People slowly stream in as the night progresses: friends from high school, friends from college, friends from work, friends of friends, relatives of friends.
The details of the early party are inconsequential because the real story begins at around midnight, when everyone was wasted; some, more than others. Like myself, for instance, who after participating in a variety of drinking contests and shot challenges, could now barely stand.
I stumble out onto the patio, looking for Doug, and I see a rather awesome sight: six pretty, cute girls in their bikinis, all stuffed in the hot tub, bathing in the dim moonlight.
A drunken, yet confident, smile creeps across my face.
In my head I rehearse all the cool, suave, and smooth things I will say. My entrance will dazzle them, commanding all of their collective attentions. I’ll play it coy at first, let them ask the questions, remain mysterious and intriguing as I seduce the lot of them. I’ll combine the swagger of Hugh Hefner with the intellectual appeal of... Hugh Hefner.
Or, I’ll get lost in my thoughts, stumble on my way to the hot tub, and spill my drink on one of the girls as I haphazardly catch the edge of the hot tub, to prevent myself from doing a complete face plant.
“Ladies...!” I yap awkwardly as I fall.
My drink douses one of the girls and splashes into the tub. The girl lets out a shriek as ice cubes and rum fall all over her.
Wonderful...
I jump up to my feet and lean forward to apologize, but I don’t realize that I’ve moved my hand from the edge of the tub to one of the girls’ shoulders, and I push her under the water as I lean forward.
“Shit!” I burp.
I lean back and fall down. The girl leaps up out of the water, gagging. The few people still outside are laughing. The girls don’t look too impressed.
I take a second to shake it off. My head is spinning. I kind of don’t even comprehend what I did just there, but I know it was bad. I get to my feet, slowly this time.
“I’m really sorry,” I slur.
I wonder where my drink went.
One of the girls is covered in rum and laughing heartily. She’s a cute brunette, with her hair in a ponytail and small, cute breasts wrapped in a cyan-blue and yellow bikini. The nomenclature will become obvious later, but this is Queasy Girl. And you know what they say about queasy girls: queasy girls are easy girls.
I notice my cup floating in the hot tub and I remember where my drink went.
Oh yeah...
The whole tub smells like ice cream. It’s the spiced rum.
Queasy girl hiccups and drops her drink. At least she’s drunk too.
She dips under the water and resurfaces, clean.
“Well, can’t do any more damage here,” I joke.
None of the other girls laugh.
“Yeah...” I lean forward, again on one of the girls, and fish out my now empty cup. “Ladies,” I say as I give one of the girls a hearty slap on the back.
“OW!” she yelps.
Maybe it was a bit too hard.
She glares at me.
My smile fades and I retreat quickly. There’s a visible red hand print on her back where I slapped her.
As I stumble back towards the house, one of the guys in a lawn chair staring at me and shaking his head says, “Brutal.”
“Shut up,” I mumble. “I know it was...”
---
I burst into the kitchen and fall on my ass.
“OW!” I curse, more at the floor than anyone else, as I massage my bruised tailbone. Now, both my ego and my tailbone are bruised.
“Careful,” Bryan turns to me, “someone spilled.”
“Thanks for the heads up,” I mumble.
I pick up my bottle of spiced rum and pour a shot. I take a deep breath as I stare at it. I really don’t want to do another shot. But I also need to block out the pure humiliating moment I just had by the hot tub. I close my eyes, plug my nose, and toss the shot back.
I slam my fist on the table and gasp. I fucking hate spiced rum.
“Yeah!” some random girl behind me hoots in a congratulatory yet sarcastic tone.
“Shut up,” I mumble.
Eric is beside me giggling like a girl. “You’re so stupid,” he tells me.
“Huh?”
“Duuuuude,” he slurs slowly as his head falls to the table. “How are you still drinking?”
I shrug. I pour another shot, grab some cola, and quickly mix a new drink.
“Did you find Doug?” Bryan asks, his eyes are half open and he’s swaying as he talks.
“Dude,” I reply, still hunched over the table, “I don’t know even what Doug is right now. You know what I did find though? I found these cute bikinis in girls out in the hot tub. And I pushed one of them under the water man.”
“AWESOME!” he shouts, as he raises his hand for a high five.
I slap it away. “No man! Not awesome! They were hot man... hot and cute and I spilled my drink on this one bikini that was checking me out.”
“She was checking you out?” Eric asks, still face down on the table.
“Probably,” I mutter, “I don’t know... What is this? Twenty-one questions?”
