Upon opening my eyes, I realize I’m not in my own bed. Worse off, I realize how badly I need to fart. FUCK. I definitely ate something crazy last night. I’m so gassy man and I can’t do it in the bathroom because then it’ll echo! This may very well be the reason I no longer like to sleep with men. Twisting and turning, I find myself in clothes that aren’t mine, my outfit, bra, and panties neatly folded on the floor beside me. Oh good Lord in heaven please tell me I didn’t have sex. NO! I couldn’t have! If I did my panties would be crumpled off and thrown to the side, my bra would be somewhere in the bed, and I sure as FUCK would not have another pair of clothes on because I’d be STARK NAKED. I’m proud to say that I can ALWAYS remember sex no matter how badly I black out. Yet another special skill of mine if you wanna call it that. Slowly in a confused state, my memory catches up with me piece by piece as I roll over and see the chiropractor Beach Blender. My head still on the pillow, I shove him hard to wake him up. Surprised and still slightly sedated, Beach Blender opens his eyes and looks at me with what I think is a look of relief or admiration. Let’s just say both. Our heads still on the pillows, we smile at one another and begin giggling, as I exclaim, “Umm!! What the FUCK happened last night?!”
Completely incognizant of how I really did end up in his bed this morning, I refrain from asking any questions, as I know I’ll be terrified of the answers and unable to hide my shame and disgust in front of Beach Blender. While walking to Starbucks, he asks, “You don’t remember anything?” a slight sound of hurt in his voice. Shrugging, I assure him I’ll remember one day. “ONE DAY my friend..maybe even today” I offer up with a wink and a gun. He blushes. I forgot how cute he was when I first met him…YESTERDAY. In his tight, thermal sweater and flannel pajama pants, Beach Blender looks yummy, with his sweater fitting firmly around his muscular arms and chest. In this moment, I realize I’m still wearing his navy-blue mesh shorts and over-sized t-shirt. As a means to not have to walk in my high-heels, I’m also wearing his size 11 flip flops. I’m a size 6…size 4 in boys. Ugh. He looks so much hotter than me right now. By the looks on all the people’s faces that we pass, I know I’m not the only one with this thought.
As we sit across from each other outside of the Starbucks, several homeless people walking up and asking for change, I’m at a loss for words. FUCK man it’s bad enough I’m doing a walk of shame, but to do the walk of shame with the person with whom you shamefully conducted yourself the night prior?! Double fuck. Not to mention I can smell how AWFUL my underarms are at this point and can only imagine how the experience was for him sleeping next to me, with my farting, snoring, smelly ass. Ugh. I cover my face and cower down at the thought.
Releasing me from my self-imposed judgments, Beach Blender breaks the silence and casually asks, “So about this blog…I can’t wait to read what you write about last night!” WHAT WHAT WHAT?! Of fucking course you told him about your blog, Jayla. I ask him what else he knows and if I gave him the website, to which he admits that he knows neither and would like to. I shake my head vigorously and demand that it’s not happening, considering how awfully Drummer took it when I finally gave him the site. I do, however, offer to provide him with the story if he’d like. He accepts my offer. Beach Blender now puts his head down and, looking up at me with puppy dog eyes, hesitates at first, then asks, “So…do you remember making out?” unable to keep from blushing at the question. I giggle and simultaneously cover my mouth while doing so, attempting to conceal my blushing reaction as well (and yes I look very much like an Asian school girl doing this) as I have a quick flashback of his lips on mine at the club, how great of a kisser he was, and how I almost vomited in his mouth. “Yes….oh yes I remember that…” I reply, salaciously grinning back and winking at him while internally laughing my ass off at how un-sexy I actually REALLY am.
I’m so fucking hung-over at this point that I contemplate asking to sleep longer at his place. Then I realize that I’ve more than overstayed my welcome. Cookies and Cocoa are treating me to a birthday brunch in Newport Beach. I can’t wait to tell them about this shit. After hugging and kissing and screaming-how-much-fun-we-had goodbye, I get into my car and head straight down the Pacific Coast Highway towards Orange County. And yes, I am finally able to fart as I please.
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