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.
Somewhere along the way home, which is about a 5 minute walk (maybe 10 when intoxicated), I was stopped by this young guy with an accent who asked me what there is to do in this town. In hindsight, I realize what he was asking, even with his thick Scottish accent he was pretty transparent. We chatted for quite some time on the edge of the sidewalk. He told me that he was here to take up some good old Canadian hockey.
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 outa bit a lot.
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...
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...
I still wasn't feeling great by Tuesday so I went to the doctor's office. I gave him a urine sample and when he came back into my room, his exact words were, "Wow. That looks nasty. You should have come in sooner." Now I'm crossing my fingers and hope that the antibiotics don't make me nauseous or give me a yeast infection, but one things for certain — no more back door experiences EVER. It's just not worth any of it.
~Anonymous
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