It all started with a boy. Doesn’t it always? We had been dating on and off for a year and had finally, painfully, “mutually” (except not really) called it quits. He didn’t want a girlfriend and I didn’t want to be sober for the few months weeks it took me to get over him. Let me paint the scene: I was 20 years old, I was a sophomore in college, and I was overdramatic as hell. So naturally, my friends made it their mission to get me over the guy, under a different guy, and make sure I had the time of my newly single life.
The night he called it quits and walked out of my apartment (and humored me as I ran down the hallway after him, sobbing, begging for one last kiss), my best friends came over and immediately poured me a glass of vodka Crystal Light (#tbt), threw my sluttiest dress at me, and told me to get my ass ready.
After tearfully fighting with them to let me bring my phone (I lost. We left it at the apartment. They said I would text my ex, and they were probably right) we headed out to the bar. You know, the bar. The gross, sticky, dirty bar that was the heart and soul of my college experience. I walked in, dropped my dignity, picked up a shot, and was out.
“Fuckkkk guys. I don’t even need them,” I slurred at my friend Chelsea as I eyed a group of three cute frat guys in the corner.
“Seriously. You sooooo don’t need them,” she agreed, reaching for a shot of Fireball to thrust into my hands.
I tossed the cinnamon liquid back and swayed a little bit to the shitty house music. Who cared that he didn’t want to date me anymore, I tried to convince myself. I was young! I was hot(ish)! These were the best years of my life and I didn’t need to be tied down to some guy! I nodded to myself as my pep talked mixed with the alcohol, then I continued to stare at the three guys. They were somewhat hot, obviously interested, and definitely not my dumbass ex. I turned to my friends again, lust in my eyes.
“I want to make out with someone,” I all but shouted. My declarations of how I “didn’t need no man” were instantly forgotten. “I want to make out with them,” I pointed a wiggling finger at the guys who were obviously waiting for a moment like this to make their move.
“All of them?” My friend Amy asked with a hiccup. I nodded as the guys approached.
“Hey ladies. What are you up to?” The cutest and obviously boldest one asked. His eyes flickered from me to my two friends before landing back on my cleavage.
“Actually,” I purred, the alcohol in my system quickly clouding my judgment, “we want to make out with you. All of you,” I flirted, leaning in a bit so my arm brushed against his.
“Oh yeah?” He shot back, surprise crossing his handsome face. I glanced at my friends who smiled smugly at me, and I leaned forward, pressing my lips onto this stranger’s face. He grabbed the back of my head and pulled me close. He tasted like beer and regret, and I relished in the fact that he felt different than my ex. His arms were bigger. His hair was softer. His smell was better. I pulled back just as his hand was venturing further south and quickly shouted, “switch.”
I turned to my right and grabbed the guy who was just making out with my friend. Hmmm. Too much tongue, but I love his use of teeth. I turned to my right again and grabbed the next guy. Shorter, but without a doubt a better kisser. I fell into him as I heard the catcalls of my friends. This is what I needed, I thought as I traced my tongue against his. To mix saliva with random guys at a bar. Finally, I detangled myself from him and inched back to see everyone’s beaming faces.
“Now, you three make out,” my original guy said, challenging me with a smirk.
We just made out? I thought as I stared at him stupidly. But as I glanced from one guy to another I realized that they weren’t leaning forward and puckering up. They were glancing at my friends like hungry wolves. Ohhhh. Make out with them. I looked around the room, checking to see if standards was lurking in the corner. Sensing my hesitation, the short, kissable one spoke up.
“If you do it, we’ll give you brownies,” he teased.
“Weed brownies,” the one with the overzealous tongue added.
I turned towards my friends. This upped the game. I wasn’t the biggest fan of weed, but I was a fan of chocolate and going home with these guys. Amy and Chelsea both looked at me, leaving the ball in my court, but drunk enough to agree to this crazy plan.
“What do you guys think?” I asked, in a loud stage whisper.
“I think you’re probably a better kisser than the one in the middle,” Amy shot back, not quietly enough.
I giggled and nodded my head as they stepped closer to me. Instead of taking turns, we decided to go at it all together — lips here, tongues there. It was wet and hot and confusing.
“Ow,” someone said, as I drunkenly bit a lip too hard.
“Ew, stop,” someone else said as too many tongues came her way.
“What the fuck?!” I added as saliva made contact with my eye. I pulled away and as I did I saw our audience’s faces. Jaws were on the floor and boners were giving standing ovations. Despite the fact that someone had definitely given my chin a hickey, I felt a surge of excitement.
