“Did you fall asleep, or did you pass out?” -Eric
“Ah ha ha ha ha, SHUT UP!” -Billy Madison
I don’t discuss my sex life. Mostly because it’s personal, no one else’s business, and not a classy thing to do. Much like bartending and war, sex is often boring, sometimes terrifying, occasionally exciting, and often just weird.
I’m only telling you this because of what didn’t happen, not what did.
***
I was at my favourite bar to write and unwind when I saw a hot, white South African woman (she said she was at least) enter the room. I’d served her at my bar a few months ago and found her sexy and interesting. Even better, we’d drank together a few weeks ago at this bar.
However, the last time we had drinks it didn’t end well, for me at least. Either she ditched me to talk to other guys, or I had felt slighted by her and abruptly left. As we had been drinking heavily at the time I don’t know the exact truth. So when I saw this woman, let’s call her Sandy, my instinct, based on experience, shouted she was trouble.
But naturally, being a red-blooded male with 4-6 beers in, I let the lower half of my body override sound judgement. Or Maybe I was just stubborn… wanting to see if I could do better with her this time. Word to the wise, never do this, there’s plenty of decent women out there you can chase instead.
The initial results were mixed. She didn’t tell me to get lost, but she was lukewarm towards me. I can’t remember how long we talked, or what was said. Around last call I asked Sandy what she was doing afterwards. This was the crunch moment… that binary choice when a girl decides if she will go home with you. Or, for the more cynical, it’s when teases, who flirted with you all night say “sorry, I have to go see my boyfriend now.”
To my surprise, she said a few people were coming over to her place and I could come along. “Okay,” I thought, “it’s something.” My friend had been there too but either wasn’t invited or didn’t want to go. That’s what a night of heavy drinking does… important details are forgotten.
I left my car in the parking lot and hitched a ride with someone sober (I hope they were at least). It was the correct thing to do, but it would cost me. During the day my spot served as a parking lot for a stupid government workplace (some telephone museum… I’m dead serious). Needless to say, after the 2 hour limit in the morning my car was towed. No good deed goes unpunished for drunks I guess.
***
We got to her place, ironically only a minute drive from my house (hindsight is a bitch). It was an apartment building she ran while her mom was in Europe. I don’t think Sandy had a job otherwise, based on how she was always out drinking and never mentioned one. The place was a bit run down but had its own charms. It was relatively retro and full of new age things.
I’m unsure how many people were there. Besides Sandy and I there was a guy and a black woman (I don’t remember her name). I only mention her race because Sandy was a white South African and there’s an innocent joke near the end of the story. For the next two hours Sandy drank wine and danced like a drunk hippy… probably because she was.
Unfortunately, she didn’t have that free loving and pleasant demeanour hippies are known for. I may have been too aggressive, making my intentions abundantly clear. But I know I wasn’t handsy with her. Perhaps I was just too drunk at the time and somewhat incoherent.
What I do remember was the four of us, or mostly them, played charades for some stupid reason. It was fun when I was 15 but now I wasn’t in the mood. They could have at least played a drinking game, since you know… we were DRINKING!
By then I had passed the point of no return. The moment where the initial Buzz from booze that makes you temporarily more funny, confident, and better at writing ends… abruptly.Now I was going steep down the roller coaster. I could barely keep up with the game and the others were visibly annoyed by this.
Suddenly, the other guy picked a fight with me. I don’t know why as I never said or did anything mean to him (I think). With hindsight, he liked the black girl and knew she was more interested in me. Most of the time when people get in my face I dig in my heels, stand up straight, and give the offender one hell of a fight. Ninety-eight percent of the time I do this in a calm but firm manner, other times I’ve gotten aggressive and thrown off the gloves. If you think you can always manage people in a kind and polished manner you have never been a bartender. You’ve certainly never been a bouncer!
However, this time I was too drunk, tired, and didn’t care enough to engage this jerk. I just went to the other room, with a gigantic glass of water, to rest for awhile. I’m sure Sandy and the black girl told him to fuck off and he did so. You could say I should’ve manned up and got in his face but I was drunk and didn’t care.
Besides, I didn’t lose face with the girls, as he was kicked out and I ended up in bed with them. Sun Tzu said “one must know when to fight, and when not to fight.” As I’ve aged it’s clear you don’t always have to confront or defeat your enemies. Most of the time toxic people piss off everyone and defeat themselves.
***
The rest of the night remains mostly a blur for me. I think we did weed and watched the animated show Archer for awhile. I’ve never seen it before or watched it since. That’s not a judgement against it. I was often so depressed by the last two decades I rarely watch shows and movies made past 2005.
By then the three of us were in bed. The black girl made the first move… I was too smashed to do so myself. She went right for my pants, trying to unzip them. She moved way too quickly, as I needed time to prepare for potential intimacy.
Again, I never talk about my sex life so don’t worry, because the disappointing climax came (no pun intended) a few minutes later. Soon after her initial efforts I failed to sober up and face planted into the mattress. I had met my Waterloo. The girls were still horny and fucked each other without me. But they did roll over me a few times… does that technically counts as a threesome? Either way, it’s amusing a tall white South African had sex, on top of me, with a black chick. That’s a triumph for social justice at least… I think.
I’m not sure why I wasn’t sober enough to participate in the festivities. Both girls weighed less than me, had drank as much as me, and alcohol hits women quicker than men. Maybe it was my age. I was older than them and 5 years earlier I would’ve been fine. It could have been I dropped 50 pounds in the last few months. If you don’t change your drinking habits after this you get sloshed quickly. Or I could’ve just been exhausted as I spent 90% of my time back then bartending and going to university.
Most likely I just had whiskey dick, didn’t find them hot enough, and needed to sleep. As I don’t remember being overly enthusiastic about bedding them this seems likely. Sorry, as a history guy I always over-analyze and diagnose every outcome with multiple causes.
***
The next day I woke up to the mother of all hangovers and a sense of guilt. I wasn’t guilt because I failed to secure a threesome. To be honest I didn’t find them that attractive… and at least I dodged a potential STD. I now know Sandy got around town so often that people said she’d gotten a case of the Cape Town Clap.
Instead, and I know this sounds lame, I felt guilty for missing my Japanese Imperialism class. My professor, who later got me into Carleton, later asked me why I missed the lecture. I’m unsure how I responded. I’d like to think I said “you don’t want to know,” like they do on TV. More likely, I made a bogus excuse about a family emergency. But I know I didn’t tell him the truth: That I smashed on a Wednesday night and passed out before I could manage a threesome.
While I still got 84% in the class, it could have been higher… as one of the questions on the final related to that day’s lecture. When I asked my classmates if they could pass on notes no one replied. Damn millennials and Generation Zs for being so self-absorbed they couldn’t even take five minutes to help out a fellow classmate.
A month later Sandy came into the same bar, saw me, and sat at my table. She was friendlier this time… much more flirtatious. However, I remember she had not been overly kind that night, and after having hung out with her twice I had struck out both times. I gave her the cold shoulder until she left me alone. Most likely I was engaged in one of my writings and decided giving her a third chance wasn’t worth it.
She shrugged, left, and probably went home with some guy, girl, or both. The only thing I had to show for these series of events was a missed lecture, a towing fee (thanks for nothing Telephone Museum), and a story for my memoirs.
Would I do it again… of course not! Or maybe I would have drank less, drove my car two blocks away to my mom’s place, and enjoyed a mediocre threesome.
But hindsight is a bitch, and I never criticize anyone for decisions that only appear correct and wise after the fact.