Note- If you're wanting to get straight to the action, I have some disappointing news. This story, or at least this part, contains a fair amount of build up that leaves the payoff to the next part. If you can live with that, please enjoy. I look forward to feedback. Also, I apologize if there are any editing errors. I'm transferring this from Google Drive and I did it myself.
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My friends give me a hard time about it every time we drink. I get a few beers in me, I start telling stories, next thing you know I'm knocking over my beer. And everyone else's. I can't help it. When I tell drunk stories, it's not just words. Giant arm gestures are involved in pretty much every story I tell. Whatever, it's not a big deal. Well, not usually.
My name is Michael. I'm nineteen and just entering my second year in college. I'm a marketing major (yeah, I know) with a minor in drinking, like most normal college students. I'm an inch or two under six feet and a pound or two under 170. I'm pretty athletic, spending most of middle and high school playing soccer and running track. I've never considered myself a jock, though, considering my spare time is usually spent reading comics or playing video games. Recently I took up social drinking, which I'm fairly good at. I'd say I'm about a 6.5 skill wise.
So, where is this story going? Well, my peer group is a mixed bag ranging from hardcore academics to scholarship athletes with a healthy dose of everything in between (where I sit). Whenever we hang out we tend to go to one of the three apartments in our group, avoiding the dorms and the frat houses. This particular story takes place at my friend Jake's apartment.
I started my Friday with a pre-game at my apartment. Don't be impressed, I share it with four other guys. So, my version of pre-gaming is drinking beer while playing Halo online. I drink each time I get killed. I'm pretty good, but obviously my reaction time will drop with each death. An hour in I had seven empties in front of me and I was feeling pretty buzzed. I decided to walk one street over to Jake's and see who was there.
Now, my friends and I party like normal people, so we aren't throwing a rave here. I walked into Jake's place to some low music and and low lights. The living room had a group of six watching Archer on Netflix and playing some kind of drinking game. The kitchen table was occupied by eight more people playing Asshole, and the back room (where Jake and his girlfriend were) had a group of a dozen playing Cards Against Humanity. I settled down to enjoy a screwdriver and an awesomely offensive card game.
An hour later I was feeling pretty good. Jake and I had moved to the living room to find out the rules of the Archer drinking game, which turned out to be complex but worth it. Then the doorbell rang.
Everyone got really quiet really quickly. I doubt we had a single person who could legally drink. With some whispered conversation it was decided that I should answer the door since I never seemed as drunk as I actually was. Taking a deep breath, I cracked the door.
Spoiler: not cops. Standing at the door was a nervous looking short brunette holding a large book to her chest. To my surprise, I knew her.
"Holly?"
Looking up at me as I opened the door, Holly stared up at me in surprise. Understandable considering we had gone to high school together but hadn't seen each other since graduation.
"Michael?" Hey, she remembered me.
"HOLLY!!!" Chloe, Jake's girl, ran up and started hugging Holly. "I'M GLAD YOU CAME!" Yeah, she was basically screaming, and we had to calm her down a bit.
In the next few minutes I found out that Holly had transferred to our school at the beginning of the year and was in most of the same classes as Chloe. Holly was super quiet and solitary in class and wasn't into parties of any kind, but Chloe had needled her over the last couple weeks and had finally convinced her to hang out. So here she was.
Grabbing Holly a Smirnoff (which she was surprised she liked), I explained to Jake and Chloe how Holly and I had gone to school together for most of our lives. Small, slightly inebriated world!
Fast forward through the party. The four of us do some shots (Holly only agreed after I promised to do two for every one she did), talked about our classes, and generally got drunk. A drunk, horny Chloe eventually dragged Jake to the bathroom for "secret reasons," leaving me to make Holly feel comfortable, which took some work considering she was worried about getting drunk and embarrassing herself. Turns out we'd popped her alcohol cherry and didn't even know it. Wish her first hadn't been a Smirnoff Ice, but whatever.
To make her feel at ease, I started telling her all my most embarrassing alcohol stories. The time I pissed in my sister's closet, the time I tackled a McDonald's employee because he wouldn't give me thirty Egg McMuffins, ect. I've found out over the last couple years that the best way to alleviate someone's fear of getting drunk is telling them the worst stories you have. Somehow, it always makes them less scared of making fools of themselves.
Now, we finally get to the thing I said at the beginning of the story. When I tell a story, three out of five times I will knock over a drink. So, while Holly sits in her chair, I'm standing up describing how I ended up shaving my junk on a drunken bet. Her face is red, but she is laughing her ass off. And then, in one huge sweeping gesture, I knock what's left of my Cape Cod (a drink, look it up) off the shelf and down her front.
I should give some info here. I had liked Holly a bit back in high school. She was pretty, wore glasses (which I love), and had a sweet, round ass. Not too big, not too small, just round with the right amount of plumpness. Unfortunately, things had never lined up for me to ask her out. When we met again a year later, she looked much the same. Same thick rimmed glasses, same shoulder length dark brown hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, same great ass. I noticed. The only thing that surprised me was that she was wearing a huge, baggy sweatshirt, which was the opposite of the stylish, body hugging outfits I fondly remembered from high school.
So, having had a thing for the girl, I was pretty mortified when I knocked a third of a glass of vodka and cranberry juice down her front. After a second of stunned silence, she took off like a shot towards the bathroom, dropping the huge book she'd been holding all night. After allowing a few seconds for my alcohol addled brain to realize what I'd done, I followed.