“Okay boys,” I slurred, drunk off the attention. “Let’s get these brownies.”
One disgruntled DD pledge, three shots for the road, a whole bunch of lap sitting, and a fifteen-minute car ride later, we pulled up. The shitty Honda crunched over the gravel and we slowed down in front of a dilapidated house with an obvious party going on.
“What’s happening?” Chelsea slurred from on top of the bad kisser.
“Oh our weird roommate is having some sort of party,” the short one said, motioning for us to get out of the car. “At least there’s alcohol, though,” he added as if alcohol would convince us.
It did.
We detangled our legs and scrambled out of the car. Arm in arm we stumbled up to the house and were greeted with a blast of marijuana-scented smoke and an assortment of characters.
“What is this place?” Chelsea whispered at me, as a group of GDI girls stared us down. I took in the dingy decor, the guys with multiple piercings, and the general feeling of dirtiness about this place.
“I, uh…I don’t know,” I answered, glancing at the guys who lured us into this hell hole of a house.
“Can I get you ladies a drink?” The hottest one asked, sensing our distress at being even a little bit sober in this situation.
“Yes,” we all answered in unison before following him back into the kitchen. Pans were everywhere and bags of chips were strewn about. A young couple was doing lines off of the counter before flashing us sheepish smiles and leaving the room.
“Here you go,” the wet kisser said as he handed me a drink. “So you just got dumped, huh?” He asked, grinning at me while hoisting himself on the messy counter.
“What?!” I sputtered on the warm vodka, taken aback.
“I mean, come on. Going to a bar and making out with a whole bunch of random guys?” He started, getting comfortable on his perch. “Kind of seems like you got dumped.” He glanced at my face and added in a hurry, “I don’t mind! I mean, I’m happy to help.”
And with that, he reached forward and pulled me close. Despite knowing I’d be swimming in spit in about thirty seconds, I let him drag me toward him. I tossed back the rest of my drink and noticed my friends moving into another room right before my lips met his.
Maybe he’s not such a bad kisser, I thought as I leaned against him in the overly bright kitchen. Sure, my hip bone was pressed against a knob and I had to crane my neck to make contact with his mouth, but the feeling of his lips against my neck and his hands on my back sent shivers down my spine and chased thoughts of my ex away. Just as my fingers were teasing his waistband, Amy burst into the room, flushed and grinning, embarrassed.
“Hey, where’s the bathroom?” She demanded, avoiding eye contact with me.
“Uh. Right down there. Want me to show you?” The maybe not-so-bad kisser asked, sending an apologetic look my way as he hopped off the counter.
Well shit. I thought. What now? I went to the abandoned bottle of Burnett’s and poured a healthy amount into my solo cup. I was just about to add a splash of some warm, probably flat Diet Coke when I heard the door open.
“Lonely?” A voice behind me asked.
And there he was. The hot one. I gazed at his well-maintained body and the curtain of blonde hair that fell across his face. His features looked even sexier in the harsh light of the kitchen and his smile spread slowly and seductively across his face as he took me in. I felt my heart pound as he sauntered towards me with confidence, shooting blood directly to my southern regions.
“A…a little,” I stammered, frozen on the spot. Sure, I was just making out with his less-attractive friend moments before. But this guy? This guy was something else.
“Come with me,” he murmured back, putting out his hand and motioning into the room he just left. I instantly abandoned my cup and allowed myself to be led away.
“Is this your room?” I asked as I squinted through the darkness at the flags on the wall and the beers cans decorating the floor.
“Yeah,” he said, motioning me towards the bed. “You like it?”
I tried to nod despite the fact that there was literally nothing about the room I liked. The dirty desk, the clothes that littered the floor, and the bobby pins and lipstick marked cups that indicated other girls had been there. A lot of other girls. As I did one more sweep of my surroundings, my eyes landed on something moving on an oversized chair in the corner.
“Someone’s over there!” I exclaimed, frozen mid-sit on the shitty queen bed. “Chels?” I asked as I noticed her long blonde hair. She was aggressively making out with the short guy, who seemed to be really good at whatever he was doing with his hand. I stared at them, transfixed until I felt a gentle tug at my dress.
