1998 -- Austin, TX.
It Was a 5 Martini Afternoon
It all started innocently enough. There I was, waking up around noon, hung-over from a rough Saturday night of partying with my buddies. I rolled out of bed and hit the couch to watch some football. Maybe it was basketball, but I'm not really sure.
I had on my patented ripped shorts with the US Soccer patch sewed on the side. Ragged, dirty, they were a complete personification of me at that time. After about 2 hours of good couch time, staring blankly at the tube, I thought some cognitive stimulation was in order, so I called a buddy up and asked him over for a few games of chess.
He and I always have some good chess matches, so he was more than happy to oblige. He came over, and he helped himself to the few beers left in my fridge. Now, one man can't drink alone, and there were only a few beers left in the fridge. With a limited supply of barley and hops, and His satisfaction with them, I had to seek other alternatives.
I had some Gin, some vermouth, and some olives, which, mixed together correctly, makes my favorite of all drinks. A dirty beefeater martini...mmmm, I thought nothing of it as I drank one down. Another drink soon followed as we played a few games.
The liquor was definitely effecting the way I played, and after a few close matches, my buddy said he had to get back to his wife. Marriage, such an out-dated institution of checks and balances. But alas, I nonetheless found myself alone.
I did not feel like stopping, so I kept drinking all by myself. One more martini and another and another. People kept calling and, when I told them what I was doing, they were a bit thrown off by the fact that I was drinking martinis alone on a Sunday afternoon.
Just then, a girl that I had been sleeping with stopped by. I can't say that I was digging her very much, as we never dated, and never really talked, and I really didn't care too much for her at all. She felt the same about me. We had a weird relationship. Purely booty call sex! When one of us was bored and horny and alone, we would call the other. She stopped by every now and then for a little horizontal exercise. She had a great body and was freaky as hell.
So, consumed by alcohol, and not really thinking clearly, I took her into the bedroom and did my thing. Any guy who's had the amount of alcohol that I did can attest to the duration of this process. It was a bit rougher and kinkier because of the alcohol involved, as well as the twisted, warped effect that drinking alone has on the mind, however, as always, a lot of fun. It also helps when there's no feeling involved so you can really treat her like she wants to be treated. This girl wanted me to talk dirty to her, call her a slut, bitch, whore. I kind of felt bad calling her those names, but that is what she wanted. FREAKY!!
Afterwards, I had another martini and watched South Park. No Sunday night can be complete without a viewing of South Park. I can't recall which episode, but I can tell you it was funny.
She still hadn't left yet, so after another drink I took her back into the bedroom for another go-round. The duration of this session was much longer than the previous, and much rougher, but I digress. Without my ability to finish the deed, I had to fake coming so she would stop (Yes, guys fake it sometimes too). She left fully satisfied (or at least she faked like she was.)
But I still wasn't done. I called a buddy up and said that we should check out what going on at Sugar´s that evening. There's no single guy, or should I say any guy in their proper frame of mind, who's going to turn down the strip clubs.
Now, let me tell you this. I was in no shape to be seen in public. Still having not showered for the day and all that's happened I put on a cap and my ragged clothes and headed with him to the strip clubs.
I found out one thing. The same people that are at the strip clubs on every other night are there on Sunday as well. I felt overly dressed, even though I was quite the slob. Did you know that the cash machines there only dispense in $50.00 increments and have a 10 dollar surcharge? Well, the percentages told me to take out $200.00.
There I was, the drunken high-roller that all the ladies love. Throwing money around that I couldn't afford, but damn, it was so much fun. Buying the table drinks (there was only 2 of us, but it cost 15 a round) and the like.... boy, was I having fun. I realized at that time that cash in a strip club is one of the highest status symbols a man can have.
I had big ole knockers in my face left and right and was loving every minute of it. Sure, if I were sober, then things would have felt different, but it was Sunday, I was drunk, and it was fun.
Well, one o'clock rolled around and I turned to my friend, but to my horror, he had left. Apparently, he had told me he had to go, and I told him I was okay. "I was living the high life," he reported me saying.
I reached in my pockets and had about two bucks left. I tried to get cash out, but didn't have enough to cover the surcharge. I was in a predicament I knew not how to get out of.
So, I did what any sensible man would do in my situation. I stood outside and asked if any of the bar patrons were going my way as they walked out. It was cold and drizzling, and I had no coat, was in shorts and t-shirt. You know, looking back, I am certain that drunk people don't make the best decisions.
I thought that more of these fine, upstanding citizens in the strip club would have more than wanted to offer me a ride home, but more often than not, they said no. Kind of like the Walt with women. But after about 10 people turned me down, a nicely dressed gentleman in ripped jeans, a nappy beard, and liquor breath said he was headed my way (he kind of looked like Bens women) He was nice to give me a ride home. The conversation wasn't really the most intriguing, but hey, what do you expect?
I got home about 3, woke up at 7, called in sick to work, went back to sleep and didn't wake up until around 4 in the afternoon.
