Sometimes they pick you up and sometimes you end up raping each other.
I'm drinking alone on a Sunday. Due to the shampoo effect, I'm pretty tuned up.
The shampoo effect is the result of drinking away a hangover or resuming your binge after a respite, like getting wet with leftover suds still in your hair.
I step out to the bar's patio, light a cigarette. In a college town, every night promises some measure of drunks, vagabonds, and naive women.
There's a group of beer drinkers being obnoxiously German; one female, frumpy, unkempt.
Two hipsters on a date. The one who's supposed to be male looks like he sleeps in a onesie and uses phrases like "rape culture" and "male privelege".
Workable three-set at a high top; one lumberjack, one hot blonde, one brunette in sensible shoes.
I finish my scotch before approaching. It's an 18 year, it's to be savored. Three second rule's for virgins.
I've had one pull from the Marlboro when lumberjack and shoes are on their way to me instead.
They introduce themselves. They're a couple.
Shoes says, "our friend would like to buy you a drink."
She gestures back toward the blonde. Coy smile sent my way.
Lumberjack says, "she's shy."
I join them. Shy Blonde buys me my demanded Macallan, but says nothing. Only giggles at my wry quips while I engage Lumberjack and Shoes.
I say, "sending your friends to do your dirty work, might as well have passed me a note in English class."
Shy Blonde says, "I like doing dirty work."
She giggles and drapes her arm around me. I realize Shy Blonde isn't shy. She's drunk. Maybe drunker than I am. Respect.
Shoes suggests we all go back to their place. They're college students, they live in a shithole around the corner.
En rout, Drunk Blonde eagerly links arms with me, it's called promenading. It's the most effort I have offered this enterprise so far.
In their cramped, poorly decorated hovel, Shoes and Lumberjack set out to further intoxicate me. The group takes a shot, then I'm poured two more for myself, etc.
This goes on longer than it should.
Drunk Blonde's hand is now squarely on my still-sheathed and flaccid member, seeking improvement. The social dynamic is palpably uncomfortable.
Shoes and Lumberjack gleefully excuse themselves upstairs, tossing us a parting "have fun!"
Being primarily accustomed to working hard day-to-day to bed girls, I'm floating in a new, strange territory where I am the one being lazily seduced. I'm also completely sloshed.
Drunk Blonde says with a slur, "carry me in there." She gestures roughly toward a bedroom.
I comply, saying something fairly witty about Tenzing Norgay but knowing it was just for me.
Once in bed, she is in sexual autopilot. She tears at my clothes, fumbles with my belt. We're kissing passionately.
Drunk Blonde's eyes are essentially closed but she remains aggressive. I stop. I say, "we're a bit drunk for this. Let's have a nap and pick up in the morning."
She pulls me closer and says, "fuck me, Paul."
My name is not Paul.
We sloppily undress each other. She's on top of me, and pants are an awkward thing to begin with.
We struggle a bit, knock over the nightstand, the lamp shatters.
Her body is phenomenal. I'm struggling to focus.
Fearing whiskey dick, I say, "we should stop."
She says, "undress me."
I flip her onto her back and, at this point, reluctantly oblige.
Her leggings roll off and I tear her thong apart. It is destroyed.
I bury my head between her legs but my usual proficiency is impeded by the shampoo effect.
She pulls out a clump of my hair, I yelp, and then I insert. Who uses condoms? Betas.
Her nails are scratching my back to all hell while I have my way. I choke her a bit, but not as much as usual. I am lacking enthusiasm due to the effects of the drink.
She is an active and engaged participant in this coitus until just about the time I am ready to finish.
Then... she goes catatonic.
Just as I'm wrapping up I discover that she is completely asleep.
Stone cold unconscious with me inside her.
What the fuck do I do?
Well, I finish up. I deposit all over the place, and then I step back and survey the scene.
Unconscious girl, spread eagle on the bed.
Ripped panties. Broken lamp. Scratches. Ripped out hair. Signs of a struggle.
My DNA all over her and the headboard.
Shit.
This does not look good.
I rush to collect my clothes and make a hasty exit.
I pause and examine some photos on the wardrobe.
This isn't even her room.
The photos are of a girl I dated last year who I one day stopped calling.
I hear the front door opening. I rush for the back exit, stark naked, clothes in hand.
Once in the backyard I find myself fenced in. Hop over, run through the next yard. My dingle is dongling to and fro.
I pause to dress myself. Forgot my shoes. Fuck it. Hop the next fence.
Calmly walk barefoot to my car and drive home wasted. I feel used. I guess?
Good pull.
-Captain America
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