I sit down beside Eric and rest for a minute. It’s hard to think and be dizzy at the same time. More alcohol can only help matters.
I take another shot.
God! I hate shots!
For some reason at this point, I get the stupidest idea ever, but think it’s amazing...
Bryan exits the kitchen.
I jump up and hastily chase after him.
“Bryan! Wait!” I shout to him, “I need you to help me fashion my shirt into a hat! So I can impress those girls!”
---
As the party wears on, I lose my shirt-hat, and my left sock. I drink three more shots, and regret each and every one. Someone gives me a party hat. I toss it away in disgust. It’s no shirt-hat.
People have started trying to hold piggyback races in the halls, but it’s ending very poorly. Three pictures have already been pulled off the walls, and injured participants litter the makeshift course. People are tripping and falling with alarming regularity.
I’ve given up on drinking from a glass anymore and have moved on to drinking straight from the bottle.
I wander around aimlessly, shirtless, burping and drinking from my bottle, desperately trying to find my shirt-hat.
I fall sideways onto the couch, landing on the people chatting there. They yell at me and push me on to the ground.
Well, fuck you too.
I’m a mess, a disaster. I need to be taken home. I need to go to bed. I need water. I need to stop drinking. I need to lay down. I need to put my clothes back on.
I stand up and take another swig of my bottle.
Bah, it’s disgusting!
I’m stumbling around the living room in only my shorts when I turn around to the site of Queasy Girl. She’s leaning up against a wall, looking half asleep and clearly inebriated. She takes a drink from a bottle of tequila.
“She drinks from bottles too!” I coo, as if somehow this commonality between us is romantic.
I stand up tall, adjust my shorts, mess up my hair a bit, and take a deep breath.
“Just be cool,” I tell myself.
“Just blow me...” some girl behind me mumbles.
“Shut up!” I shout.
I take another deep breath and compose myself.
I try to approach her cooly, but my one remaining sock is only half on, and I trip over it. I stumble towards her and nearly body check her into the wall. Luckily I break my fall with my arm. It lands on the wall beside her head. I quickly lean on the arm, as if I’d intended to lean up against the wall from the start.
“It’s youuuuuuuu,” I say with an intoxicated drawl.
She giggles.
“I spilled a drink on you,” I tell her. I lean forward and sexily whisper in her ear, “when you were in the hot tub...”
“A lot of people spill stuff on me,” she smiles suggestively.
“Heh, yeah!” I exclaim. “You mean like cum?!”
As the words leave my lips I realize that a cruder phrase could not have been uttered.
But she laughs and pushes me jovially. “You’re so dirty!”
I smile at her. She smiles back.
We chat for a little bit longer. About what? I couldn’t tell you if I wanted to. I think I ask her who she is, and how she’s enjoying her night; real lame conversation starters honestly. But I’m too drunk to do any better, and she’s a chatty girl, so I just lean against the wall and pretend to listen as she talks, while I really fight off this drunken, dizzy feeling of mine.
After a little while there’s a break in the conversation and we both stand there awkwardly for a bit.
She looks at me.
I look at her.
We both stare at each other with drunken gazes for what feels like forever.
She bites her lip slowly.
I lick mine.
A smile creeps across her face. I reciprocate.
“Where’s your shirt?” she asks coyly.
“Maybe I lost it,” I say, raising one eye brow. “Where’s yours?”
She’s still in her bikini.
“Maybe I did too,” she whispers with a sexy grin.
Then, the best, most perfect synchrony of thoughts that has ever occurred in the history of the world happens: I make a drunk, sloppy kiss face at her, and in response, she pulls me close and we start making out.
She drops her tequila, I drop my rum.
She kisses my neck, and I gasp, “I lost a sock too you know!”
She pulls back and I start biting and kissing her neck.
“Me too!” she cries, as if it somehow is a passionate statement. “Oh god! I lost both my socks!”
---
After a few minutes of kissing we slow down. I stumble and almost fall as we move apart. She giggles drunkenly. Someone yells at us to get a room. A buddy of mine walks by and gives me a laudatory pat on the back as he passes.
I smile. “You’re soft,” I tell her, holding her in my arms.
“You too,” she says, arms wrapped around me.
We both stand there, swaying a little drunkenly, unsure of what the next move is. Then, the background music fades in, and we both realize we’re nodding to it.
“Want to dance?” I shrug.
She nods eagerly.
I lift her up over my shoulder and plow a way to the dance floor.
