Please note: I originally posted this story on another website. I have modified it slightly for submission to Literotica.
Introduction: Sometimes things can get a little out of hand when I drink too much.
*
When I woke up, I was confused at first. I wondered who had fixed the crack in the ceiling over my bed. Then I looked for the ceiling fan. It wasn't there. I looked to my right. There was a poster on the wall that I didn't recognize. I looked to my left, which was a big mistake, since there was a window where one wasn't supposed to be. The morning sun caught me squarely in my bloodshot eyes. It was then that I realized that I had one hell of a hangover.
Being the genius that I am, I finally figured out that I was not in my own bed. The problem, other than the shitty taste in my mouth, a sour stomach, and the ever-increasing pounding in my head, was that I didn't have a clue as to whose bed I was in. I had no memory of how I got here. In fact, as my sluggish brain tried to recall the events of the night before, I realized that I had no memory of leaving the party. The last thing I could remember was playing beer-pong with some of my buddies in Joe's rec room. I had been losing, but I hadn't been that drunk. Had I?
Frank, Donnie, Mike, Joe, and I all work at the tractor assembly plant in town. We had gotten into the habit of going out bar-hopping once a month. All of us except Mike were married, but our wives indulged us, because it gave them a chance to have a girls' night out. We all were friends, many of us having graduated from the local high school together nineteen years ago. Some of us, like my wife and I, had been high school sweethearts.
We all drink pretty hard when we are together. I guess you could call it binge-drinking, since we tend to get pretty stupid. Lately, I've been wondering if I, at least, am overdoing it, since I've had a few black-outs. I was starting to realize this had been one of those nights, since things were starting to come together, but they didn't really make sense. I had been the designated driver for the bar-crawl last night. That's why I hadn't had anything to drink while we were out, and had only planned to have a few beers at Joe's house when we got back. I knew I could drink three beers and still be below the legal limit, so why didn't I remember anything after the beer-pong game, and why did I feel so lousy? Had we switched from beer-pong to whiskey shot-pong again? Joe had gotten seriously shit-faced the last time we did that. And where the hell was I? The only thing I could figure out was that I must have drunk a whole lot more than I had expected to, and someone had put me to bed at Joe's house.
But, why was I naked under the covers? I normally sleep in my shorts and a t-shirt. The guys all knew this, since we all went hunting together, and we had shared motel rooms when some of us couples took vacations together.
Shading my eyes from the sun, I looked over the side of the bed and saw all my clothes on the floor. They all looked okay. I picked up my t-shirt and shorts and saw that they were dry and reasonably clean. That meant that I hadn't done something really dumb and gross, like puking on myself or shitting my pants like Donnie did the one time. We still gave him grief about that one. So why had I taken all my clothes off?
I heard the door open. Joe's eighteen-year old daughter Mindy was standing there, wearing a long bathrobe which she had tied tightly around her.
"Good morning, Poppa Tom," she said brightly. "I thought you might want this." She walked in carrying a folding bed-tray. On it was a big glass of tomato juice, a plate with three pieces of dry toast, a bottle of spring water, a big mug of black coffee, and, God bless her, a bottle of aspirin.
I sat up in bed, carefully keeping the covers over myself, and she unfolded the legs of the tray and positioned it over my lap. Then she sat on one corner of the foot of the bed.
"What the hell happened last night, Sweetcheeks?" I asked. I've always called Mindy Sweetcheeks. I've known her since a few hours after she was born. I was the first one, other than Joe, his wife, and the hospital staff, who got to hold her. I've always loved this child, almost as though she were my own. When she was a baby, I sometimes changed her diaper. When she was a young girl, I helped teach her how to ride a bike. Now that she is a beautiful young woman, she sometimes confides in me about boys. My wife and I are unable to have children (I produce plenty of cum but no viable sperm, due to a childhood fever, the doctors say), so we've always treated her like the daughter we'll never have, having her over to the house all the time, buying her stuff, and taking her places with us. My wife really loves her and spoils her rotten. Her parents indulge us, since they know about my "condition." Our inability to have kids is part of why they made us her godparents, I think, and they taught Mindy to call us Poppa Tom and Momma Jean.
Mindy gave me a little smirk. "Don't you remember?"
I gulped down four aspirin. "Considering they way I feel, I assume that I got pretty drunk."
"You could say that," she laughed. "Drink your tomato juice and eat your toast. I'm going for a shower. I'll be back in a few minutes and then I'll tell you everything." Shaking her pretty head and laughing, she left the room.
As soon as the first bite of toast hit my stomach, I realized that the contents of this tray were exactly what I needed. I also discovered that I was pretty hungry, and more than a little dehydrated. By the time I had polished off everything, the aspirin were starting to work. I was beginning to feel a whole lot better, but I was really tired. I put the tray on the floor next to the bed, and grabbed my shorts and t-shirt. I put them on and looked at my watch. It was only 8am. Since it was Saturday, I didn't have to be anywhere until late this afternoon, so I settled back under the covers to wait until I was sure I was well enough to drive home.
At least I didn't have to face an angry wife when I got home, I thought. My wife had left right after work yesterday for the vacation house we had rented at the shore for the week with Frank, Joe, and their wives. Since last night was our traditional monthly guys' party night, we had agreed that the girls would go ahead so they could have a night without us boys underfoot. Frank and Joe were supposed to leave at dawn to meet them, and I was to drive there alone tonight, after the little league team I help coach played their game.
I guessed that I must have drunk a whole lot more than I planned to, and that someone decided it would be a good idea to have me stay at Joe's house to sleep it off. I was anxious for Mindy to come back and fill in the details.
A moment later, Mindy walked in. She was still wearing her robe, but her long, wavy dark hair was damp. She was combing it with her fingers. "Feeling better?"
"Much, Sweetcheeks," I said. "Thanks to you, I'm pretty sure I'm going to live. Now please, tell me what happened last night."
