Friday, April 27, 2012

Bubble Baths

            My friend had invited me to a wedding with him.  (Rumor has it he has a small crush on me, but he knows about Guy #1, so I don’t think he was expecting anything, and if he was… Sorry Charlie).  Anywho, we go to this wedding and start drinking immediately.  You know, it was going to be one of those kinds of weddings where everyone is Irish and loud, and in kilts, and hammered.  Can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.  Always a good motto.
            One of the kilt wearing Irishmen is hanging out with us.  I can’t help but notice he is a beautiful man.  He had black hair, piercing blue eyes and he had a nice build.  (Fireman, always a positive).  I also can’t help but notice how he is looking at me.  Immediately, what one would think when someone is staring at them that hard is this; ‘do I have something on my face?’ ‘Boogers?’ ‘What the fuck man?’
I went with the subtle, “hello, whats your name?” with a hint of annoyance in my voice as if I'm challenging him now.
            He smiles, I don’t know if he found me funny, or outrageous, but whatever, he smiled and introduced himself.  Firm hand shake, he means business, and I like it.
            Needless to say, the night progresses and the beer is flowing, and were all dancing like idiots.  It was a fun enough wedding, I guess.  I didn’t know anyone but the friend that brought me, and now apparently, I knew this kilt wearing Irishman.  It’s easy to be a moron in a crowd of people you don’t know and most likely will never see again, so I acted like an ass.  Drank way too much, ate all the food in front of me like I was going to the chair, danced, kicked off my shoes and boogied.  Stared at the Irishman.
            As the wedding came to a close, the hotel bar was patiently waiting for us to adjourn there, so again, we were off.  More and more beers to be had.  I went upstairs and changed into my comfortable clothes.  I am not one to be out and about in a dress and heals, you joking me?  Fuck that, if I'm going to be drinking all night long, I would prefer to do it in sweats and a wife beater.  That’s just me, and for those of you that may read this, judgment is a sin and God hates sinners.
            Being that at this point I had been drinking for the better part of 12 hours or so, I had been chain-smoking as well.  Thanks to the big white light in the sky I bought another pack for the evening.  Its weird how quickly they disappear when there is alcohol involved.  I digress.
            I step outside to have a quick smoke and who comes with me but the Irishman.  Interesting.  He doesn’t smoke.  He seems more like a pretty boy in that doesn’t do anything bad, smoking is bad.  But he is a drinker, always a positive for me.  Being that I enjoy drinks and such.
            Quickly, what is it with me and idle conversation that always turns into something strange?  I don’t understand!  Here we are talking about who knows what, and he comes out with, “ugh, I am so sore and tired.  I think I am going to take a bath tonight and soak.”
            Fucking kidding me?
            “Oh, that sounds like fun.”
            “Yea?  You wanna join?”
            Again, fucking kidding me?  Of course I’m going to join!  I happen to love baths and men with dark hair and blue eyes.  And firemen.  Bla, whatever!
            “Right, I’m going back inside now.”
            Ladies!  Play it off!  Don’t instantly throw yourself into a situation that involves nudity and bathing with strangers unless it is thought of for at least 20 minutes.  Possibly more than 20 minutes.  (I mean, I guess no one would normally mentally agree to a bath with a stranger unless they were drunk, and I was indeed intoxicated at that point).  Only me, swear to God.
            The night continues.  The Irish clan of people had a party set up for after the after party.  The drinking continues again.  It is about 4am when the Irishman approaches me and says he is out of there, it was nice to meet me.  He takes me hand, kisses the cheek, you know, classy shit, and slips something into my hand. 
            When someone slips something into your hand stealthily, don’t be a fucking idiot and look at it right away.  Put it in your pocket and wait 12 seconds.  I didn’t take my own advice, because I was like ‘oh wow, whats this? Duhh.’
            How the hell am I going to slip away from my ‘date’ to go take a bath with this guy?  Why am I going to bathe myself with a stranger?  I don’t know.  I mean, I guess I felt dirty; I could use a nice back rub.  Whatever.  I head to my room first to grab something, I don’t remember why I did this, or what it was that I went to get.  Maybe I went to the bathroom or something?  Who knows.  I don’t.  Then I head back to room 128.  Which is of course right near the after after party.  Perfect!  Why not!?
