How Not to Get Laid

(The Dangers of Alcohol: Part 3 — where our protagonist once again learns: Screw the sauce or be screwed by the sauce. — SF)

Submitted by TooCool, Age 36, Traverse City, MI

I was in my mid-20s, and thought I was just the coolest bitch ever. Just graduated a prestigious college. Big fish, small pond. I met a guy at work with an ego greater than/equal to mine, and I tried like hell to bag him.

We had had a one-nighter, which, fueled by way too much alcohol, was forgettable. Er, forgotten. I wanted another chance.

Long story short — I had a party at my parents’ house on the lake, about 40 miles from the city. It was a pain in the ass to get him to come all the way out there for the bash, but he did finally show up, with another cool friend.

By the time he arrived, I was so far gone on booze and hash that I made a total ass of myself. I allowed him to degrade my assembled local friends — and I joined in. I was unhinged.

Fast forward an hour or so, I puked all over the place. He and his friend made a hasty retreat while I vomited. I returned to the party to find everyone gone.

How cool is that?

P.S. Ironic ending — I am now happily married to Cool Guy’s childhood best friend — who has let me know in no uncertain terms that NO ONE who actually knows Cool Guy thinks he’s cool. He’s actually a whiny, insecure heroin addict (And the probable reason I don’t remember the one-nighter is because his dick is so small that it was like throwing a hotdog down a hallway).

CLICK STARS TO RATE THIS STORY:

(16 votes, average: 2.31 out of 5)

 Loading ...