Tuesday, January 3, 2012

Nobody Likes A Drunk Prude

So in college, there was a gorgeous guy I was dying to get to know. I got all excited because he invited me to a party. I drive to his home in Riviera Dunes and it is soooo much better than I ever could have imagined. He has a Ferrari in the driveway and the house is amazing. At this point in my life, I was trying a new theory...maybe if I don't put out right away this guy will like me, we'll fall madly in love and this will be my life. Well, I discovered that wasn't a very good plan. We all started drinking, from what I can recall (although I got fucking hammered) we started playing truth or dare and I ended up making out with this totally hot girl. A little after this, all the people go outside to the hot tub while I stay inside with Mr. Perfect. I'm drunk by now and Mr. Perfect can tell, so he takes me by the hand into his bedroom (you already know where this is going). My stomach is churning and I want him to think I'm "not a slut" so we started making out, and he starts to undress me. I stop him. What? Yes, I actually did stop him. I then said, maybe we'll continue this later, let's go outside to the hot tub. So we go and I get naked and sit on his lap in the hot tub. I continue to drink and at some point he says he wants to take me up to go to sleep. I agree, and we go up the stairs and I lay down naked, and he crawls on top of me. God, I regret this to this day 4 years later. I actually pushed Mr. Perfect off of me and told him I wanted to sleep. What a fucking cock-tease! That's probably one of the meanest things I've ever done to a man...well...at that point. So he leaves, I pass out, and about 2 hours later, I wake up and need to puke sooooo bad. If this has ever happened to you, you know what I'm saying when I tell you I could not locate the bathroom even though it was right in front of me. I was that drunk. So what do I do? I pick up the nearest object to puke in...which happens to be a white Lacoste sweater (approximate value $150). I vomit profusely all over the carpet and the sweater and debate what to do next. Should I hide the sweater? Yes, I'm totally gonna hide it. So I kneel down and start to throw the puke sweater when the door swings open and Mr. Perfect walks in. I remember the horrified look on his face as he saw me, the anti-sex girl, naked on the floor, hiding a $150 sweater, puke all over his white carpet...it was along the lines of "Holy shit, I'm gonna kill this bitch..." Well, he flipped. He started screaming and chasing me around the room with the sweater, meanwhile flinging puke all over me. So being the drunk asshole I am, I jump on the bed and say, "I'm going back to sleep" He leaves the room cussing me out. So not only am I a prude now, I'm a stupid drunk bitch who just ruined your house. There was no redeeming myself, and the next day I did the walk of shame out of his house, puke still in my hair, and never heard from him again.The point of this story is, if you're gonna get plastered, at least have sex with the house owner, because at least you did that much to make up for it.

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