Drunk Sex Story

Last night I got hammered at a bar in Hoboken, New Jersey called 10th and Willow. I like it because it’s close, and the bartenders hook me up. It’s a little pricey, but then so is every other place in Hoboken. The liquor’s good and the beer is always flowing. And oddly, the ratios are often in a guy’s favor.
It was half-price Martini night, which basically means you get twice as fucked up. I lost count of how many martinis I had this time around. I started with something they call a Hot & Dirty. It’s basically a vodka martini with a lot of olive juice and Tabasco sauce in it. Not the tastiest of drinks, but it knocks you off your ass in a heartbeat. After I shoved that down my throat with less grace than most martini drinkers display, I washed the taste out of my mouth with a chocolate martini. Godiva means everything, and they top it off with a bit of Hershey’s syrup. Delicious.
I met up with my buddy Wormser inside the bar. He was working on a pint of beer when I walked in. We chatted and he told me about the latest girl in his life. Nothing out of the ordinary, just the usual guy-talk. He says he’s not looking for anything serious with her, but then who ever is? She’s the first steady thing he’s had going since breaking up with his ex and he treats her like a girlfriend. He won’t call her that because he wants to feel like he’s still playing the field, but that’s what she is.
It was a cold Thursday, which would typically mean that most women stayed in for the evening, doing who-knows-what with who-knows-whom. However, this was unlike most other cold weeknights. As we stood in the middle of the floor, we exchanged knowing glances regarding the most excellent ratios. There was pussy by the pound, and all we need do is find some and take it home. We bullshitted for a while over our drinks, catching up on the past week’s happenings, as we discreetly scoped the scene for material. I saw a couple of thick Latinas at the bar that looked ripe for the picking. No one was talking to them, probably because they didn’t exactly fit the yuppie persona of the establishment. They weren’t especially fat, but they weren’t aerobics instructors either. They dressed well, but didn’t go out of their way to be the highlight of the scene. In short, everything about these two ladies suggested that they were approachable.
We chose our prey, and went through the standard procedure. We each downed our drinks, then I went to the bar to get us a fresh round. The idea was that by having full drinks in hand, we would not be obligated to buy the girls drinks just to talk with them. We also coordinated our drink purchase with theirs, so that they too had full drinks. If they were receptive, then most likely I’d buy a round for the four of us. If not, we’d walk away before they finished their martinis and save twelve bucks.
Wormser made the first move. He walked toward them, with me a few steps behind. Then using his creative skills, he went up to the cuter of the two and said, “Hi.”
The two Latinas looked at him and smiled, an open invitation for me to move in next. I let him get his brief intros out of the way, then I slid into the conversation and introduced myself as Beef.
We talked for a while, getting the ordinary small talk out of the way first. Who are you, where are you from, what do you do, are you having fun? That lasted for a drink, and I was feeling lucky so I bought a round. We talked some more, and I felt for sure that the prettier one was giving me a look. Something about the squint in her eyes when she addressed me suggested that she was either really interested or really drunk. Either way would yield the same possible conclusion, so I was cool with it. I decided to make a move – I wasn’t sure if it was because I knew the time was right or if it was the alcohol. I didn’t care – I felt that I needed to make a move, so I did.
“You have pretty eyes,” I said. She blushed and thanked me. It was perhaps the most cliché line I could possibly come up with, and yet women love to hear it. I suppose guys like to hear it too, I know I do.
“You also have a pretty smile, and I like the way your cheeks get all rosey when I compliment you. It makes you look healthy.”
“Thank you, you are too kind,” she responded.
By now I was really shoveling it, but I meant every word. The thing about martinis and me is they bring out not only my balls, but my honesty. I had the balls to tell a pretty girl that I found her attractive, and so I did. She respected me for it, maybe even liked me for it.
I was done with the real drinks and moved on to an apple martini. By now the alcohol was in full effect and vodka tasted like water. My balls had grown to twice their circumference, so I pulled the standard barroom move. I touched her hand to test her reaction, and she didn’t pull away. So, I grabbed it.
“You have nice hands,” I said, “they’re so soft.”
“Thanks,” she said, “and you have nice hands too, they’re so strong and manly.”
Had I been sober, I wouldn’t have believed how receptive she was. But I was drunk, hammered beyond belief and my confidence was boiling over the top. I leaned in and kissed her. Her lips were soft, but not a doughy mushy soft. They had just the right firmness to them for me to feel their density between my own, yet womanly enough that I knew I was in control of the kiss.
She didn’t pull away and in fact she smiled when I stopped and looked at her, so I kissed her again. It was still nice, and the taste of cranberries on her tongue made me thirst for more. But, this was my local stomping ground and I didn’t want all the other potential in the place to see me hook up.
“You know, I live just down the block,” I said, “maybe we can get a little privacy. I really like making out with you but I feel weird with all these people watching us.”
“I know what you mean,” she said, “I want to come over but my friend drove me here and I have no way of getting home.”
“I’ll drive you in the morning. Come over.”
She paused and looked up in the air as if she had to think about my offer. If she said yes, I was to have a major score for the evening. She was attractive and receptive while I was drunk and horny.
“Ok, but I’m not having sex with you,” she said.
“That’s fine, whatever you’re comfortable with. We can just do what feels natural, no pressure.”
“Natural, that’s what I’m afraid of. I hope I can control myself,” she said.
I just smiled, looked at her and gave her a peck on the lips. She stepped away and talked to her friend for a minute. I couldn’t hear them and was too fucked up to attempt reading lips, but her friend looked at me, then back at her. She grabbed my girl’s shoulders, said something and then they hugged. Wormser was still talking with her, so perhaps he would get lucky tonight too. If there’s one way to get a girl in bed, it’s to make her completely bored with every other alternative. Her friend – my girl – left her at the bar alone with Wormser. Worse things have happened.
I woke up the next morning with a killer hangover. She was there next to me, naked, and an empty condom wrapper was on the floor. I didn’t remember much of what happened after we left the bar, but I was thankful at the sight of the empty package. I took a peek under the covers and she wasn’t bad. She was still sleeping, eyes closed. I decided to make a bowl of cereal, have a quick breakfast, then come back and work on remembering the previous happenings of the night.