It’s Sunday and if you’ve made good use of your weekend you should be seated somewhere with a cup of coffee still trying to muster-up the strength to get out and make something of your afternoon but, alas, you can’t–which is good for me because that means you’re more apt to reading this.

I was thinking of what to write on and I could only draw blanks. I started to wonder on this weekend but pointless details kept surfacing and it was hard to make any conclusions out of them. The nights recollection was; bottoms of many redbull vodkas. Jack and ginger ales, the vague recollection of sending out a myriad of drunken text messages, including some to my ex, and meeting up a female friend outside for a cigarette and for, what I presumed, some casual chit-chat, bloody hands and sex. What the fuck right?

And so the story goes:

 

War Paint (Saturday night in a nutshell)

This girl I met up with, I have to admire for her focus and execution, you’ll soon see why.

“I’m here”, she responds and I walk outside making sure not to trip over myself and look as sexy as allowable since I had just embedded a mustache on my face that I wasn’t feeling too confident about. We walk over to a friends car where I had stashed away some alcohol and I fill her cup up, as well as mine, and we stay there talking for a while. We walk inside Jada Coles, some bar off Coral Way, and my friend Matt, who had just returned from the Army, was raging with his friends who were raising their hands to toast and give salutations to  my boy for being a bad-ass. The drunkenness of everyone in that place escalated quickly and before I knew it I was pressed up against the wall going at it with this girl. Couples were yelling at each other, and the noise inside that place had risen significantly since the battle between the live band playing and the crowd were fighting each other for audible-dominance.

A few drinks go by and I find myself slammed, backseat wrestling this girl: who I’ll call Wendy from now on for story telling purposes. Wendy makes her way on top of me and I start feeling a terrible chafe from her underwear, since she pulled it to the side in order to not have to remove any clothes, but I’ll never be the one to break the rhythm in these types of affairs so I kept quiet. It goes on for a bit longer and then things come to a close. We’re both dripping with sweat in a car with fogged windows adjacent to a semi-busy street trying to pull it together in order to walk back to the festivities but I couldn’t help but feel slight discomfort which I quickly forgot about after a few steps: I was too drunk.

We walk in the bar and everyone has practically left so we leave to my friends house that I was crashing at for the night. Things got heated again and we ended up fucking again and, again, it was an all-round great time. As we’re laying there catching out breath she says ” I gotta’ go, bro is blowing up my phone” and, just like that, she left.

I got ripped and dipped on and to add on to it, it wasn’t the first time this has happened with her. Twice in the past had she pulled some sort of emergency escape technique. As they say “your own medicine always tastes worse”.

I go clean up in the bathroom and I look at my hands and I see gore. My hands were covered in blood. I thought maybe it was on her behalf but as I felt around I could feel the culprit burning the life out of my dick by its base, a terrible spot to be, and saw that I had a chafe-rage going on as a result from the side underwear shin-dig that went down in her backseat. I jumped in the shower and all I could feel was confused, slightly disgusted and ripped and dipped on, while pathetically holding my dick in my hand. I called it the case of the “war paint”. Thank god no one besides myself noticed the blood bath that was going on in my pants and thank god for black jeans.

–I feel lower than usual in my creative department, I can only put together stories about sex-capades and I blame it on being so busy during the week, lately, that all I can think about at the end of the week is getting laid. It’s pathetic. But that doesn’t exclude the fact that it’s awesome.

 

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