Sometimes I Forget

It’s taken me until right now, 6 months later, to realize that this is NOT the first time I’ve hooked up with someone I live with. In fact, it’s not even the SECOND time I’ve hooked up with someone I live with. It’s the third. But it’s the second time it’s been with someone of the opposite sex (heyooooo!).

I think I subconsciously blocked it out of my mind for three reasons: 1) It only happened once, 2) I didn’t tell anyone about it so it didn’t have a chance to stick in my mind, because 3) A lot of people questioned his sexuality.

It’s all coming back to me now… (cue Celine Dion).

I was living in a house with not 3, not 5, but EIGHT other roommates. That’s nine people total in 4 bedrooms. We were all poor, and looking for an excuse to pay less than $400 per month on rent. So we piled in, most of us living at least 2 people per room, sometimes 3, and one girl was living in the space between the living room and master bedroom. There was no heat or air-conditioning (the no heat part is illegal according to the California Tenant Bill of Rights, and ultimately allowed us to get out of our lease), and a rampant infestation of crickets and bad decisions. It was awesome and also terrible.

There were nine of us, one male and eight females, but none of us had any interest in the boy, mostly because he was extremely quiet, somewhat awkward, and kept to himself most of the time. Really nice guy though. Good looking. Really smart. Kind of like a big brother to all of us.

As winter approached, we all started getting closer, more comfortable with each other (none of us knew each other when we first moved in), and willing to spend time outside of work together. We decided to throw a little birthday shindig a couple miles from our house at Big Wangs. The best, I know. It’s a bar, so only the over 21 crowd could go, and we had to leave the little ones at home. By little I mean the 18, 19, and 20 year olds. Not like 8 year old boys. You perv.

It was a Monday, so the bar was pretty empty. What started as a casual birthday pitcher turned into the manager coming over the play quarters with us and give us unlimited shots of tequila. At least I think they were unlimited. Unlimited to me means enough to lose the ability to make decisions. And that’s pretty much what happened.

The roommate, we’ll call him Crooks for now (I’ll explain later), was getting closer and closer to me on the bench at the bar. We were touching each other, which was completely CRAZY for this introvert who barely got close to anyone. It didn’t bother me since I was soaked in buffalo wings, beer, and tequila, and anything after a combination of those feels kind of like you’re on ecstasy except I’ve never done ecstasy so that combination of things is pretty much as close as I’ve every gotten to ecstasy which is actually really sad and someone should probably send me some ecstasy right now so that I can replace the feeling of drunken, spicy, greasy, chicken meat with ACTUAL ECSTASY. Thanks.

Anyway, some other stuff happened and then the bar closed so they kicked us out and made us go home, and luckily there wasn’t that awkward “Your place or mine?” conversation because HEY, WE LIVE TOGETHER! and if there’s one thing that makes the actual hooking up with your roommate any less awkward in and of itself, it’s that. Am I making sense? Because I am definitely not proof-reading this shit and I haven’t had any coffee today even though it’s National Coffee Day and actually I haven’t had any caffeine today at ALL and that’s probably why I’m on my way straight to the crazy place where squeals and run-on sentences replace any coherent attempt to help people understand what I’m actually trying to say or maybe it’s all the wet paint in this apartment or MAYBE I have mercury poisoning because of all the sushi I’ve been eating and I just ate some now and I probably most definitely have mercury poisoning and now I have to force my fingers not to Google ‘mercury poisoning’ and and and WEEEEEEEEEEE!

(does anyone remember this from like 10 years ago??)

Sigh.

So back to the sex. Is it even relevant anymore? One part of it is. Well two parts. One, we didn’t actually HAVE sex. We did lots of other stuff. And I quickly found out that he in fact was NOT a homosexual, or if he was, he had extensive experience with the lady parts prior to doing the dudes. Yummy. And two, he had a crooked penis. Hence the name Crooks. Not only was it crooked, like bent, but I mean it was bent in the *right* direction. As in, it curved up. As in, it would have gone right to my g-spot had we decided to fuck after going down on each other for the better part of an hour.

How did I not remember this?? I mean, really. His penis was crooked. And I lived with him. And everyone thought he was gay. And I couldn’t be all ‘Guys, he’s not gay, I swear,’ because then all the 18 year olds would have been all ‘Well how do you know? PROVE IT!’ and I would have had to have been like ‘Yo, I saw his crooked penis and he gave me multiple orgasms with his tongue, and what, you want a video or something??’

And yeah, I probably would have gotten fired because OH BY THE WAY we were also co-workers. Hmm.

Gonads in the lightning! In the lightning! In the raaaaaiiiiiinnnnn.

Happy Humpday!