Courtesy of we heart it

On Friday, she bumps into Chase Devereux awkwardly on the street. They both wave and smile politely like any others who share a vague history. She feels about Chase the way one feels about eating really, really good chocolate cake: delicious, and hits every brain nerve and taste bud with pleasure, but you immediately feel immense guilt and regret for giving in to such fucking temptation.

You see, Chase has managed to chocolate-cake his way through her reinforced walls – whether she wants to admit it or not. They went to high school together x many years ago, and as an actor in the arts, he sat comfortably at the top of the popularity chain (whereas she couldn’t make out where the top even was).

A mutual friend had introduced them once, and he proceeded to look at her as if she were a particle of dust stuck in his line of vision. But this was over five years ago. And since she doesn’t like to let awkward encounters linger, she instead sends him a friendly Facebook message to follow up from their run-in; next thing she knows, its 9:00 PM on a Saturday and he’s inquiring as to whether she’d like to grab a drink.

Upon her arrival, she finds him casually smoking outside Prohibition. Two years ago, Chase had dated a completely different type of woman; one who didn’t greet with full on body contact, and would shy away from compliments directed at her. Tonight would be an adjustment, she presumes – and is right. He is nervous, and speaking in accents in hopes of entertaining her (which only works because she’s more focused on his lips than the phony Scots dialect being pushed through them). After another bottle of wine and a tequila shot, he hands the server his Visa, refusing any offers to go halfseys.

They stumble out of the bar, laughing at something unmemorable, and pass Jilly’s, the seedy strip club at Queen and Broadview.

“Are we going to the strip club?” she asks, half-kidding, but half-adventurous.
“Do you WANT to go to the strip club?”
“I’ve never been to one before”, she admits.
“Well then, we are going. You need a lap dance.” And with this, he grabs her hand and pulls her in through the door.

Chase asks the waitress which stripper gives the best dance, and is then directed to the stage where an aging woman with huge tits is disrobing.

“You are about 90% cuter than her.” He says, pausing to re-evaluate what he just said. “Sorry. 100% cuter”.

Courtesy of Google Images

The stripper climbs down off the stage and leads them to a back room. He sits across from her and watches as the bleach-blonde, bodacious, 30-something stripper rubs her naked body up against his ‘date’. Mere seconds later, she finds herself being felt up by both the stripper and Chase all at once. She is both drunk and confused by the boobs and hands rubbing up against her, but manages to briefly lift her head and look him in the eye – sharing a glance that screams anything but friendship.

When the song ends, Chase pulls her quickly and forcefully out of the strip club and onto the street.

“Where are we going?” She queries, still a little shaken from her multi-person body rub.
“To my house for wine.” Ipso facto.
“Oh.”

He stops in his tracks, and slowly pushes her up against the wall of a 7/11 building to kiss her – hard and perfect.

She can see the drunk on his face under the bright lights beaming from the convenient store. But with barely a moment to grasp the situation, she realizes he’s already hailed a cab and they’re getting to third base in the back seat of it.

Upon arrival, he stumbles out of the taxi, now having to lean against her as he fumbles for his key to the front door. She is far too saturated with the idea of sex to be deterred by his sloppiness.

“I am going toooo fuuck YOU sooooo hard!” his voice echoes. He begins tugging at his clothing as he stumbles up the staircase. Upon his naked arrival to the bedroom, he begins to aggressively disrobe her (with her aid in the buttons and clasps department), and throws her onto the bed (which causes him to lose balance and tumble over). He succeeds in getting the condom on (with desperate concentration), and pushes himself into her (in a way that screams he hasn’t been laid in years). But mere nanoseconds after pulling her on top of him, he passes out. Cold.

Now lying splat on his bed, buck-naked, and passed out, he mumbles to her: “this…. No… H-ppn.”

“Sorry?” She asks, half-amusedly.
“This wasn’t supposed to go like this. With you.”
She pauses to contemplate how exactly it was supposed to go, when he exhales the words:
“Cuddle me?”

He is completely naked, drool slipping down his chin and vomit still on his breath. She instead gets dressed and departs.

At 8 AM the next morning, she receives a phone call. “Hi… It’s Chase… So. Uh. What exactly happened after we left the pub last night? I think I blacked out.” No shit.

– Bareback Cowgirl.

Courtesy of mushypony.com

XoXo
– The Cowgirls