So the other night my friend [Hollywood] and I threw a party. We picked up a girl we knew, [Veal] who brought along one of her friends [Daddy's Little Girl]. Whenever we have a party it's at a coworker named [Hurricane]'s house. He's got a two-story condo with thick walls; We can all get drunk, high, and laid without the neighbors complaining.
I'm the DD, which is cool because I don't like to drink very much (especially the bitch drinks they were making. I'm sorry but Alizé is repackaged cough-syrup. No fuck that I'm not sorry.)
So Hollywood is the drink mixer. Veal and Hollywood] are drinking his patented Alizé cocktail I call "Panty Wax", DLG is drinking some Appletini syrup shit mixed with Smirnoff. Her drink smelled like a green jolly rancher, which I guess is foreshadowing for you to her overall level of maturity.
We start schmoozing the girls, which I'll admit Hollywood is better at, but the girl I had was a little husky so any attention I give her is magnified in direct proportion to her weight. I can tell she's starting to loosen up a bit.
I feel like I need to clarify something. When I say DLG was husky I mean she had at least D's but could stand to go to the gym for maybe 15 lbs. She also had a very cute face with slate-grey eyes that never seemed to have a shadow on them. In short, she had big tits, pretty eyes, and would be nothing short of "hot" if she went to the gym a bit more often. There isn't any dishonor in fooling around with a fat girl when the only other option is a near-sighted Asian guy, so you can trust that I gave you a fair description.
Veal was talking to DLG, and mentioned something about DLG's step-dad. Upon hearing this she asks for another drink. This girl has apparently a pretty low tolerance for alcohol, what would barely faze me has her unable to walk, and now she is asking for a "Panty Wax". It doesn't take a rocket-surgeon to figure out she has some emotional baggage pent up inside.
thats some more foreshadowing for you ass.
Some more sweet talking, helped along by some alcohol and in no small part by Veal trying to suck Hollywood's face off, I move in for the kill. So now the four of us are paired off making out, and Hurricane is just sitting there kind of watching. While I know that would creep most people out, we're used to it and try to get him a girl to play with as often as we can (there actually are a couple stories with that theme, one I found out from Hollywood a few weeks ago involving a girl with a fidelity problem).
Uh-oh, she pulled back. She tells me she doesn't want to make out with me anymore, because she just met me and it isn't right. I give her a sympathetic look and tell her if she enjoys it it isn't too bad, then ask her if she enjoys it. she kind of nods and moves her head forward to kiss me some more.
What's really funny is that even through me making her feel better for making out with a guy she just met I didn't remember her name.
My sweet-talking only worked for a while, after about ten more minutes of this she decided that making out with a guy she met less than an hour ago while his hand in inside her bra definitely isn't right. She says no more and gets off my lap (she had been straddling me). apparently she thought that I'd be fine with her cuddling up against me while my friend and her friend are finding out what everything above each other's neck tastes like.
I'm a man of action, and I wasn't about to let this set me back. "God Dammit, I'm going to do everything in my power to get my weenie wet tonight" I thought "and if this bitch isn't putting out I know one that will". So I got up and went over to Hollywood's side of the couch.
Thats right, I pushed the frigid bitch off my shoulder and started making out with her slutty friend, while Hollywood was playing with her tits. I wish I looked back to see how DLG reacted to my actions, but to be honest I had more important things to do at that moment.
Like Veal, for instance.
When I came up for air Veal went down and started making out with Hollywood without missing a beat (she was on top of him) and I figured I'd leave them alone, she obviously has a crush on him and I know from past experience she's only good for one mouthski. guess who will have dibs on it? Hollywood.
She whispers something in his ear and they both get up and head upstairs. This honestly kind of worries me. You see, I might have little to no regard for the feelings of others, I take care of those I feel responsible for. I'm the DD, I brought these girls here, and I'm the only sober adult here (Hurricane doesn't count). I'm responsible for them God Dammit, and I talked to Veal before they were drinking and she told me no sex no matter what she said while she was drunk. She's one of those weird girls who don't want to lose their virginity in a drunken hook-up with a guy who doesn't really care about them. I know, weird huh?
I texted Hollywood and told him no sex, and when I didn't feel he agree strongly enough I texted him again. If he doesn't convince me he's on the same page I'll just interrupt him enough nothing happens. He actually ran downstairs and gave me all the condoms he had on him. He wasn't drunk enough to go forward with it raincoat-free, I was convinced.
DLG wasn't putting out, and I'm not about to beg a drunk girl for sex. So I resign myself to another night of antagonizing the drunk girl. She told me she drank too much, like she thought I cared about her self-assessment of her drinking (I don't). I thought I'd humor her a bit and ask her why she wanted that last glass of "Panty Wax," she mistook this to mean I wanted the full story (I didn't).
She starts telling me about how her mom is divorcing her step dad because he's a loser who hasn't has a job in three years (I have two jobs, how come this guy can't find one?) and how he physically and emotionally abuses her and her mom. Then she starts telling me about her biological dad who she didn't even know existed until she was 8 died (someone who was paying attention might be able to tell you how long ago, but I wasn't), how she never got a chance to see him, and when she did she didn't want to see him, and how she visits his grave and talks to him.
You read all that right, she doesn't know me well enough to make out with me when she is drunk and horny, but she knows me well enough to vent about all her emotional baggage. I interrupt her before she can move on to her pets and extended family by telling Hurricane I was bored and asking where the remote was.
Thankfully she got the hint after a few minutes of me watching robot chicken and laughing at the funny parts and she shut up. Thank god for small favors. DLG started telling me how Veal has a crush on Hollywood, and how DLG thinks it's a good distraction from some faggot Mexican kid (before you get mad at me I am not saying all Mexicans are faggots or anything like that. I mean he is Mexican and if you saw him walking down the street you would think he likes to suck dick). Then she starts asking me if Hollywood likes her back, I wanted to say "He'll stop talking to her the moment she stops putting out" but just said I didn't know. She bought it and fell asleep cuddling against my shoulder a few minutes later.
