(no subject)
It's been a while since I've had a story to tell. I remember a while ago I posted a bunch of random events that would eventually be chronicled in my personal biography. Yes, there was a time when I assumed that someone would actually want to read about my adventures. Yeesh.
Anybrew, given my quiet and mostly unconscious lifestyle recently, I have been unable to regale anyone with my exploits... since there haven't been any. So the other day I had an unusual experience, and for the first time in quite a while, I have a new story.
The best part is, although it's long and maybe not interesting to anyone but me, as far as I'm concerned, it needs no embellishment. I shared my story with a co-worker and realized that the whole thing reads like fiction, and it's not. Traditionally, any "based on real events" plot has many changes made for the benefit of entertainment, but some just don't need any....
Some background: As mentioned above, my existence has been pretty quiet lately. A few months ago I found myself in a very bad place, not something to be discussed now, but basically I still haven't recovered and have been hermitting since.
Mike is not pleased with the situation. He wants to do the social butterfly thing, and I just haven't been up for it.
On Friday night, I broke the pattern and decided to get shitfaced drunk. This hasn't happened in a long time... I've had drinks, but in the time that Mike and I have been together (about eight months) I haven't been drunk. Needless to say, when the alcohol hit... it hit hard and fast and I was a happy person not entirely sure of my name.
Now, the story: After a very vigorous session of pre-drinking, and multiple lascivious promises for later, Mike and I headed to the Key Storm, one of the nicer Brockville bars, more for sitting and listening to live acoustic guitar rather than bumping on the dance floor to the latest bar hits.
We sat on the patio, ordered drinks, and just chatted quietly... I was mainly watching the light reflect off a fountain across the road, when an older guy poked my arm, pointed out a guy in a cowboy hat, and made some comment about the confidence necessary to go out in public with it on. Contact initiated.
A little while and another round of drinks later, the guy has pulled up to our table with his girlfriend, is talking to Mike about his business, handed him his card and basically offered him a job. He also offered us some Ecstasy. Mike took the card, and I took the pills. Very nice, very clean, very potent E. And just a quick foot-note.... Despite any problems Mike and I might have between us, I absolutely trust him when it comes to taking care of me. I mention this because I know that it sounds retarded to take pills from a stranger in a bar. I am aware that if I had ended up on the CTV Evening News as a corpse, then people would say "Well, it's sad, but it served her right. That was just stupid...." But Mike wasn't taking any, he's a tough looking guy who wouldn't hesitate to hurt someone badly if he thought the person had made me feel even a little uncomfortable. I was confident that I was safe with him. Just soz ya knowz...
Not one hundred percent sure how we ended up back at their place, though. I remember the car ride, I remember mentioning that getting in the car wasn't such a great idea, but I was overruled. Or maybe I didn't actually voice the thought out loud... not sure about that either.
However it happened, we ended up climbing the stairs to the most amazing apartment I have ever seen. I've picked up a little bit about interior decorating through my mom, and I could appreciate the rich colours combinations, expensive leather furniture, flat-screen TV and huge home entertainment centre, and stainless steel appliances. And the art. Oh my god //orgasm-the-art. I don't know anything about artists, or cost, or technique, I just like pretty pictures, and these were awesome. Obviously these people were well off.
I should probably mention as well that aside from being obviously rich, with a very nice new car, and a killer pad... they were also both about 45. At the bar, I had been a little struck by how much the guy, Tom, resembled one of my uncles. His girlfriend, Sandy, was really cute for an older lady. A little pudgy, with a nice face and a ton of energy. She put in a Bran Van 3000 CD in and bounced around the room singing, occasionally pulling me in to dance with her.
By now, even I in my fuzzy, happy, staring-at-the-pictures-on-the-walls state of mind know what's going on. At least, I think I do, but I don't do or say anything because I tend to be wrong about these kind of things. Everything could be innocent and fun. Or it could be very dirty and fun... who knows?
Another pill slipped under my tongue.
A bed in a room off the living room that was conspicuously messy when we arrived suddenly is made and covered in inviting, fluffy pillows.
A casual comment about how Sandy is bi and she mentioned that she thinks I'm cute.
A non-alcoholic drink is requested, and Tom hands me a glass filled mainly with rum and about a thimble of Pepsi.
The TV comes on, and there are an awful lot of girls on the screen, none of them have clothes on and they seem to be having a lot of fun.
This is about when I decide that the whole thing isn't my scene, it's getting onto 4am, and I'm about ready to leave. I collect my purse and my shoes, and return to the room in time to see Mike laughing his ass off, Sandy's hand on his arm, and the porn still pretty obvious on the television. So now I'm drunk, high, starting to get nervous and uncomfortable, and the jealousy switch has just been turned.
