It probably also had something to do with the three or four tumblers of Vodka Tonics I'd consumed. (Bartenders are so irresponsible these days.) Honestly, at that point, I think I was seeing stars in just about everything, so I may have mistaken the Devil in his eyes for a "twinkle." All I knew is that I wanted to go skinny dipping in those eyes - eyes as blue as the deep blue sea...
They were fuckin' sexy, is what I'm trying to say, alright?
But I digress. The year was somewhere around five or so ago (give or take), and it was probably a Tuesday? In other words, the mood was just right for an evening of sweet, sweet love making.
Or super ghetto fucking, as it turned out. Dude wore a gold chain necklace that kept knocking me in the chin with every thrust he made. With each, "Oh, guuurrl" I was instantly aware that I was too conscious for this experience. And then God threw me a bone and I blacked out.
When I came to the next morning, Dude was no where to be found. I breathed out a heavy sigh of relief as I rolled over on to my side, but my bliss was cut short. That's when I saw it: his pile of clothes AND his wallet on my bedroom floor. He's still here… FUCK.
|Photo courtesy of the inklingsoflife.com|
Yes, apparently I'm that good in bed.
I never did get opportunity to thank him for breakfast...