**Don’t have a clue who wrote it. I just found it on the inter-net and loved it.***
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My Favorite One-Nightstand
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My head hurt so badly that I decided right then and there that I would switch from whiskey (my favorite drink) to beer. I didn’t know then just how much worse my head was ABOUT to hurt.
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I sat up in someone’s bed and looked over at “Someone” as she slept next to me. Curiously lifting the blanket, I scanned her naked body. Not bad. I’d done worse. She snored.
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I was glad for the condom that I discovered I still wore, and even happier that there were heavy drapes over her bedroom windows. My dry eyes and pounding head needed the dark.
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Looking around the dim stranger’s bedroom, I searched for something to help my dry, leathery mouth. The place was huge and looked expensive. I hooked up with a rich chick? An almost empty Jack Daniels bottle sat near the nightstand, and I reached to swig from it before I remembered my oath and put it back down.
Goddammit my head hurt.
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And where the Hell were my clothes?
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I yawned, painfully, and stood up at bedside.
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OWWW!!! FUCK!!!
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I sat back down.
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The room was all spinney, which made my head throb on a whole new level of pain, and sent my gut roiling with punishing nausea. My movement woke my host, and she groaned and rubbed her eyes while I found a small wastebasket within reaching distance.
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“Good morning!” She sang at me.
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“Good morning. Excuse me, pet.” I puked into her wastebasket and immediately felt less nauseous.
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“I’d like something to drink, besides whiskey. Do you have anything?” I croaked.
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“In the fridge.” She answered and yawned.
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I didn’t see any “fridge” in her dark bedroom, so I figured that I would have to go fridge hunting. When I stood back up it went much more smoothly than my first attempt. The nausea had dropped from a 10 to around a 3 or a 4. I could walk now.
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As soon as I opened her bedroom door I encountered my first obstacle. Her living room windows weren’t so heavily draped and terrible sunlight flooded her upscale apartment. I closed the bedroom door again.
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“Do you have any sunglasses in here?” My head ached and pounded. She’d rolled over and slept again.
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“Pet!” I winced when I called out to her.
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That roused her a little, and as I asked about the sunglasses I rubbed my temples. She pointed at her dresser from her slumber, where I found a pair of gaudy Elton John shades. Whatever.
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So I ventured off on my Fridge Hunt wearing only my condom and those ridiculous sunglasses. I hoped that she lived alone. After lots of slow, shuffled exploring I not only found the kitchen, but my clothes too. They were in a rumpled pile by the front door. Apparently I hadn’t wasted any time making myself at home. Slowly and painfully I dressed myself, falling over at least once in the process.
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In the kitchen I opened the fridge and spotted a six-pack of MGD that sparked a glimpse of a memory from the night before. The beer was mine. I’d bought it when “Someone” had insisted that we stop on the way here to buy condoms. I must’ve never gotten to it because I had my Jack Daniels. I grabbed the six-pack and quickly shambled back to her bedroom, desperate for the darkness.
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The instant I was back in the dark bedroom I knew that there was no way that I could tolerate sunlight until I’d gotten the beer down. I felt like a vampire, trapped in the bedroom with the drapes and some snoring slut. I hoped that she’d remain asleep for a while. I just wanted darkness and silence while I fed my monkey and tried to ease my pounding head.
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No such luck.
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She yawned and stirred once I sat down on the bed. I drank and rubbed my enemy head. It was killing me, and it was about hurt a LOT worse.
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“You’re up early for someone who drank so much.” At least she spoke quietly. When I held a beer out for her she shook her head and lit a cigarette, coughing. Now that she was sitting up we both sat in the dark. I drank while she smoked.
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“What was that you were calling me?” She asked nonchalantly.
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“I didn’t call you anything.” I spotted a half-smoked joint in the ashtray and lit it with her lighter.
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“Yes you did. You’ve been calling me Pet. I don’t want to be anyone’s pet, I’m a person.” She sounded offended.
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“I like to pet you.” I reached to stroke her face, hoping to quiet her down so I could have some more precious silence. The weed helped my head a little, but not much.
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She pulled my hand down from her head and held it tightly. Suddenly she was wide awake, and staring at me hard.
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“What’s my name?”
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“What?”
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“My name, William, what is it?”
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“What does it matter? I’ll just call you Pet.” I replied, too quickly.
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POW!!!