It's commercial time, I'm still horny from the making out and simply still being at the age where anything can make me horny, so I venture upstairs to find the sluttier of the two girls. They are in the "drum room," where (I'm not making this up) the only things in the room is a drum kit and a bookshelf full of action figures.
Do you understand why I said Hurricane doesn't count as an adult now?
I open the door and start to walk towards Veal and cautiously ask if she's gooey. I had no misconceptions that he would be in any condition to make out, but I wanted to know if she was safe to touch without touching Hollywood (if you know what I mean). She said no. Damn, struck out there too.
As I'm walking out of the drum room Hollywood is walking in with a towel. His hands are covered with... "specimens"... and he's wiping his hands on the towel. We collide. I have that sickening moment of realization that my shirt has his little swimmers on it.
I run to the bathroom and turn on the light, and my fears are confirmed, there is maybe a quarter-inch square area that is gooey. that is far, far too much semen from another guy to be on my person. I carefully but (more importantly) quickly unbutton my shirt and tear it off.
Want to hear something great about Hurricane? That lucky bastard still gets his mom to wash his clothes. He doesn't even have a washing machine or dryer at his house. I go downstairs and run my shirt under hot water until I am sure it's as clean as I can get it, then I turn on the oven and fold my shirt so the wet area is on top, then I put it on a rib-rack and bake my shirt dry. Try it, it works.
I am pissed. I got blue-balls, nothing to put my dick in, and now I got my best friend's jizz on one of my nice shirts. I'm about to write the whole night off as a loss when I remember I put a dime-bag in the pouch my pipe came in for a rainy day. It was that day, and unfortunately the rain was Hollywood's cum.
I took my shirt out of the oven and threw some corn dogs in, being the sweetheart I am I asked the girls how many corn dogs they wanted. Veal wasn't interested, and DLG said she wanted me to make a frozen pizza for us instead. I almost told her I wanted a blowjob but people don't always get what they want. She repeated to me that she wanted a pizza, and I repeated to her that we are having motherfucking corn dogs.
No wonder her step dad abused her and is divorcing her mom, I want to and I just met her.
I grab my pipe and the dime-bag of coincidentally the strongest shit I've ever smoked and venture off to the garage. I start smoking and Hollywood ventures out, and our conversation was basically:
Hollywood: You're smoking?
TrappedInLivermore: (gasping) yeah
H: Let me hit that
H: Hey you know we got to get going home in like a half-hour right?
TIL: Fuck. Better smoke quick then.
Being the gentleman I am, I offered the ladies a hit, they declined. Abstinence-only sex education failed them but I guess abstinence-only drug education worked.
Hollywood and I have a theory that all girls that play lacrosse have daddy issues. We think this because, well honestly, every girl we've met who played lacrosse has daddy issues.
We're eating and I'm telling Hollywood about what she was blathering about, and he says something I should have thought of from the start. I yell to DLG “Hey do you play lacrosse?” and she looks puzzled, and says “Not anymore, why?”
looks like the theory still stands.
We're finishing the food and the girls start roughhousing a bit, one was trying to tell us something and the other was trying to shut her up. I wish she succeeded, because it eventually works it's way out that they were fighting over “pressure points”. From what I gathered when they say “pressure points” they mean their sensitive areas, for example if biting a girls neck gets her in the mood it's a “pressure point”. What I also gathered is that each of them has approximately fifteen thousand of these such points, because they would not shut up. I had to shout in order to be heard above their bickering, telling them that nobody cares about their pressure points because they were already easy enough.
When you're at Hurricane's house you take off your shoes as soon as you enter. I told you he was Asian. We're crowded around the door slipping out shoes on and I noticed DLG was looking around, but I thought nothing of it. Then I inhaled. The bitch fucking farted!
I rush everyone out the door saying we need to get home soon, just so I could taste the sweet smell of freedom, and to get away from her little air-biscuit.
I'm tripping balls, Hollywood is drunk and high, and the girls are lame and drunk... and we needed to be home before our parents wake up. High or not I'm still the DD, so I get in the drivers seat and they pile in, and we get driving.
Ironically, we almost died not from the baked pilot of their craft, but from another driver trying to merge into my lane from an offramp. It was one of those situations where you slow down a bit to let the other driver go ahead of you, but they do the same. We almost got to a complete stop before I laid down on the horn and the douchpon (part douche, part tampon) got the hint and accelerated.
Hollywood lives close to me, and the girls lived on the other side of town, it made sense to drop the girls off first, then Hollywood second. But fuck that, I'm not safe to drive. I start driving to Hollywood's house and the girls asked why we were dropping him off first. Here's my response:
Because I'm high as shit, and statistically speaking Hollywood would be safest if I drop him off first. If I get in an accident, he is the one out of the three of you I would like to survive.
Hollywood is the only one that gets what I said, and he tells me to drop them off first. I drive to down the block from Veal's house and they get out. As we're giving goodbye hugs and last-minute making out I whisper into Veal's ear “Your friends are lame, bring a whore next time or come alone. You're enough fun by yourself”. Then I faked a caring voice when I said my goodbye's to DLG. I did have to fight the urge to lay on the horn as I drive by to wake her grandparents, just to get them in trouble. But, like I said, I am a gentleman and did not do that.
The rest of the drive was uneventful, Hollywood made it inside as his dad was in the shower before work, he was none the wiser. My dad had already left, so nobody was awake to smell pot on me. I don't really care what happened to the girls, but come to think of it Veal didn't answer the phone when we called her earlier today...