I have friends of all walks of life. For the longest time, I
had more male friends than anything. You’ve never truly lived until you’ve been
the only female invited to Boys Night Out. Drinks are free, as is the
entertainment. My guy friends learned really quickly to keep their wits about
them while imbibing, otherwise I had no problem sharing the awkward-as-balls
things they said and did while drunk to any and every one. I’m in a
relationship now, and while most of those guys are in the same situation, we still
enjoy the stories from all of our single and trying real hard to mingle days.
*Timmy*
Tim is a big
teddy bear. The first time I laid eyes on him, I remember thinking he was
absolutely perfect. Tall, tan, tattooed, grey eyes, and stocky. And perfect he
was, until he spoke. I’ll be the first to brag on him for being the best bar
buddy ever. No creep dared get any closer than 20 feet while I had this massive
man sitting beside me. And heaven forbid they dare to speak to me! Tim was the
first to offer to “whip his ass” if said creep got too brave. I met him through
other friends at a house party.
We started
talking and flirting, and one Saturday night, Tim called. He wanted to go to
the bar, but didn't want to go alone. My friends and I were already planning to
go out, so I invited him to come along. He met us at our house, and we all rode
together. Once there, he proceeded to get absolutely shitfaced. We left shortly
thereafter, and once we arrived at our house, he admitted that he was still too
drunk to drive. Another couple of our friends were already sleeping over, and
had claimed the spare bedroom for the night. Guess what that meant? Yes. Timmy
was my bunk mate for the night. I’m one of those rare people who can sleep in
the same bed with a person and not even remotely consider sex. I was still
slightly buzzed, and though I’d spent most of my night doing the Cupid Shuffle,
the Jumprope, the Wobble, and Copperhead Road, I was in no mood for the Hanky
Panky.
Hair piled
on top of my head in a bun, all makeup removed, baggy pj pants and an even
baggier tee, complete with both bra and underwear still intact, I directed
Timmy to the (oh dear God) daybed in the back bedroom. This daybed was so old
that if you took a deep enough breath, the springs would scream. I lay there,
feeling awkward and slightly claustrophobic. I shifted my weight and the bed shrieked
in protest. “Good grief this bed is so loud!” I grumbled. Without missing a
beat, Tim responded in a slur, “Yeah it’s a good thing we’re not f*&%in’”. SERIOUSLY?! I sarcastically agreed, and he
added, “I didn't bring any condoms anyway…” I didn't have the heart to tell him
I could get one if needed. I bade him goodnight, and turned onto my side with
my back to him. I’d almost dozed off, when suddenly this massive tattooed arm
is thrown over me. I froze.
The next words
out of his mouth may very well haunt him for the rest of his life, and with
good reason. If you’re brave enough to use the line, you’re perfectly deserving
of any backlash from it. He snuggled up to me. Okay, no big deal. He got right
in my ear and whispered………………………….
“Just touch
it.”
WHAT?!?!?! I couldn't speak for a moment, I was so baffled. What the HELL is he thinking?!
He repeated his request. I finally found my voice. “I DON’T WANT TO TOUCH IT!
YOU TOUCH IT!!!” His hand found a boob, and that’s when I lost it. “THAT IS NOT
YOURS! LET GO OF IT OR I SWEAR TO GOD TIMOTHY WAYNE (no I don’t know if that’s
his middle name) I WILL SCREAM AND THE PO-LICE IS RIGHT ACROSS THE HALL!!!” He
removed said hand and arm, rolled over, and began snoring loudly. I finally
drifted off to sleep, snoring pretty loudly my damn self. I informed him of his
transgressions the next day, and over the next few weeks, I informed our mutual
friends as well. They all found my story to be one of the best!
While Timmy’s
not too fond of our nickname for him, he’s always a good sport, and we love him
just the same. He’s the first one to offer an ear to listen, arms to bear hug
you with, and a big broad shoulder to cry on. Oh. And a fist to punch whoever
made any of us girls cry. God’s got someone awesome picked out for him. And who
knows? Maybe his opening line will work for her, if only to make her laugh.
No comments:
Post a Comment