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Bright agonizing stars, then a flash of colors exploded in my head. I don’t know whether she’d hit me with an open hand or a closed fist. To my poor head it felt like a sledgehammer. The joint was knocked from my mouth and I put the beer down to hold my tortured head with both hands. Now it REALLY hurt.
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“I DON’T BELIEVE YOU!” She was furious, and while my pet barked at me I sat and re-lit the joint, hoping she wouldn’t bite again. I didn’t think I could survive another punch. She berated me for several minutes and I just sat there and drank. I couldn’t stand much more of this. Every shrill word was agony.
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“…Three hours together and I trusted you! I knew it…” She sounded angrier at herself than at me. And she was PISSED at me.
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I tried to tune her out as much as possible and guzzled the third beer down. She was bitching and yelling at me, and I decided then and there that I’d be leaving once I got the beer down. I couldn’t take any more punching and screaming, but I was still far from ready to face the horrible sunlight. Hitting the joint eased my splitting head just a little.
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How could my good friend whiskey do this to me?
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Eventually she quieted, fuming. I sat and drank.
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“Do you even understand why I’m angry?!?” She seemed upset that I was ignoring her.
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“You’re angry because we had a one night stand.” I turned to curiously ask her, “I did fuck you last night, right?”
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POW!!!
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“YOU ASSHOLE!”
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She hit me hard, then sat and gawked at me with her jaw dropped. She wore a look of complete shock and disgust.
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My third beer had spilled all over her expensive looking carpet.
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That first punch sucked real bad. The second punch REALLY hurt. Three more beers and I was out of there. The punishing screaming had started again, and I suspected that more hitting wouldn’t be far off. I sat and drank and wished that I were deaf. Eventually she calmed down, but it took a little while. I still had a beer left.
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“Are you even listening to me? HUH?”
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“I’m trying to listen to you, and I’ll talk to you. But I’m begging you, please. I cannot handle the fucking screaming. Please, no more yelling, OK?”
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Glorious silence washed over the dark bedroom. I worked on my beer and she sat back down on the bed and lit another cigarette. The few beers and the pot made my misery almost tolerable but I was still horribly hung over. I’d gone to a Jack Daniels promotion the night before, and knew going in that it wasn’t going to be pretty. I probably had alcohol poisoning, from the fifth-and-three-quarters of whiskey I’d drank over the course if the night.
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“You really don’t remember if we had sex?” She asked in disbelief, quietly (thank God).
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“No.”
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“You didn’t seem that drunk.”
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“Maybe you just weren’t that memorable, pet.” It was a mean thing to say, but I was angry because she’d punched me twice.
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POW!!!
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This time she lashed out with both feet, hard.
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Because her back was against the headboard, and her heels caught me in the ribs, I fell off the bed and hit the floor groaning. My beer spilled again, some of it onto me.
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“WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE…?” The next round of screaming had commenced and she was louder than ever. I had it coming, that last time anyway.
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“I NEVER DO THIS! I CAN”T BELIEVE…” I knew the screaming was far from over, and the hitting would likely begin anew. So I crawled under the posh bed for cover. It helped to at least muffle the screeching, and I wriggled back up against the wall under her bed. For several seconds we exchanged screams. Her cussing me out, and me yelling for her to “Stop screaming at me I can’t take it!”
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“GET OUT FROM UNDER THERE YOU ASSHOLE!” she screeched.
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Then (finally) everything went quiet. I unplugged my fingers from my ears and waited to see if the dead silence would last. Maybe she was getting a weapon of some kind. I didn’t know this shrieky bitch from anyone. I would’ve preferred that she’d shot me to any more hellish screaming. The silence wouldn’t last long, I was sure of that.
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Then I got a second glimpse of a memory from the night before, when she started to laugh. She fell to her ass and laughed that same laugh she had the entire night before, when she was drunk at the bar where we met (Alcocks). She’d kept telling me how funny I was, and apparently she remembered again because she laughed for a while. Despite my agony, I started laughing too. It was a funny situation, now that she had calmed down enough to see it.
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“Will you please come out from under there?” She finally asked.
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I reached to snatch my last beer from the floor like some kind of under-the-bed- gremlin, and we negotiated terms for my surrender, and a truce.
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We went out a few times after that, but I suspect that it was just so she could tell herself that we hadn’t had a one-night stand. That she wasn’t a slut.
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The end…
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