So you ended up at someone else’s place…
The Inevitable Puking
You’re past the part where you drunkenly rolled around naked. Here you are, your brain beginning to give your body that two second warning that all the vodka shots and pulls of tequila that you so proudly pounded the night before are coming right back up, and into his closet. You just met this guy. You don’t know anything about him beside some bull he told you that night. Aaand you just threw up in his closet. Not even his bathroom, oh no, you couldn’t make it to the bathroom. You’re upchucked fireball shot are probably ending up somewhere else, probably some place carpeted.
The Sober Awakening
Then comes my personal favorite, the part where somehow he drags you back to bed, and doesn’t even care that you threw up, much less where it is, and you begin to sober up as you sleep in some way-too-personal position for someone you met less than six hours ago. You open your eyes for the first time and realize where you are. Also, you have to pee, but you quickly push that thought out of your mind, as you know there is no way you are going to nakedly untangle yourself from Jack, no John, wait, maybe it was Jason, and try to find the bathroom. First of all, you could wake up Jack/John/Jason and have to actually deal with him, and, second of all, what if there are video cameras? He may have taped whatever happened last night, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to catch you nakedly stumbling around his house looking for a place to pee. Not speaking from experience on the video camera thing. Moving on.
You Can’t Even Recall The Dirty Deed
So you think more about what happened last night. Why is it that the first time you hook up with someone really nice after way too many drinks, you never remember if the sex was good, or what his penis looks like, or how big it is?! You try to look at him for the first time, tilting your head around to see if you can just get a little reminder, but the absence of light and the mass of sheets obscure your view. Stop it! You don’t even care. Somehow you manage to find your way back to your house and when you open your door, it looks brighter than it did yesterday. The air is cleaner, it’s lighter – you have gained so much more respect for your own place in the span of twelve hours. There’s even a little bonus, no one is awake yet and the house-mom is nowhere to be seen. A walk of shame with little shame to be had.
You recover throughout your day, living your life, and thinking that this is all behind you. Then, six weeks later, you walk into the student union and see Jack/John/Jason. You think your eyes are deceiving you, but no, it really is him. Fuck. You half-hug in a way that people feel obligated to. The small talk is awkward and your thoughts are so rapid, you don’t actually know what you’ve just said. After you awkwardly walk away from one another, you think back to the night at his place and a thought that you’ve managed to suppress makes its way to the front of your mind. You remember that you peed yourself a little and that you should have been way more embarrassed when you saw him.
Oh well, maybe he didn’t remember either..
This featured image is a stock photo from our database. The people photographed are not in any way associated with the story.