A Night I’ll Remember

A Night I’ll Remember

Part Four

How much longer we stayed and how more we drank, I cannot remember, but when we left the Machiavelli was crowded, so I’ll put an estimated guess at 2 or 3 AM – Normally, they wouldn’t be open this long on a Thursday, but the 14th of February is world-wide singles-night out – when we decided it would be a good idea to get home.

Theresa – and, in theory, her boyfriend – made the decision that they wanted to get home, likely to have their very own Valentines Day celebration, I thought with a smile… considering all the stuff Theresa had told me about the two of them, I was surprised that she put up with him. Still, that was none of my business.

As with all humans that statement made us gather our things, so we could stagger home in all our drunken elegance. No one managed to fall getting out of our seats, still I waited until last to make sure no one had left anything. Don’t ask me why I always bother checking if everything has their stuff when I’m drunk, considering how good I am at leaving my stuff everywhere when I’m sober. I don’t remember when Louise had gotten up – though I would like to think I had noticed at the time – but she was ahead of me. After looking through the half-dark to see if anyone had left anything on the black couches (who the hell decided on that combination?), which was a very slow job considering that most everything people could’ve forgotten was black; jackets, mobile phones, wallets, bags and so on. Didn’t find anything, though.

When I looked up, the others were out waiting for Patrick, who was the only person who was seemingly unable to say ‘no’ when they asked if he wanted to leave his jacket for a minor fee. Except one.

“So you got through the night, eh?”

“Yea, it was fun.”

“You didn’t really take part in the fun, though?”

“Never really was into girls… or homosexuals,” she admitted.

I don’t know how or why, but somehow I knew what she was about to do and how poorly it fit my time this whole evening. She kissed me. I remember that much.

I don’t remember if it was good, bad or anything in between. What made this even more mystifying in my mind was that I was interested in her and had given hints even while she was with her prior boyfriend. I had gotten her drunk once or twice, walked her home, even helped her go shopping (dear fucking Christ, what was I thinking?) and now that I was going home with a horny Louise under my arm, now she decided to do this!?

Suddenly, I felt very much like I needed a drink, but the others were leaving, so I just downed one of their half-finished pints and made my way up to the others, giving Lea a wink as I passed by her and demonstratively moved up to Louise and put one arm around her waist. The height-difference was perfect for her to be able to lean her head against my arm and so she did.

We passed a group of punkers on our way out, not a terribly unique sight, though a guy with a gargantuan purple Mohawk did impress me, especially considering how he had to duck his head to enter doors that I could walk through without worries.

Our normal route home from the Machiavelli was never the way we had come there. When we were going there we walked a few minutes from the nearest station, but when we were drunk (or at least, when I was) we always took the station just a bit further away, through the mass of people trying to use the same way to get home. The least intelligent choice, in other words.

While walking down this highway of late-night pedestrians, Louise apparently met some people she recognized and fell back a bit to talk with them. For some reason I felt very clear and very real loathing towards those strangers, though I never made the effort of asking her who they were.

Perhaps I should?

The town square. This was the unquestioned heart of our beloved city, and we stopped for a moment. Lea had said goodbye to us a while ago, telling us that her dad (yes, you’re allowed to sigh) would pick her up. We tried reasoning with her using clever logic such as: “The train will get you home in under 10 minutes and it’s like 5 minutes to the station!” and “You’re 17! You can’t expect him to come get you everywhere. It’s not as if you’re in trouble!” but to no avail, she’d left us to be picked up by her dad (when did he sleep anyway? He had to open up his store in just a few hours?).

We’d probably stopped so Theresa and her boyfriend could say goodbye to Patrick, Mary and Freya (which would certainly explain where those three went, because I never remember them leaving). While that was going on, Louise asked me: “So where do you live?”

“You’ll be there in like 30 minutes, you’ll see,”

“No, I mean the address?”

“Why?”

“My dad. He says that if I’m staying over at someone’s place, he wants the address.”

“Gimme,” I said and she obliged, handing me the cellphone. I wrote the address and handed it back.

“It’s not as if I’m going to kidnap you, you know?”