I go to the front door, planning to leave quietly and walk home alone. Good plan, except the dead-bolt is stuck. This is when panic starts to seep in. No matter which way I twisted it, it just spun and spun, and there was no way I was getting out through this door... the only door. On the second floor.
I call for Mike, and everybody comes to the door, asking where I'm going, what's wrong, blah blah blah... I'm saying over them to just open the fucking door. I don't care what you have to say, do not touch me comfortingly on the shoulder, just open. the. god. damned. door.
Mike, Tom, and Sandy all try the door. It is either really, seriously, broken... or they did a damn good job jimmying it so that even my Mike-Gyver couldn't get it open.
Then the offers start...
"It's pretty late anyways, we have a spare room. You guys just sleep here and we'll call a lock-smith in the morning."
"You don't want to walk home, it could be dangerous."
"Come sit down and have a drink and we'll figure this out."
Mike's freaking out because he's drunk, and he's halfway between being pissed that I was being rude and worried that something happened that scared me so bad I wanted to leave without him. At the time, I think he's screaming at me because he's mad that I'm going to ruin the whole mood of the evening... and I still wonder if maybe that was a part of it, but I know that he was scared for me. If anything had happened, that meant that he had failed. That he had promised to take care of me and he didn't. I know this, which is why I didn't kick his ass for the way he yelled and the things he was saying while we're trying to get the deadbolt to work.
Tom has apparently given me up as a lost cause, but Sandy keeps touching me, hugging me, telling me not to worry and that everything is OK.
So I jumped off the balcony. It wasn't that far, second floor, like I said. But it was dark, I had no idea what was in the yard beneath me, and I landed in a way that took the shock all the way up my legs and to my back. I still feel it, four days later, I'm sore and walking funny. But I was determined that there was no way I was staying there to just acquiesce to whatever these people were going to talk me into.... and I jumped.
I waited in the yard, and after a minute, Mike jumped after me, and we walked home.
I guess while I was outside waiting, Tom had pulled Mike aside and said "Hey, sorry man, obviously your girl isn't into it. If you can talk her into it, you guys can come back. Or you can just come by yourself."
That's pretty much the end of my story. Definitely one of the more interesting things that have happened to me. I don't have a nice denouement... just my personal thoughts and feelings on the whole thing... things to get off my chest, I guess.
Mike is practically puking on the walk home, because he's figured out that if Sandy wanted me, that probably meant that Tom was going to be playing with him. Or it would just be an all around gang bang, and someone was going to try something he didn't like.
When we get home, we have a talk. Mike is still angry that I was going to leave without him, and started going over all the possible consequences of me leaving on my own. He's also got an awful lot to say on the subject of me being a prude, and not open to anything, and that nothing can ever just be casual or fun because I'm paranoid and take everything so seriously.
So then I take the righteous stand, preaching about fidelity and faithfulness. I practically had a soap box... there are priests who would envy my moral fire on this night.
But it made me a liar.
The thing is, Mike was right. It could have been a lot of fun. In fact, it's the kind of fun that I fantasize about when I'm on my own. I mean, it was right out of a movie.... maybe not the kind of movie that ever sees theatres, or even anything other than the back room at the video rental store, but it was pretty wild. Nice, older couple. Amazing, and free drugs. Feeding us drinks and cigarettes, an apartment I would die for, a big comfy bed.... basically my perfect fantasy. It even had the personal touches that made it ideal for me... the fact that someone else was the instigator, I was the vulnerable, inexperienced plaything. I bet I could have suggested bondage and they would have been all for it, and then I wouldn't have needed any pills to achieve exstacy.
But all of the things that I told Mike from my soap-box would have been true as well. I wouldn't have been able to look in a mirror, or at him, the next day. I would have constant self-esteem and jealousy issues both during and afterwards. Although in a sexual situation, feeling inexperienced and vulnerable is a major turn-on, any other time it gets my hackles raised.
Plus, my ideal playmates are less than 20 years older than me, and do not have an unfortunate resemblance to my Uncle Richard.
I still feel weird about the whole thing though. I feel like I'm no longer adequate for Mike. I feel like I should have closed my eyes, forgot about the familial resemblance and gone through with it... because now I feel like I've missed out. Like I would have had one shot to fullfill a very secret but prominent fantasy and I'll never get that chance again. And if I talked to Mike about it, he gets to say "I told you so" and I feel even more inadequate.
It's not fair.
One of the worst parts about it is that I'll probably just go back to being anti-social and quiet. I emerged from my seclusion, and, like a skittish marmot, was startled right back into it.
I'm embarrassed, and pissed off, and depressed, and horny, and frustrated.
And I'd just like to reiterate that I really don't think it's fair....