Memorable Middles
When it's time to party, we will party hard. After packing. And before a 15 hour drive in a moving truck. Uhhh...maybe not such a good plan.
After a loading all my belonging on the truck, napping, and various other bed related activites, my date and I arrived at my going away party. I love parties, especially those held in my honor. You never have to look for someone to talk to or wait for a drink at a party that is held especially for you.
Walking in, I see a veritable "who's who" of the past few years in DC. I immediately spot The Roommate, sprinting towards the bar at a pace that indicates he wants to see me, quite the opposite from when we were sleeping together. Then I catch a glimpse of The Friend of A Friend sitting at the bar. He should have known the way well enough--we spent two or three nights a week at this very bar for over a year. Catching me completely by surprise, The S pops up on my left. I half expected him to be a no show, as that would have been a completely reasonable end to our relationship, but there he was. Looking all svelte to boot. A short while later, Mr. Smith comes strolling in. No one knows who he is and my friends ask me if I've slept with him. Which I have, I think? And of course I can't forget my date for the evening. Back by unpopular demand: The Sweet Boy. Assembled in one room, five men I have slept with and don't hate. At least not at the moment.
Other friends came and went but the five of them stayed with me through the end of the evening, aside from the Friend of a Friend, who bizarrely disappeared in between bars. I guess that's how it's always been, and in many ways, these men have been closest to me over the years. My best friends, who've all seen me naked.
Low lights from the evening included making out with The Roommate at the second bar. He's been kind enough not to bring it up. The Sweet Boy inexplicably walked home while The S, always the sober one, drove me. I depantsed as soon as I walked in the door at home, as is my custom when I've had more than 3 margaritas. The S compliment the emerald green lace thong I'd chosen just for this occassion. Shortly there after, The Sweet Boy stumbled in and we proceeded to go to bed. The S said his goodbyes, and in a style I've always loved, casually asked if we wanted to have a threesome. The Sweet Boy laughingly declined, clearly thinking he was joking. I gave him a knowing smile before my head hit the pillow on my last night in the District.
There's no need for me to search for meaning in the night, or any other night that preceeded it. Neither beginnings or ends, all those life defining moments are merely middles.
After a loading all my belonging on the truck, napping, and various other bed related activites, my date and I arrived at my going away party. I love parties, especially those held in my honor. You never have to look for someone to talk to or wait for a drink at a party that is held especially for you.
Walking in, I see a veritable "who's who" of the past few years in DC. I immediately spot The Roommate, sprinting towards the bar at a pace that indicates he wants to see me, quite the opposite from when we were sleeping together. Then I catch a glimpse of The Friend of A Friend sitting at the bar. He should have known the way well enough--we spent two or three nights a week at this very bar for over a year. Catching me completely by surprise, The S pops up on my left. I half expected him to be a no show, as that would have been a completely reasonable end to our relationship, but there he was. Looking all svelte to boot. A short while later, Mr. Smith comes strolling in. No one knows who he is and my friends ask me if I've slept with him. Which I have, I think? And of course I can't forget my date for the evening. Back by unpopular demand: The Sweet Boy. Assembled in one room, five men I have slept with and don't hate. At least not at the moment.
Other friends came and went but the five of them stayed with me through the end of the evening, aside from the Friend of a Friend, who bizarrely disappeared in between bars. I guess that's how it's always been, and in many ways, these men have been closest to me over the years. My best friends, who've all seen me naked.
Low lights from the evening included making out with The Roommate at the second bar. He's been kind enough not to bring it up. The Sweet Boy inexplicably walked home while The S, always the sober one, drove me. I depantsed as soon as I walked in the door at home, as is my custom when I've had more than 3 margaritas. The S compliment the emerald green lace thong I'd chosen just for this occassion. Shortly there after, The Sweet Boy stumbled in and we proceeded to go to bed. The S said his goodbyes, and in a style I've always loved, casually asked if we wanted to have a threesome. The Sweet Boy laughingly declined, clearly thinking he was joking. I gave him a knowing smile before my head hit the pillow on my last night in the District.
There's no need for me to search for meaning in the night, or any other night that preceeded it. Neither beginnings or ends, all those life defining moments are merely middles.
posted by The Husskateer at 7:27 PM
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