“Well, he doesn’t know that.”
“Wait, wait,” Theresa interrupted. “You’re going back to your parents?” The surprised, slightly suspicious tone to her voice made me think. My parents? At home, sleeping. When I come home? They wake up, say hi, then sleep. When I bring home a strange girl they’ve never seen before? Oh, there it is. Clever.

“Yea?” I said, pretending I hadn’t just realized what she was implying.

“Your mom. She’ll kill you.”

Perhaps not, I haven’t ever brought anyone home with me. None of my girlfriends ever met my parents so I wouldn’t know how they’d react. No, I couldn’t even feed myself that line, much less her. “Probably, but where else is there?”

She brought a finger to her lower lip and then pursed her lips; looking much like one of the anime-figures she liked watching so much. I was amazed; I knew she wasn’t even doing it consciously, though I had thought it the first 6 months I’d known her. “Weeell…” here it came, “you could come with us?”

‘Yes, I do realize that is an option, unfortunately.’ I mentally rolled my eyes and answered, “We kindda need a bed, though?”

“My parents won’t be home for a few days. My little sister is with them two. We’ll take my moms bed and you can have mine… or my little sisters, if you prefer.” Well, well, the hippie had awoken.
“Thanks.” I can’t remember if it was Louise or me who answered, but… but what?

It wasn’t as though I was being cheated. I would be getting sex, whether I wanted it or not, and now it would be in another guys bed (not that I minded, but I’m surprised he’d lend out his own bed knowing what we’d be doing in it).

That guy was simply too friendly.

In the morning, the two girls would probably talk and make weird noises while the guys slept, I mused and for some reason that thought made me feel better.

Within a few minutes we were at the station and we got into a regional train, having no other choice at this time in the morning (or was it still night if you were on your way home?). Louise sat opposite Theresa and I sat opposite Theresa’s boyfriend. There was a lot of talking going on, but I ignored most of it.

I was thinking.

About what you ask? No idea whatsoever, but I distinctly remember thinking very hard. Must’ve been something important and had I written it down we might’ve cured cancer, eliminated world hunger and colonized space by today. Therefore, always carry a pad.

We got off at the next stop and Theresa led the way – ironic, I thought, seeing as how she wasn’t the one living there – but the toasted hippie didn’t object; he could barely keep his balance, anyway. I considered pushing him into a hedge or something to that effect, but decided that it might seem overly cruel against a guy who’s just offered to let me and someone he’s never met fuck in his bed.

After climbing a seemingly unending flight of stairs – it wasn’t that we were far up, just that the steps weren’t big enough for my feet to begin with and the alcohol wasn’t helping – we reached his apartment and he opened the door, letting us in. He hadn’t even used a key to unlock the door, just turned the knob and walked in.

I’d seen the apartment once before, but since I have an aunt who lived not far away I recognized the way the rooms were divided quickly and he pointed us into a room immediately on our left. The same room in my aunts apartment had been an extra living room; here it was the bedroom of him and – on the other side of a huge bookcase – his little sister (complete with teddy bears and pink colours abundant!). “See you tomorrow?” he asked, as if that wouldn’t be the case.

“Thanks,” Louise said.

“Yea, owe ya one,” I said with little enthusiasm. Perhaps I really don’t like the guy, it is a very distinct possibility, I suppose. He could probably go down on his knees and give me the best blowjob in the world and write out a check for 10 billion American dollars and I still wouldn’t like the guy.

It was awkward, I won’t lie.

Louise had been with at least three guys that I knew of and at least one girl, and her and I didn’t even talk that much about stuff like that. So it was probably easily double that figure.

I, on the other hand, had no experience in going out, dragging some pretty girl home with you (much less dragging her anywhere else) and actually getting any action on the first date. Girls have called me a gentleman and in the dating department, I’m very British (even if my drunken accent is pure Scottish) so just ripping her clothes off and throwing her on the bed would seem forced – fake – to me.

So instead it became a little dance – lasting the two meters from the door to the bed – where I pulled off her shirt, she opened my pants, I opened hers and so on. By the time we’d reached the bed we were in our underwear – minus her bra – and I had a hard-on so strong I half-expected it to break the fabric of my boxers.

We kissed and our hands ran over each others bodies.

Author Note: Anyone still reading this? Congratulations!

Your patience will be rewarded, as the next chapter will be as pure smut as I can possibly muster!

Promise!