“Beep beep,” I shout, as I carry her through the crowds.
We get to the living room, and I stub my toe on the coffee table.
“Fuck!” I exclaim. I fall forward and drop her on her ass.
She lets out a yelp of pain, amidst a swirl of giggling. Everyone is looking at us. I quickly jump to my feet and begin to dance drunkenly. A.K.A., I stand in the middle of the room and thrust my pelvis in the direction of the fallen Queasy Girl.
Queasy Girl is laughing and falling repeatedly as she tries to stand up. She reaches her hand out. I take it and pull her up. As soon as I do she kisses me quickly and then giggles. Then she flips around and starts grinding with me to the club beats.
She shoves her ass into my groin, I reach around and grab her boobs. She slaps my ass, I slap hers. She bites my neck, I push her down and dance with my crotch at her eye level.
It’s much more than R-rated.
I’ve known this girl for all of twenty minutes, and yet here we are, in the middle of a party, drunk out of our minds, grinding and bumping in front of everyone.
I wonder when we’ll get to make out again.
At the time, we’re too drunk. Our worlds are too hazy, too spinny. We’re lost in the music and the beats, in the thinly veiled sexual foreplay that we’re both engaged in. Neither of us realize, that no one is dancing but us.
In fact, the entire party stops to watch us dance.
I reach my hand up under her bikini top and clearly grope her breast.
She lets out a playful scream and leans her body back into mine. We’re spooning as we dance.
She leans her torso forward and goes down on all fours.
“Yeah!” I exclaim as I ram by pelvis into her butt.
In my head, it’s all innocent and PG. But in reality, I’m slapping a clearly visible hard on in my shorts repeatedly against her bikini-clad ass. I’m taking my dick in my hand, over my shorts, and spanking her with it.
I start to slap her ass with my hand. I do it so hard that it leaves palm prints on her rump.
I’m so drunk that I don’t realize, but everyone is watching this soft-core porn of a dance routine unfold. Everyone’s staring at my erect penis and my scantily clothed partner.
Someone turns the music up. Others start hooting and hollering. We continue our inappropriate mambo. We grind and grope and push and grab. My dick bounces. Her ass gets slapped. Her boobs get groped. She digs her nails into my ass. We dance until we’re dripping in sweat.
Finally, we collapse on top of each other.
She’s repeating over and over, “Oh my god!”
I fall on top of her, my head resting on her chest. I can hear her heart pumping a million times a second. Mine is doing the same. I feel dizzy and sick. I need more alcohol.
I don’t want to say anything, but I think I’m going to puke.
We both get up and she heads for the washroom.
As she does I take a moment to push her into a dark corner and kiss her again. We trip and fall over the shoes in the main hallway, and end up making out briefly over everyone’s dirty footwear.
Then she breaks the moment.
“Ladies room,” she gasps. “Be right back.”
I slap her ass and try to make a sexy comment as she runs upstairs. However, I forget my own strength, and my slap causes her to trip on the stairs. My sexy comment also comes out as merely a gurgle and burp.
I’m really close to puking!
---
With Queasy Girl gone I start to realize how sick I really am.
My head is pounding, and I’m sweating now, not because of dancing, but because of alcohol. I pick up my bottle of spiced rum and take another gulp. Fuck... it only makes matters worse.
I find myself wandering out on the patio staring up at the stars. I’m not watching where I’m going so I trip over a patio chair and land hard on the deck. I let out a cry of pain and my spiced rum bottle rolls out of my reach.
Then, dizziness culminates into nausea.
“Oh god!” I cry out.
I frantically pull myself to the edge of the deck and puke all over the bushes in the garden.
I see Doug’s dog suddenly stand up from under the bushes and dart away. He goes maybe ten feet before he starts shaking himself violently, trying to free himself from the layer of vomit that just landed on him.
Sorry doggy...
I vomit and wretch and spew. Alcohol and hamburgers and bile all flow out of my gaping mouth. I puke, and puke, and puke.
In the end I blow a pukey booger out of my nose and wipe the tears from my eyes.
Why the hell do you cry when you puke?
The bile-covered dog gives me an evil stare and runs off.
I feel bad about puking on him.
I struggle to my feet and grab my rum bottle. I take a big swig of spiced rum, to get the flavour of sickness out of my mouth.
Unfortunately I swallow. Immediately the gag reflex kicks in.
“Oh fuck!” I exclaim.
I hunch over the railing and again puke.
