Life Worth Living

Friday (short version): Wake up absurdly late as per usual, work just enough to justify taking the rest of the day off, attend birthday party of the boyfriend’s best friend’s girlfriend, fool around with the boyfriend, sleep at an unholy hour.

Saturday morning (today): Wake up at 6:50 AM. Throw up in my boyfriend’s bathroom.

(The long-ass version):

Leone has several best friends (which honestly defeats the purpose of a ‘best’ friend, but hey, I don’t see how more could be a bad thing in this case) but this particular one whose girlfriend’s birthday was some unknown time this week (she’d already had a birthday dinner and a birthday lunch) has been his ‘best’ friend since middle school. I’d met him and his girlfriend at the get-together at Leone’s a while back and since then have had dinner with them a few times, and while I like him and enjoy hanging out with him with Leone, I know that this best friend and I would never otherwise be more than passing acquaintances. I’m not trying to say anything bad about him; we just have completely different humors, which is fine. I do like the guy though. Then again, that’s not saying much. I like most people.  I’m not quite sure why I felt it necessary to explain all that, because it is only indirectly pertinent to the story.

Anyway, I had told Leone to hold off an hour before coming to pick me up because I’d wanted a little more time to work on my paper, but very quickly I found myself sick of writing. When he finally arrived, I shamelessly flew into his arms. I hadn’t seen him for two days! (I know, what an eon. I don’t know how I survived it. Well, I’m happy to say that I can still pull out the “new relationship” excuse) We hung out for a bit in his neck of the woods, and then we meandered down to the best friend’s house.

There’s no need (and I’m not feeling verbose enough) to recount the entire party from memory, but there are a few things worth pointing out for the sake of this post. One: that entire day I never ate a meal. I’d had a cereal bar at home, half a slice of raspberry poundcake from Starbucks (of which I wholeheartedly approve), many sticks of gum, and throughout the evening nibbled on the spread of chips, cheese, and far too many mini-Snickers. It was the Snickers, I think, that did me in. I should’ve known not to eat too much sugar while drinking on an empty stomach.

Two: I played Beer-Pong for the first time ever! At the tail-end of my third year of college, I understand it’s a tad late to be losing my Beer-Pong virginity, but it’s not like I’ve been doing this college thing correctly otherwise. Leone and I lost by one cup to the best friend and his adorable younger brother, and (if you’ll allow me to brag a little bit) I made three cups to Leone’s two. And of course, I made him drink all the beer.

Three: I admit I was just a tad jealous of the best friend’s girlfriend and the three birthday celebrations of this week. Growing up, I’d always wished for a birthday that wasn’t in the deep of summer, because all I wanted was to be able to bring cupcakes to class. As I got older, I always found it hard to throw birthday parties, because my friends were more often than not gone on vacation, and the when you’re young you tend to grow apart all but your closest friends when school’s not in session, making for measly party attendance. When Buttercup turned 20 last May, Jasmine and I came over to her place to party and ended up baking a cake drunk. On Jasmine’s 20th in November, Buttercup and I spent the entire afternoon painting a giant card, decorating her car with window markers, and writing a happy-birthday message with chalk on the sidewalk from where the car was parked to halfway down the block. When I turned 20, all I got were texts. This year, I fully expect the same to happen. On top of it all, my boyfriend won’t even be in the country. I realise I sound bratty, and it honestly isn’t that big of a deal; but if I could choose, you can bet I’d change it.

Leone and I had both come into this not really wanting to drink but knowing we would probably end up doing it. I’m proud to say I didn’t succumb to it as quickly (nor as much) as he did. Not wanting to feel prudish and left out, I accepted a cup (and then a refill) of jungle juice and sipped at it, fervently hoping that this wasn’t the same infamous stuff that gets you trashed at college parties. It wasn’t, thank god. I took a shot of Vodka (not my drink of choice, but it’s what was in the JJ, and I didn’t want to mix light & dark) with the birthday girl, but still didn’t have enough alcohol in my system to feel anything. Leone, who at that point was buzzed, was trying to get me to drink more, which I can’t resent, because by that time I was doing the same with him. Without complaint I had another (extra large) shot, and then he came over to pour me another. Later, he and his best friend coerced me into one more. Those last two I really could’ve done without, but I’ve never been one to stand up to peer pressure.

We begged off relatively early, as I had to wake up the next morning to see Buttercup off to the airport. Leone, despite his intentions, had had quite a few drinks of all varieties, and was pretty drunk, and I was maybe just barely so. Back at his place, Leone played a MMO with his roommate with one hand on the boner that was the result of making out on the bed while his computer restarted. From time to time I, kneeling beside the desk chair, would nuzzle at the bulge in his pants, causing him to get distracted and turn away from the game until I reminded him that his bases were getting void-ray’d. Or whatever.

After the game it was bed time, by which I mean fool-around-on-bed time. Leone had me fully naked under the covers this time, which has never happened before (First time I’ve been naked with a guy, actually), and he spent some time going down on me, which has happened before. As he ground his hips into mine and between kisses, he whispered “I want to make you cum. How can I make you cum?” over and over, but all I could do was curl my fingers into his hair and reply “I don’t know.” I didn’t. He’s the first guy to ever even have touched me down there. Besides, when I’ve been drinking, all my senses are dulled to the point where I couldn’t even get myself off without putting in some effort.

