Nothing good ever happens after 2am
It was another regular Friday night for me, or so I thought. I came home after work, grabbed the keys to my car and headed to the beer store. After I picked up a couple of six packs, I came home and tossed them in the fridge to chill. My plan was to have a few beers, and then walk down the street and grab a few more beers over at the bar & casino.
And so I did. And I had a beer, and a second and a third. Actually, who am I kidding? I can't remember how many I had. After drinking alone, playing a few slots and losing all my money I stumbled out of the casino and started my walk home.
Picked the wrong year, mate, but whatever...
It didn't seem to bother me what gibberish he was on about because I was enjoying the chatting. I've been a little lonely, to say the least. I wonder if my loneliness was that obvious, or it could have been the alcohol on my breath. I must have asked him back to my house, I couldn't be sure... but I'm pretty sure. We went on the computer and he showed me where he was from, taught me a little about chewing tobacco and so on… it must have been 2am or later.
The computer? Seriously.
The bars were long closed but luckily I had some beer. I remember him asking me for scotch. (Is that what the Scottish drink?) Anyways, all I could offer him was beer or the bottle of champagne that had been in my fridge since New Year's Eve. He opened the bottle of champagne; the cork popped and we drank the whole bottle.
This is where I black out
I remember giving him head in the shower. I remember being in my bed and in his Scottish accent, asking me, "Can I fock yeh in th'arse?" My response being a stupered, "You can try but I don't think it's gonna work out so well for you." I'm not exactly interested in the back door, to say the least.
I remember he said to me, "You have'nie had sex in ages, av' ya?"
Umm. That's not a good sign, or is it? I'm not sure anymore, really.
I woke up alone in my bed, hung over and in a panic; the repair man was coming over to fix the a/c any minute! I looked in the mirror, and what a fucking catastrophe -- makeup all smeared down my face, likely from the shower. Why it never occurred to me to wash my face while I was IN THE SHOWER? I don't know. Oh, dear. It was all a bit of a daze.
I frantically called my friend over to help hide/clean up the mess in my apartment and get me looking a little less "smacked around street walkerish", in a manner of words. Just as I washed my face and taken the bottles outside, there was a knock at the door, but I still couldn't find the condom evidence. I was sweating!
After the repair man left, my friend found the champagne cork... and the foil from the Trojan condom. What a good friend, right? Thank heavens, or so I thought. As a recap, in the span of 6 or so hours, I met some Scottish dude, screwed him and woke up in an empty bed covered in mascara. I was feeling a little ashamed of myself; not my best behaviour. I spent the entire day in bed due to being hung over, humiliated and mixed that with my on-going withdrawal symptoms of prescription drugs I had been on.
I am 34 years old. What the fuck? Hello there, mid life crisis. Oooh right, and it appears that my newly found crisis robbed the Scottish cradle, because since I've sobered up, I remember him telling me that he was 21... he very well could have been 18. Bloody hell.
WAIT. It gets classier...
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