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At one point toward the end of college, I lived across the street from the Friday night hang out; an overcrowded tiki-hut on the water featuring a killer raw bar and an overpriced happy hour. Signature cocktail: Pain Killers. (Henceforth referred to as “PK3’s”.) Needless to say, on Fridays we were regularly blacked out by six p.m.  (Happy hour began at four – just to put it into context for you.)

It was a typical Friday night, Messy and I were indulging in stone crab and Ultra Light Marlboro Menthols as the sun set on the marina waiting for the usual crowd to filter in. Romantic times like this were common during this particular semester - we were the only ones around in our group of friends. Hurricane was in Australia having four inches of her ass surgically removed because she was bit by a poisonous spider (real life), and … that was it. None of my other friends would hang out with Messy; she didn’t have any other friends. At any rate, we lived across the hall from each other and both were raging alcoholics at the time, so I spent a lot of time with her getting extremely fucked up.

The bar began filling up around seven o’clock, and eventually Princeton, BFF, and company made their way over to our table, as was the usual custom. Princeton was Hurricane’s long time boyfriend and we both missed her a ton so we immediately began talking shit about her not emailing us back frequently enough and pounding PK3’s, aka: our Friday night ritual.

Somewhere between the live band’s rendition of “Margaritaville” and my twelfth PK3, I found myself in the middle of the dance floor locking eyes with an extremely attractive muscle mass lingering alone by the bar. I immediately made my way over to him.

He was the kind of guy I would never be caught dead with – but I was bored of my options lately: Tractor had been on this “babe get on top and do all the work” kick recently, Favorite was over in the corner with all his friends – I could easily go over to him and avoid a new notch on the bedpost, and Regular was doing something barbaric: studying … on a fucking Friday. At any rate, for some reason muscles marinara by the bar caught my eye.

He was tan and glistening, his muscles rippling with every steel drum beat from Jimmy Buffett's band. His jeans didn’t appear to be obnoxiously expensive, but who could really tell anymore? (At that point, all I fucking cared was that they came off.) The tight white tee I would normally think was tacky and far too tight hugged his chest softly, gently even. His tribal tattoo peeked out below the hem of his white tee, mid bicep. I let my eyes take in the details of this delightful treat, and then I saw the nail in the coffin: he was wearing dog tags. Deal sealed.

“Hello sir.” I walked up to him super seductively.

“Miss.” He tipped his drink toward me and took a sip, grinning.

I was all in.

“I live across the street.” I leaned in, half whispering, half shouting to him.

“Oh?” he took another sip, studying my face.

“Yes. I’m heading back there now – do you want to walk me home?” I asked shyly, trying my best to appear innocent.

“Alright.” He put his drink down on the bar and left some cash. Then he offered his arm. “Lead the way.”

As we made our way toward the exit, Princeton caught my eye and shook his head, laughing to himself. I quickly flipped him off, making a mental note to tell him to go fuck himself the next day.

As we walked across the street, we didn’t say anything. At some point, he grabbed my arm, and by the time we were at my front door fumbling for my keys his hand was halfway up my skirt.

I was naked by the time we reached the bedroom – I’m not completely sure whether we ever even shut the front door behind us.

We had sex for what seemed like hours. This guy was a fucking machine and he was fucking delicious. We did it in every position, circling back to the good positions every so often. It was kind of amazing, literally this guy would finish, need a two minute breather, and then we were back at it. We did it for so long, I lost all concept of time. I do know that at some point, we passed out.

I have no idea how long we slept, but I woke up on the opposite end of the bed to the gentle caress of a back massage and an erection in my ass.

He didn’t say anything, he just let his hand travel around to my tits and his other hand toward my exposed private parts. As he played, he kissed my neck. This was kind of nice.  

Slowly, his hands guided my pelvis from full spoon to face down, and then, without missing a beat, pulled my hips up as he made his way behind me. With a smoothness only broken the slight pause of condom application he thrust his way inside me and fucked me again (from behind the whole time because I hadn’t brushed my teeth and I didn’t want this guy thinking I was dirty or anything.)

After we were done, he told me he had to go, and thanks for the great night. I didn’t ask his name, and he didn’t ask mine. After all, this was a perfect relationship – why ruin it?  Fully satisfied and exhausted, I rolled over and fell back to sleep.

   __

“KNOCK KNOCK!” Who the FUCK was this? I jerked awake, completely discombobulated.

“Hello?! Is anyone home?” I heard the door creaking open, was this actually happening?

“Um … HELLO?” I called out, frantically trying to find pants and a hoodie.

“Hi honey! We’re here to show the apartment – we’ve been knocking for almost five minutes, did we wake you?” My perky landlord was literally inside my apartment with total strangers. I had absolutely no idea what the living room and kitchen looked like. I had no idea what I even looked like. I knew none of it could be great.

“I’ll be right out.” I tried to focus, throwing a zip up on over some shorts.

I walked out into the kitchen, praying that I had not left drugs out in plain sight. I had not. I breathed a sign of relief, then tensed up again. There were about 50 beer cans throughout the kitchen and living room, the middle of which my landlord and her prospective tenants were standing in.

“Good morning! I’m so sorry – did you tell me you were coming?” I asked, trying to sound as though my landlord was not standing in the middle of a complete disaster.

“Morning? It’s 3 o’clock! I called all morning, this was the only convenient time for these kind folks. Do you mind?” My landlord, God bless her heart, had not a shred of judgment in her voice. “This will just take a sec.”

“Sure, no problem at all! I’m sorry about the mess!” I said quickly, trying to be friendly while simultaneously cursing my entire life.

“Do you mind if we just take a quick peek in the bedroom?” my landlord asked, halfway through the doorway as she said it.

“Uh, sure?” I wracked my brain: unable to picture what the bedroom looked like right now. 

Abruptly, my landlord pivoted and made a beeline for the front door immediately upon entering the bedroom, prospective tenants in tow. That was weird, I thought to myself. Whatever - at least they're gone.

“Thanks for letting us in! Sorry to have bothered you!” My landlord called awkwardly as she let herself out.

“What a fucking weirdo.” I finally let out as soon as the door shut.

I went to the kitchen and made myself a nice tall vodka tonic – after all, it was already 3 o’clock -  I was probably already behind, cocktail wise. As I nudged the bedroom door open with my hip, drink in one hand, cigarette in the other, I immediately realized why my landlord had rushed out.

There were about fifteen condom wrappers throughout the room, and another fifteen used condoms all over the fucking floor. 

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