It’s 2:15 AM. You double click your keys to unlock your modest midsize sedan. You try to focus your vision thru the slightly fogged windshield. Your last call whiskey soda put you .05 over the legal limit. A date, lover, girlfriend, hussy plops into the passenger seat and tells you to turn on the heat. You are holding in farts.
You arrive at her two-bedroom apartment. You wonder if her roommate is finer than her. It’s quarter to 3 because parking is terrible. Her living area smells of pomelo and citrus, but don’t second-guess why you know this. Her room is surprisingly messy. Everything you thought about girls being cleaner than guys is an illusion now. You kiss her. You have to poop.
In her most seductive voice, she asks you to fuck her. You hold in a burp as the night’s dinner is still clashing with the Jameson and IPA. You silently oblige, and unhook your belt, while you take one last look over at the nightstand. 3:30 AM. You tell your insides to shut the hell up and cooperate. You imagine your dick as Thor, conqueror of women and worlds, able to shoot lightning from its tip and render mortals and gossips speechless. Your abs hurt from clenching.
She falls asleep because it is her bed and she is in familiar territory. You are overheating because she has a duvet cover and too many pillows. You try to stick one leg out in an attempt to counter balance the temperature, but alas the covers are too well insulated. You drift in and out of consciousness, stomach still unsettled, your arm trapped under her dead weight. Big spoon problems.
At first light, you sneak out to the adjacent bathroom. You hope for a fan, if there is no fan or it’s not loud enough, you put on Two Chainz Pandora radio at mid to high volume to mask the trombonery. You aim for speed, but without the velocity to stain porcelain. It is uncomfortable and the reading material is sub-par. You wonder why you held it for so long. As you put back on your clothes and tell her goodbye, you start to question many things.
On the car ride home you think how much easier it would have been to just take a crap at her apartment and then resumed activity. You wonder why it’s so taboo to poo. You also consider not staying out until closing time, which not only cuts down on drink costs, but also maximizes energy and agility. You wonder if you are getting lame or smart. You decide it’s a combination of the two and happily accept your fate.
Very Serious Barista 