Puking is always so much less fun the second time around...
After I finish, I take another mouthful of my spiced rum, but this time after swishing it around in my mouth, I spit it out onto the now vomit-dripping bushes.
I get to my feet, but I’m weak. I feel like I’m standing on jell-o. I take a second to steady myself on the railing. I look down at my feeble legs and realize I have a massive erection.
“Oh man...” I gasp, suddenly realizing what I was slapping Queasy Girl with on the dance floor. “Shit...” I mumble in disbelief.
All the images of my dick slapping into her nearly-naked ass, as everyone watched, flood back. I wasn’t even subtle about it. I clearly remember taking a hold of it in my hand and slapping her in the face with it at one point.
I sigh and hope no one took photos.
I reach down and take my dick and prop it up with my waistband. Oldest trick in the guy-penis book: Use your waistband like an elastic to prop your dick up and hide an inconvenient boner.
With my dick safely held up with my waistband, you can’t even tell I have a boner anymore. I take a deep breath and another swig of my spiced rum.
Blah! Why am I still drinking?!
---
A few minutes later Queasy Girl finds me on the deck, alone.
She comes out, walking very sexily, although holding her arms out to keep her balance and prevent her occasional drunken stumble from turning to an embarrassing fall.
“There you are,” she purrs.
“Yup,” I reply, “it’s me!”
“Mmmm,” she coos.
She pushes me up against the railing and grabs my head with her hands. She pulls me near to kiss her but I stop her.
“Wait! I puked...” I reluctantly admit.
“It’s okay,” she says with a seductive whisper, “so did I...”
Sexier words have never been spoken.
We pull each other near and make out again. We suck face while running our drunken limbs all over each other. At one point I realize we’re about to fall over the edge of the deck, into the regurgitation-soaked bushes lurking below, so I grab the banister and push her back.
“You taste like mouthwash,” I tell her.
“You taste like rum,” she smiles.
I stand up and we go back to kissing. I run my hands all over her body. She may as well be naked, as her bikini hides nothing. Her hands explore my naked upper body too. She runs her fingernails over my back and my chest. It feels amazing.
Then she moves her hands to my shorts and my ass. Eventually, she reaches around to the front of my shorts and pauses.
She breaks our embrace and stares me in the face, hand still on it.
“What... is that?” she asks.
“Oh,” I mutter. She’s grabbing the tip of my penis. I think I propped the waistband a little too low on my dick, and the whole upper half of it is sticking up through my shorts. “That... would be... my cock,” I confess shyly.
Her confused look morphs into one of sexual deviance. “You’re fucking randy!” she exclaims.
She pulls me near and we continue to make out, as she feels up the tip of my dick.
When we stop, she gives me a naughty look, and asks me if I want to go in the hot tub with her.
“I don’t have a swimsuit,” I shrug.
“You could go in your underwear,” she grins.
I think about it for a second. Even though I’m drunk beyond belief, I still catch an opportunity to up the ante.
“Well,” I mumble with an inebriated demeanour, “if I were to take off my shorts... you should have to take off something too.”
She smiles and tells me that she’s already in her bikini.
I shrug.
“Fine,” she laughs. “How about I take off my bottoms?”
“SOLD!” I exclaim. I quickly pull off my shorts.
---
I sit in the hot tub in my boxers, as Queasy Girl slowly re-appears from the bushes, holding her bottoms.
“I think someone was sick over here,” she tells me.
I just shrug innocently.
She takes long, slender steps into the hot tub, as I gaze at her wondrous naked mound. I’m grinning like a drunken child in a candy store filled with vaginas and sex.
She glides through the water and straddles me. We both just hold each other, and stare for a second. I feel her gently rubbing her naked pussy on my underwear-covered shaft. We both enjoy the sensation, not speaking a word, and just let it happen.
I realize at this point that I don’t even know her name. Or more precisely, I don’t remember her name.
Then she speaks, “Give me a massage?”
I nod.
She gracefully turns around and sits on my lap.
I begin to massage and rub her back and shoulders. She slowly tosses her head and moans as I do.
“God you’re great at that,” she tells me. “My whole world is spinning.”
“Mine too,” I mumble, referring more to the excessive alcohol and the uneasy motion from the water than the massage.
I’m so hot in the tub at that moment that I can feel myself starting to get sick again.
“Don’t puke on this girl!” a voice yells at me in my brain. “You do not puke on this girl! Do you hear me! JD! Don’t do it!”
I swallow and hold my breath.