He’s made it clear during these fevered romps that he wants to have sex very badly; has said it bluntly many times. I do want to give it up to him, but you understand it’s kind of a frightening thing for me, and so I’m not quite ready to lose it just yet. Last night he kept offering to go get a condom, “just in case”, while I kept asking him “just in case what? What do you think is going to happen tonight?” Nothing was going to happen that night. Still, he excused himself for a few seconds and returned with two. A few moments later, he stopped grinding against me to whisper “Let me put just the tip in,” and before I knew it I was nodding and he had already gleefully tore open the package. I suppose I should point out that he stopped long enough to make sure I was mostly sober (I was) and wasn’t just giving in to him because I was caught up in the moment. I probably should have known then that “just the tip” would have almost certainly evolved into “maybe let’s put the whole thing in,” and while I trust that he would had the restraint to pull out if I asked him to, I didn’t trust that I would have the restraint to not just say “fuck it” and let him go all the way. Oh, but it would have hurt. Two inches of his finger hurts—how could his considerably thicker boner not?

In any case, he began sliding the first condom on while I craned my head to watch interestedly: I’d never seen one being put on in person before. He got it maybe three inches down when it just wouldn’t unroll any further. After a few moments of frustrated tugging Leone pulled it off and ripped into the second package, figuring maybe he’d had it backwards. Yet this new one too refused to budge after the first few inches. Finally, he tossed this one aside too in defeat. (I neglected to mention that since he was going to put “just the tip” inside me, it really didn’t matter that the condom didn’t cover the rest of his shaft.)

So that plan was a no-go, and I set to instead with my mouth. “Are you disappointed?” I asked him, because I was a little. He replied, “You’re sucking my dick, how I could be disappointed with anything in the world right now?” I spend what must’ve amounted to at least ten minutes licking and nibbling at his thighs, pelvis, and lower abs—anything but what he wanted me to touch—and he was putty in my hands, more responsive and vocal than I’d ever witnessed him, which for me is such a turn on.  I do enjoy teasing him.

Afterwards I made him drink the last two of the three 1.5 liter bottles of water he’d set aside earlier with the instruction to make sure he got it all down before he went to sleep. It was a lot to drink, and when he finally finished it, he moaned and curled up on his side with his back to me and asked me rather pathetically to cuddle him. It’s a little awkward being the big spoon because his shoulders are that much wider than mine and so I can’t exactly wrap my body around his the way he does when he’s on the outside, but I made do.

The next thing I knew it was morning (and brighter than I expected it to be), and the first thing that I saw when I opened my eyes was Leone’s sleeping face on the pillow next to me. The second thing I noticed was that his computer was still on and whirring. Finally and most regrettably, I noticed that my stomach was slightly unsettled. I think I probably fell asleep again after that, but at one point I woke up again and rolled over to check what time it was: 6:50, exactly one hour before my alarm was set. I couldn’t fall asleep again after that, turning this way and that and trying to ignore the queasiness in my belly. I came to the realization that this feeling was actually increasing, and here I thought that it’d kind of just fizzle away. At one point I flipped over from lying on my stomach and onto my back, and the sudden release of pressure on my tummy must’ve triggered something because quite suddenly I was on the verge of throwing up.

I was perplexed, because I hadn’t even had that much to drink, and because I can usually drink more than I did without throwing up the next morning. It couldn’t have been the jungle juice, because although mixed drinks do tend to make me sicker, I’ve had more of them before without a problem. I made myself finish the bottle of water I’d brought, the same amount I usually make myself drink before I go to sleep after I drink. In the end, I attributed it to the fact that I’d had about a billion mini-Snickers and nothing else that day.

I tried to fight it for a while, doing that thing where you swallow over and over in an attempt to fend it off, but I was losing, badly. It got to the point where I didn’t even think I could make it to the bathroom, because standing up would surely provoke something. Sure enough, (and here comes the gross part), my stomach upended itself and my mouth filled with foul-tasting vomit, at which point I bounded out of bed with my lips firmly sealed and made for the bathroom. I think I may have swallowed some of it on the way. Yeah, I know.

I’ll spare you most of the details of what transpired in that bathroom, but suffice it to say, I had to do some cleanup off the floor. Miserable, I crawled back into bed and lay there feeling sorry for myself and hoping that Leone and his roommate hadn’t heard. My throat burned, and my nose was running like mad. Five minutes later, my alarm clock rang. I dragged myself out of bed and back to that accursed bathroom to brush my teeth, etc, and then I finished getting ready back in Leone’s room, doing my best not to wake him up and probably not quite succeeding. With a few minutes to kill according to NextBus, I refilled his water bottles for him (not a good idea; his sink is loud) and then I pulled out one of the two Snickers I’d grabbed on our way out last night and set it on his keyboard where I knew he would find it. Then I woke him up to bid him goodbye and headed out, not at all looking forward to a day of writing.