GIRLS, part Deux

Here’s a few excerpts from my book. Enjoy.

I have never been more painstakingly aroused. She sat away. Too far from my own good, but still close enough to admire. The relatively short interaction we did have was drunkenly dancing to techno, while my two friends blazed on a long burning roach. It was safe to say it did us in, based on my narcissistic babble and drunken candor. It was the inner demon that chased me that night: the one that haunts you down and forces your hands; the bastard hiding in the whiskey.
She wore tight black pants. Were they mesh? They looked to be volleyball height, displaying her long darkened thighs.
I said something funny, like, “Hey, I’m not wearing any underwear.”

She laughed, obviously drunk enough to understand my babble.

“Well that’s good to know.” She winked.

So I gambled. I had nothing to lose. The grass we were smoking earlier had lost its affect. Or is it effect? I never understood either. Affect like affection right? The pot had lost its affection for me. I guess that’s what you could say.

“So what is it you want to do?” I asked.

“Like, tonight?” she stammered.

Obviously she wasn’t the deepest of people. “No, no,” I chuckled. “What are you in school for?”

She sat for a minute before saying, “Well, I’m majoring in accounting.”

This, to me, was a surprise. The girl didn’t look like she could pass algebra let alone be doing audits for people; possibly ruining a corporations’ million dollar revenue. It was time for a smoke.

After a few drags and small talk, we decided to leave. The girl with the mesh pants? She stayed. She wasn’t my type, being that the next twenty minutes were of her babbling about God knows what. I think I heard “pink”, “glitter“, and “midol” all in one sentence.

*   *   *

Whiskey Dick is the term used to define the state of your penis after imbibing many alcoholic beverages of a single choice: whiskey. It happens at unfortunate times, usually with someone you’re crazy about or to a girl that will tell the world. It happens between 2 and 6 a.m. and mainly with condoms. I say mainly because there are times when whiskey dick is so apparent that a single sexual move from another person is completely rejected, and you find yourself whispering in manly fashion, “I’m sorry,” I’d mumble, “its not you, it’s me.”

My whiskey dick story, or stories, I should clarify, have happened in and out of my sexual conquests. I’ve gotten whiskey dick with girlfriends, one-night stands, and the occasional casual sex. That doesn’t mean that it happens all the time, don’t even think about it. But I’m man enough to admit that it has happened as I’m sure it will happen again. It’s probably happening right now. A man out there somewhere rolls over in the dark of a strange room, with a strange lady and says, “I’m sorry, got the ol’ Dubya D”.

It had been my birthday. 24 is hard to imagine as a kid, frankly because I was planning on being dead by 23, so turning 24 I did the only thing I knew how to do: get drunk, and then maybe, try and have some birthday sex.

I sent texts out surveying random girls, playing the sex by ear, laying on the game. I winked and lol’ed and haha’ed a few times. One girl couldn’t but she offered to find me another girl. I wonder how that would work: “hi, you don’t know my friend J.D., but, he really needs to have birthday sex,” she’d shrug, “Do you think you could help him out?” Real smooth there buddy.

We headed to the bar to watch the MMA fights. Anderson was fighting Sonnen that night. Me, Pockets, my boss, and a few others gathered around the bar and began an ensemble of drinking. My old roommate came, and as always, delivered himself in douchebag fashion.

“Uh oh!” he screamed when the waiter delivered a Smirnoff, “you just got ICED!”

People turned and looked. One guy pointed and laughed, and I had the inevitable one knee chug of the coldest beverage alive. It felt like douche was surging down my throat and into my stomach.        Unfortunately, they had been getting me peppered for a good hour before the icings began, and by the end of the night I had reached 5 total. I ended up puking Mikes Hard and Smirnoff on the side of a church half an hour later.

This is where the story gets hazy. I headed to the Litter Box to sniff on some prey, hopefully get the birthday sex that I had tried so hard for. But when we got there, something bad happened. My brain switched off and my dick took over. It saw the first thing it could easily put its head into.

She worked with me at Chipotle. She was bigger but that didn’t mean she wasn’t better. Does that make sense? She shook her hands and swayed her hips and let all the boys know what she was all about. Immediately my dick was intrigued: this beauteous beast did not give a fuck. She could throw down, blow down, smoke down, shoot, she may even slide down if you let her. I hiccupped and swallowed.

I know, I know, all this sounds a bit crazy. I was drunk, baby dickersons was in charge, and I found myself following her to a party a couple blocks away. My friends vanished into the walls, whiskey consumed me, and I was a few cigs away from a perfectly executed whiskey dick situation.

*   *   *


2 thoughts on “GIRLS, part Deux

  1. booze made that girl ADD …if she was majoring in accounting, she couldn’t have been that dumb ..unless she was lying about it in the first place

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