I shut my eyes and focus on becoming sober. Maybe I can will it to happen.
God I hate alcohol!
Queasy Girl lets out a groan and rubs here naked ass on my dick. She digs her finger nails into my thighs. I suddenly realize that I’m massaging a half-naked girl in a hot tub! And not just half-naked, but the half that counts!
Alcohol is the greatest invention in the history of mankind!
I focus on the sexuality. The sensation to puke fades a bit.
I move my hands over her lower back, and slowly to her front. As I do I take her small, sexy breasts in my palms and begin to massage them.
She lets out a low moan. “Yes,” she pleads, “more...”
I move my hands under her top and continue the massage.
She continues her low and sexual moans. She’s fully grinding me now. We’re both groaning as she does. My eyes are shut, and I feel like I’m on a roller coaster, both in the emotional and in the dizzy sense. But it’s still fucking awesome.
Finally, she tosses my hands away and spins around.
“I can’t take it!” she exclaims.
She presses her lips to mine and we make out again. This time however her naked groin rubs and caresses into me. She starts grinding, like we did on the dance floor, only hard and harder. Her moans become louder and louder. I can tell she’s getting off.
My head is spinning. I’m hot, dizzy, sick, turned on. I really wish for a second that I had a few less shots of rum. But I can’t stop what’s going on. I don’t want to!
As we get closer and closer to fucking in the hot tub she suddenly stops for a second and looks at me.
“Wait!” she pleads. “We...”
“I have a condom in the car,” I blurt out, interrupting her.
Her worried look disappears. She smiles slowly. “Where are your keys?” she whispers, as she bites my ear.
Holy shit!
“God!” I gasp. “I left them on the kitchen table. Big red key chain!”
She sucks on my ear and then releases. “Meet me at your car,” she tells me.
She kisses me once more for luck, then sits up, fixes her top, and gets out of the tub.
My world is spinning. It’s a mix of alcohol and impending sex. Unfortunately, without the constant sexual attention, the heat and the water and the alcohol start to set back in.
I burp.
Oh god... I’m going to puke again!
I try and hold it back. I think of fucking and screwing this hot, raunchy girl in my car. Fuck, I can’t believe this is actually happening! I grab a hold of my cock under the water and rub it gently, trying to maintain the sexual sensations to distract myself from puking.
I’ve never heard of anyone puking during sex. It must be able to block it! I just need to stay aroused!
But no sexy thought in the world can overcome the sickness I’m feeling.
The swaying waters of the hot tub only adding another dimension to my nausea: sea sickness.
I try to hold back, just a few seconds until she’s out of sight.
I watch Queasy Girl stumble through the shadows and reach the side door of the house. She’s giggling and not standing steady. The look on her face is of someone completely smashed.
She turns to me and blows me a kiss.
I stare at her, hand on my dick, nauseous, sick, about to vomit, and I gasp.
Sitting beside me, on the edge of the hot tub, I notice something: her bikini bottoms. As she steps into the dim porch light, about to enter the house and retrieve my keys, I realize a grim, horrible truth: she’s wearing nothing but a bikini top. A naked bum has never looked so ominous before.
I drop my penis in panic.
“NO! WAIT! STOP!” are all things I want to yell.
But a gagging force inside me prevents me from doing anything other than gurgling and burping.
The door opens, and in steps Queasy Girl, naked below the waist. In steps Queasy Girl, into a house of crowded people, too drunk to realize that she’s about to flash a few dozen of her friends with her naked, wet beaver. In steps Queasy Girl, to be embarrassed and humiliated beyond belief or imagination. In steps Queasy Girl, much to my despair.
I try again to scream but instead I just vomit.
I cough and gag and spew puke right into the very hot tub waters in which I am sitting; like a baby throwing up on itself. It gets all over me, and quickly spreads through all the water in the hot tub, turning it all green and beige. This sight only makes me gag and puke more.
I shut my eyes and try to block out how awful this whole situation has suddenly become.
I think I finally understand why you cry when you puke.
Inside, the end begins with a horrific scream. It’s Queasy Girl.
As I sit there, in a stew of disgusting wretch, listening to the shouting, screaming, and hollering that soon ensues inside, I know that between the humiliating nudity and the vomit soup I’m currently bathing in, no one’s getting laid tonight.
Amidst all the yelling and confusion inside, I hear Doug scream at the top of his lungs: “WHO THE FUCK PUKED ON MY DOG?!”
I fucking hate spiced rum.
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