise, you start to realize your potential for being a real alcoholic. Free booze, bitches.

I put on 14 pounds in 3 days.

It was my first time on a cruise ship. I don't get sea sick, but I came close to vomiting several times. Thank you, beer.

I went with my best friend. She has a part in a lot of my stories - she's about a million times cooler than any other chic I've met. Since she often tells people she's my cousin, her nickname here will be just that.

Typically, Cousin and I take turns getting smashed. Just so if anything goes down, one of us is sober enough to get our asses out of whatever shit we I got us into. The first night we went out, it was my turn to be the shit show. Booyah.

There is photographic evidence that I was there that night. Beyond that... nothing. I was apparently my typical charming self. Cousin would open groups of girls and talk me up, so by the time I got there I was already the center of attention. Best. Wingman. Ever.

I remember the second night a little more. Even though it was my turn to be 'sober', we totally just said 'fuck it' at this point, and both went all out. Especially since I started drinking for breakfast. Cousin was more drunk than I've seen her before. It was one of those nights that go down in the history books of the inner circle. One of those nights my children will hear about from my closest friends behind my back. And when I ground them for staying out past curfew, they'll bring it up casually.

And I'll have to kill my closest friends.

All of them. Just to be sure.

I shook hands with Rashad Evans that night. Briefly chatted with him. He probably couldn't tell about what. I don't remember, either.

The ship had only one store that was open 24 hours: a little pizza parlour. It was kind of hang out central after last call, and when I get drunk I get hungry, so I was ALWAYS there at the end of the night. Free pizza, bitches.

Cousin and I sat down with a pair of hotties. The kind that you don't notice right away, but have that subtle sexiness that kind of surprises you after you hear their legs open up, and you start paying attention.

Green eyed Michelle. And her brunette friend.

As drunk as I was, I still remember those green eyes.

Hours went by. We flirted. Cousin ran interference. I started to sober up - thank you, carbs - just enough to bring my game up that little bit more, and we flirted some more.

The sexual tension was palpable, and I wanted to close the deal with the blonde. But, once I started heading that direction, it became obvious that the brunette was game, too. And I don't mean I could pick one or the other.

Both of them.

Together.

Booyah.

They invited me to their room, and I looked at the time.

6:30am.

Shit.

Cousin looked at me like "it's cool, see you in an hour."

Looking back on it, I should have just popped more caffeine pills and pulled an all-nighter banging two sexual deviants, and pulled my first threesome. But, I was an idiot, and decided I wanted to sleep for 45 minutes instead.

The alarm went off at 7:30, and Cousin and I - both still hammered - hopped on the ferry to the island, and did the jet ski tour.

We saw starfish, bitches.

Switching lanes without signalling

I've spent my fair share of time on internet dating sites. Enough to know with near certainty that every woman who is on those sites is FUCKING CRAZY.

Nearly all my website dating meet ups were catastrophic failures. I think I only ever went on a second date with maybe three out of the hundreds I met.

There are success stories, though. But for me, a success just means that I was able to put up with her long enough to fuck her. I remember one such success story with clarity. Not because of how awesome it was, but because of how awkwardly it ended.

Our online dialogue was brief. Enough for me to determine that she was really just looking for a solid fuck.

Perfect.

She mentioned that she masturbated once a day at least. I told her that she must abstain until I got there, which we arranged to happen three days later.

Which, if you ever get the chance to do, fucking go for it. Three days of anticipation will turn any regular girl into a sex junky. The withdrawal will drive her up the wall.

She lived in a one horse town working at a bar in the bottom of a motel. It was the middle of summer, and the motel didn't have any air conditioning.

It was one of those motels that had a single shared bathroom. The tub/shower had rust stains and enough lime to challenge a bottle of CLR. There was a bottle of shampoo that read 'for guests' down the side, which should probably have read 'contains semen'.

I didn't waste any time. When I got to her room, I told her to take her clothes off. I grabbed her and threw her naked body onto the bed and went down on her.

We went four incredible rounds, ruined seven motel towels, and punched a hole in the wall with the bed frame.

I had six showers while I was there. Cold showers. Because after each round of fucking for an hour, I could have slid off the bed like a slip-n-slide.

The reason we didn't go five rounds is as follows:

Some time into the fourth round, I was on top of her with her knees in my elbows going eighty miles an hour. You know, the kind of speed you have to bite your bottom lip to achieve. The kind of action that can be terribly upset by foot cramps.

When, all of a sudden, her pussy grip on my cock got vice-like. I thought to myself: "Those be some strong kegels!"

But before I could continue, she jumped back about eight feet and curled up into the fetal position and waved me off.

One hand clutched her girly bits, the other covered her mouth in an attempt to keep herself from screaming.

She started crying. She glanced at me through teary eyes with a look that I can only assume meant: "What did I ever do to YOU?"

For a moment, I was confused.

I replayed the moment in my head. Then it hit me.

Oh fuck. I had come out a bit, but didn't let that stop me... But, instead of re-entering vaj, I had pounded my cock into her ass at full speed. And I mean ALL the way into her ass.

I said: "Fuck", had one last shower, got in my car, and drove home.

The beginning of something horny

I've got stories. You've got stories. We've all masturbated to porn.

My stories are just funnier and infinitely better told. But, before now, have never been told to more than a small handful of people. The inner circle, if you will.

And, in order to keep my name out of the press, and more importantly keep my ass out of jail: Steve is NOT my real name.