“Don’t worry about them,” he muttered, pulling me the last few inches to the bed. He placed an irresistible hand on the back of my neck and said, “Just relax.” And with that, I fell into him. His warm breath tickled my jaw bone as he kissed my flushed, sensitive skin. My breathing hitched as his experienced mouth landed on mine and his hand snaked down between my legs. His fingers traced the inside of my thigh as my dress slowly revealed more and more of my legs. He grazed my underwear with his hand, and a jolt of excitement raced through my body.
He pulled back and gazed at me, his eyes searing. “Scoot up,” he demanded, pulling my dress up more as he slid down the bed. Thrilled at the idea of catching a tongue, I eagerly inched back.
“Hey, it’s wet,” I explained, just before he could lower his face onto me.
“Yeah, it is,” he murmured as his eyes gleamed mischievously.
“No, it’s like, the bed. It’s really wet,” I explained, as I felt the liquid soak into my dress.
“Someone must have spilled something,” he muttered, fingers on my thong, slowly inching it down. “It’s fine.”
“Uhhhh. It’s not fine.” I added, trying to keep the note of disgust of my voice. “It’s gross.”
“Okay hold on,” he sighed, standing up immediately. “I’ll get a towel or something.”
I rolled away from the mysterious wet spot just as the door opened. Amy and the not-so-bad kisser reemerged and closed the door behind them.
“What are you doing?” she asked, glancing at me as I tried to brush off my dress.
“Nothing. The bed was wet,” I said, annoyed that my dress was now wet and it looked like I would not be getting an orgasm any time soon. She perched next to me on the bed, careful to avoid the stain, and I wondered if I would ever get laid again. I felt the sadness sweep over me again as my mind lingered onto my ex.
“You guys want to smoke?” The not-so-bad kisser asked as he pulled a bowl out of a drawer.
Smoke! Yes! That’s exactly what I needed. Even though it usually makes me twitchy and paranoid, we had been promised weed, and even if it wasn’t in chocolate form, I needed it. I nodded eagerly as he lit the bowl, took a hit, and passed it my way.
One puff and I knew I had made a mistake. It tasted slightly different that the weed I’d had in the past, and I instantly felt a tingle in my fingertips.
“This is weed, right?” I asked as I looked at the pipe suspiciously.
“It’s spice,” he corrected, as he took a hit. “Synthetic weed,” he added at the uncomprehending look on my face.
“Oh, right,” I answered dumbly before talking the bowl back and reaching for the lighter. Just as I was about to take a second puff, not-so-bad kisser’s phone rang.
“Hold on,” he said, glancing at the name, “I’ll be right back.” And with that he got up and left the room, talking animatedly into his phone.
“I have to tell you something,” Amy blurted out, the second the door closed behind him. “That wet spot in the bed? I uh, I did that.” I froze with the pipe just outside of my mouth, smoke swirling in my lungs.
“What do you mean, ‘you did that?'” I coughed, gazing at her through the tears pricking my eyes.
“Well, when you were out there with that one guy, Chris (ohhhhh so not-so-bad kisser’s name was Chris),” she started, glancing nervously at me. “I was in here with the other one. The hot one.” I stared at her, unsure of what she was trying to get across. Her face was slowly starting to form into an expression I’d never seen before, and I became distinctly aware of how much the walls were dripping. That couldn’t be normal, could it? Amy reached forward and grabbed the bowl, and took two hits back to back before continuing her story.
“So anyway, we came in here and he uh, he went down on me,” she exhaled, blowing smoke into my face. “And I um… I think I, well, I squirted.” She took one more hit. Her words hit me a good three minutes later.
The guy I was going to hook up with hooked up with my friend and made her squirt. I’d only ever squirted with my ex. Ugh. My ex. Where was he? What was he doing? Did he miss me? I glanced down at my hands and noticed that they were growing in size and turning different colors. Did he even care that my fingers were growing at a rapid pace and that I might be purple? No. He didn’t. I didn’t seem to care that I made out with a guy moments after he licked my friend’s vagina. And I didn’t seem to care that this spice shit was making me hallucinate. And that’s when it occurred to me.
We were drugged.
“Amy,” I sputtered, disregarding what she just told me. “I think we were drugged.”
I watched her face (which was hard because it was changing right before my eyes) as she slowly nodded up and down. We were drugged. And I had no idea what to do. I pointed at her phone, trying to communicate that we needed to call 911 and get out of this place.
“How does it work?” I slurred at her, hitting her non-iPhone (who doesn’t have an iPhone?) with my drunken, oversized hand.
