Anyone who really knows me understands that I like to have a good time. It took me awhile to get there though, because I had to adjust to my new surroundings. As I grew more comfortable, my fetish for drinking did too and, as a freshly-dubbed “party man,” I knew no limits. But with every shot, there’s an equal and opposite reaction, and this young lady was sure to put this theory to the test.
We’ll call her Alaina. This foul-mouthed dimepiece origianlly from parts unknown had been living in Queens for about two years now. Her hustle was in Public Relations, but her job was to really be on the scene. With cinnamon skin, light brown eyes and lips that’d make Angelina Jolie think about getting implants – Alaina knew how to steal someone’s spotlight.
I met homegirl through a mutual acquaintance, and the chemistry between us two was on point. We never had it on the level of Mef & Mary, but our conversations were music to my ears. On this particular night, love’s symphony had to be playing our tune when I received this text from her:
“On my way out with the girls… Thinking of you. Don’t go to sleep.”
I laughed to myself and continued to work for the concentration camp. Maybe about two hours later, Alaina saw fit to call me to make sure that I was “still up.” “Hey babe,” she coos. “Are you still up?” I laugh, my mind in the gutter, but I let her know my activities and she proceeds to follow along with the conversation, not missing a beat.
“Are you drunk dialing me?” I ask. She says, “Maybe.” Our little way of flirting was the way she said “maybe” with differerent inflection and tone. I smiled as our conversation deliciously spilled over into a wide range of topics. Palin’s sex life, why Smurfette didn’t write a book about her “exploits” with the Smurfs in her life and how McCain is a pimp were discussed as she clearly ignored her friends.
And Alaina was holding her own — liquor and all. “What chu been drinkin’ on?” I ask. “Just a few [cocktails],” she says, and excitedly exclaims, “I’m on my way over.” Within an hour she was at my doorstep wearing a form fitting dress that looked so good, my doorknob got happy because it got a turn with her. The night was going smoothly. Our friendship was sailing into new territory. “I’ve always liked you,” she whispers in my ear while using her tongue to trace it. “You never wanted me,” I joke. Our lips gently tongue to the tune of Anthony Hamilton’s “My First Love.”
Straight into my own personal love scene things began to get hot and heavy. As our loving bubbled, unbeknownst to me, her guts were bubblin’ too and as Alaina leaned in for another taste of my lips, everything she drank, ate, and wore on her feet came out of her mouth and onto my face.
I’ve been into some freaky shiite before, but getting thrown up into my mouth is a new experience entirely. Clearly embarrassed, homegirl Usain Bolt-s it into the bathroom, where she locks the door behind her. Grunts and moans could be heard, but I felt like baby girl who let R. Kelly spray lemonade on her face. So, in awe, I wanted to clean up, but — the bathroom was locked. There’s no other disgusting feeling than allowing your personal being and bed be violated. Yet, instead of flipping out, I tried to play “negotiator” and coerce my drunken belle out of her seclusion.
“It’s alright… Come out.” Guess that didn’t work. No response. Our friendship hit a big ass iceberg, quick, and went the way of the Titanic. I managed to clean up, get rid of the bedsheets and even go through a little bit of pRon, I continued to knock on the door, trying to get honey dip to come out. Still no response.
Increasingly worried by her actions, I picked the lock and opened it up. Strewn out on the floor like a bum, homegirl managed to spray her “goodness” all over the walls, the floors, on the toilet, in the shower and in my medicine cabinet (I don’t know how…). Suffice it to say, she was knocked out asleep and definitely in need of a cab… which was called for immedgiately – after a healthy dosage of crackers, bread, coffee and tea.
Am I wrong for getting her out before more damage could be done to my humble abode? Should she have stayed to clean up Hurricane Alaina? Could I have been more understanding? Ladies, please… Speak on it!
