It started, as these things often do, with lots of alcohol. The six of us were having a little dinner party. It was the usual: one of us wore the chef hat, we ate too much, complimented every little flourish, and kept the wine flowing. Soon enough, we ran out of wine and moved on to vodka. From vodka it was only a short leap to self-prescribed medication.
Our little group could be described, perhaps euphemistically, as free spirited. The truth is we are all young, good looking, and love to get out of control This evening played out like so many others, as though it was a play in the middle of a long run off Broadway.
The cast: Me (Aron):23, blonde/blue, former collegiate swimmer, 8 ½ inch penis. My Girlfriend (Angela): 24, red/green, has fancy financial district job, small, pert breasts. Angela’s Best Friend (Julia): 25, brown/brown, cocktail waitress, short, freckles, big boobs. Julia’s Boyfriend (James): 24, brown/brown, buff physique, almost totally hairless Angela’s Other best Friend (Emily): 24, blonde/green, former Mormon, tall, lithe, long legs. Emily’s Boyfriend (Stephen): 26, dirty blonde/blue, reminds everyone of “American Psycho,” looks like a surfer when he’s naked.
So, there we were. It was Saturday night, and the six of us had convened at my house. A half empty bottle of vodka sat in a slowly melting bucket of ice. My kitchen opens directly, via sliding doors, into my bedroom. Angela and Julia were lounging on my bed, sharing a loosely rolled joint. Stephen and I sat at the table poking at the carnage of our dinner. James and Emily sat on the floor, leaning up against the foot of the bed. There was some heavy flirting going on, and the conversation couldn’t help itself. It started off loaded with innuendo and quickly became soft-core pornographic.
Angela said, “Stephen, Emily tells me that your neighbors are upset with the filthy things that you make her say during your love making. Or should I say scream at the top of her lungs?”
Stephen: “Shit, I don’t make her say those things, she just can’t help herself.”
Angela: “Is it really the things she’s saying, or just that she’s yelling them?”
“My guess is it’s the yelling, “ Stephen said, his speech slurred.