She merely shook her head at me and laid back on the bed crying. Okay, okay, okay, I thought to myself, as I got up and started pacing the room, trying to avoid the puddles from the melting walls around me. We needed to leave. But how? The phone didn’t work, we had no car, and I was pretty sure we were locked in. I pulled on the door, but it wouldn’t budge. Fuck.
Amy let out another wail from the bed. Just as I got ready to join her, I remembered Chelsea who was in the room…having sex.
“Chelsea,” I shouted, from my mere fifteen feet away. “Chelseaaaaaaaaa,” I moaned again as she peeked out from her makeshift blanket tent and glanced at me.
“We need to leave. Now.” I tried to stress the importance of this by opening my eyes really wide, and it seemed she got the message. Nice work, pupils.
“Now?” She asked, even as she was reaching for her shirt and looking for her purse. What a good friend. I nodded as I stood in the middle of the room, wondering if my legs would work. Just as she got up and pulled Amy out of the bed, the door opened again (ah, I was pulling on it, but it seems that it was a push door) and not-so-bad kisser, Chris, came back.
“Where are you guys going?” he asked, glancing from Amy’s tearstained face to the crazed look on my face to Chelsea’s disheveled, just-had-sex form. I didn’t answer. Instead, I stared at the open door, realizing that this was our chance for freedom.
“Run!” I shouted as I sprinted towards the door. Chris stood back and stared with a shocked expression as all three girls pushed passed him and into the front yard.
“What’s going on?!” Chelsea yelled as we ran out to the road.
“WE WERE DRUGGED,” I sobbed as I stared at the house. A few guys were standing outside smoking, including the hot one who made out with me even though he had vagina mouth. He looked over at us and waved, a confused look on his face.
“What?!” Chelsea yelled, pulling out her phone and punching a number.
The hot guy came towards us, a dog at his heels. Amy continued to cry as he quickened his pace.
“What’s going on?” He asked, glancing at my panicked expression, Amy’s stricken face, and Chelsea’s furious one.
I tried to calculate what to do. I didn’t want him to know that I knew that they drugged us. That just seemed stupid. I could hear Chelsea yelling into her phone saying something along the lines of “They said they were drugged. Can you pick us up?” Shit. I needed to think. I glanced down at the dog running around. Unleashed. By the busy road. I immediately started crying too.
“I’m afraid your dog will get hit by a car,” I screamed, proud of my quick improv.
“What?” he stared, surprised.
“Your dog!” I shouted. “It’s not on a leash. It makes me sad,” I finished with a dramatic thrash of my arms, feeling the tears fall to my chest as I actually did start worrying about the dog. It was night, and the road was busy. What was he doing, letting it run free? Only a monster would do something like that.
“No it’s fine, it’s fine,” he said, hugging me around the shoulders. “How about I put her inside? Okay?” I nodded into his chest and watched as he grabbed the dog in him arms and walked towards the house. I let out a sigh of relief and turned towards the road, just in time to see a familiar car pull up. My best friend Alexa hopping out of the drivers seat before it even stopped moving.
“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!” She yelled just as the hot guy came back out onto the lawn.
“What do you mean?” He stopped in his tracks staring at her. “Hey, who are you?”
“Get in the car,” Alexa said to us, as we scurried towards her trusty white Nissan. “My friend said you drugged them,” she shot back, as we settled in her back seat. Her tiny frame was quivering in rage as she stared at the man who doubled her size, looking like she was ready to strike.
“What?! No! What do you mean?!” he yelled, as Alexa shook her head in disgust and slammed the door on her car. She threw it in reverse just as he comprehended what she said. “They smoked all of the spice! I didn’t drug them,” he shouted as we peeled out of the driveway. “THEY SMOKED ALL OF THE SPICE,” he repeated, as we disappeared down the road.
The worst part about the night, besides making out with a guy after he went down on my friend, or falsely accusing people of drugging us, or texting my ex 37 times when I got back home (yes, 37) was probably the next morning. Between finding a picture of me making out with my two friends on Facebook and realizing we all left our shoes at the shithole house, we were in for it.
We showed up at the scene of the not-so-much a crime and knocked on the door. The hot guy answered, looking hungover and disheveled. After apologizing for almost calling the cops on them, getting our shoes, and swearing off spice forever, we left, never to speak to them again.
Until, of course, I got lonely the next weekend and I drunkenly texted him to come over. And despite the history between us, we picked up right where we left off — his face between my knees and me wondering if he was worth the wet spot.
He totally was. You know what they say, the only way to get over your ex is to hook up with a guy who can make you squirt. Or something like that..
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