            Fuck it.
            I stick the card into the slot, and the green light flashed. 
            “You weren’t kidding about the bath were you?”
            “I didn’t think you were really coming!”
            “Dude, you gave me your key, of course I was going to come.”
            Is that slutty?  I mean it kind of is when I think back on it.  Who the hell just takes a random mans room key, uses it, and berates him for being honest in saying he is indeed taking a bath.  That’s right, fucking me.  Only me.  Typical me!  Unreal.  (I was mentally insulting myself at this point.  ‘You’re an idiot!  Abort mission!  You don’t know this fucking guy!  Awell, just sex.  Dive in”
            There he is in his boxers, making the water bubbly.  And there I am leaning on the doorframe of the bathroom contemplating this thing again for serious.  I go with my gut instinct.  I am going to take a bath.  I am a dirty girl.
            “You joining me?”
            Drop trow.  Yank off shirt.  All my clothes are scattered on the floor and I plop myself down into the warm water.  He slides in right behind me and we're just sitting there in the tub.  He apparently has never had a bath with two people in it, because as soon as he slides in the fucking water overflows, and being that water is stupid, it heads right for my clothes.  Wonderful!  Why not!?
He starts rubbing my back, and its nice I guess.  From what I can recall anyways.  The water started making me drowsy, so I told him I was getting out.  I will let this detail slip; he is a GREAT kisser.  I mean, wow.  So I wrap myself in a towel and try to ring out my clothes in the sink.  Didn’t go that well.  Now I'm screwed.  I didn’t have another change of clothes with me, and I was not planning on staying at the hotel that night anyways, so clearly, I could not go back to my friends room soaking wet and wearing possibly nothing. 
He pulls me onto the bed and we jump under the blankets.  I fell asleep for like a half an hour and I am awoken to him pushing my arm, ‘are you awake?’  Wouldn’t it make sense that if I were in fact awake, I would have answered the first time you poked me?  Just saying.
I think we all know what happened there.
Over and done.  He asks me, “Umm do you dye your hair?”
“Strange question, yes I do, why?”
He spreads his arm wide around the bed as to say, “take a look.”  I look and it looks like there was a massacre on the sheets.  Red hair dye is everywhere.  The pillows, the sheets, the comforter, towels, everywhere.  No bueno.  I just started laughing.  The look on his face was priceless.  He said fuck it, he didn’t care. 
I head to the bathroom to do the whole post sex thing.  Wash up (alone this time! Muahaha) and my clothes are still soaked.  My sweat pants have blotchy wet spots on them, my beater is soaked, my bra is wet, underwear drenched.  I was in a serious predicament. 
I pull my pants on, ugh; I strap on my bra, double ugh, and throw my pea coat on over my bra.  I wave at the Irishman, don’t leave my number, and I walk out the door. 
You know those shows where there is typically a train wreck of a woman walking through the streets of Manhattan or something, and she clearly is disheveled from having sex with someone?  Picture this, a starry bra, soaking wet sweat pants, and a barely closed pea coat.  Wet hair, which is probably running red down my back at that point, and slippers, (not complements of the hotel.  I should have taken their mints though.  Fuck).
I go up to my friend’s room, grab all my shit and peace out of there so fast. 
Once again, I have an in depth conversation with myself about how I cant be doing things like this anymore.  Not having the car radio available to me, I have come to know a lot about myself since myself and my other self talk now.  That’s right, its like I am a new found schizoid.  (Which reminds me, get some fucking fuses for my car before I get locked up and tied to a bed inside a padded room).
I get home, throw my phone on the charger and text my friend some bullshit story about how I got sick.  Then I went to sleep.
I probably should have said something a little more believable, like ‘explosive diarrhea’ or something, but ailments seemed right to me at the time. 
The next day I went back for more with guy #1. 
I feel the need to take a bath.









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