Hangover
- 2 years ago
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Hangover Recollections free porn video
“Nothing good ever happens after one in the morning when you're drunk,” he painfully reminded himself of the events he failed to remember. Ben tentatively held his leg out of the bed on the floor to make his proprioception stop spinning the room. To his surprise, it helped. The world seemed to slowly halt to its habitual standstill—by normal human perception anyway. Only his stomach seemed, much to his displeasure, to keep enjoying the rollercoaster ride.
With shaky legs, Ben gave standing up a shot. He had to wet his burning throat and splash some water on his hangover-ridden face. While his feet were barely carrying him, his intestine's gyroscope had not yet decided to follow the rest of the body's change from horizontal to approximately vertical position.
Ben staggered to the hallway, supporting himself on the wall and wagering what was the best route to the bathroom, should the urge to empty his stomach force him to take advantage of one of the three plant pots that conveniently stood on the way there. They might come in handy, he pondered. Slowly, he processed the compromise between climbing over those two alcohol corpses that lay in the hallway in strategically bad positions and the alternative consisting of stumbling around them without the support of a proper wall. This process cost him more time than he realized, bringing him close to erupting before even being able to reach the first pot. He reminded himself never to host a party at his place again—a resolution that had so far never been kept.
With a new surge of nausea, he remembered his last night's companion. In shock over the realization, he turned his head one iota too quickly, feeling the hammering of his every heartbeat pounding through his brain. Fuck, this hurt!—not only his brain; his eyes too. The stories were true: booze was the liquid version of Photoshop. What had he been thinking? The answer starts with bee but has little to do with the black-and-yellow striped insects—except the latter color, maybe?
While renewed surges of gastric fluids refluxed in his larynx dangerously close to his throat, Ben thought he'd have a faint memory of being frustrated over his roomie Becca rejecting him for the gazillionth time, drowning his bruised ego in the most abundant organic solvent, score the gullible, self-conscious friend of Becca's as a victim of his revenge plan—a bit of buttering up had been amply sufficient—and the... “Shit!” he cursed, the faint tremor of his skull sending new waves of thunderclap headache through his head. The dick pic!
Whatever had made him think this would be a good idea, he thought, disregarding the obvious answer to that question. Adding to his already rather unflattering act, he had a convincing presentiment telling him that the fact he had shot it while forcing a massive stream of piss through his semi into her favorite plant pot would not exactly facilitate the quest for a proper apology.
Suddenly, Ben dashed to the bathroom with three lunges Usain Bolt himself would have envied him for. He barely avoided his two passed-out buddies and stumbled over the threshold to the bathroom. He leaned over the toilet and thanked Becca for being the one exceptional girl who generously overlooked the male fondness of keeping the toilet lid open while the caustic contents of his stomach were already passing his lips in high pressure-cleaner-like jets. He screamed in pain with every renewed tidal wave and there were a good dozen. This, again, made him question human physiology, the laws of physics and how much spare volume there really was in his abdomen.
As he was still gasping, spitting the excess saliva into the bowl, the bathroom door creaked open further. First, only Becca's head appeared. Ben managed his best hangover-ridden smile while still kneeling before the toilet, both hands trembling, but firmly locked to the seat. There were slim chances, he thought, Becca hadn't yet looked at her phone. He knew her unlock pattern, so he could just...
Her devilish grin let his every hope nip in the bud. Maybe it was also the fact that she was holding her phone demonstratively towards him, showing a WhatsApp chat history with a specific image in it. Or was it the fact that the picture was not on the receiver's side of the chat but on the sender's? Possibly also that the receiver read 'Trish', Ben's girlfriend? The stream of emojis and curses the latter had replied with was a pretty strong indication too that something was afoot. The additional video of him and Becca's friend getting it on in a rather pathetic revenge attempt wasn't helping either. He had a persuasive feeling that he had damaged himself more than Becca.
Could this day get any worse? Sent a dick pic to his roomie, used her ugly (albeit willing) friend as a revenge cum dumpster—men with hurt egos tend to commit doltish gaffes like that—and now his guarantee to get laid on a regular basis was about to properly castrate him. On the upside, he thought, he didn't have to be embarrassed anymore every time Trish introduced herself with the worn-out rhyme, “Don't I look like a dish?” Dad jokes, he figured, should be left to those who've mastered this art.
Well, Becca could still throw him out of the apartment for being a dick-driven pork. Ben cringed at the thought and prayed to whomever might hear him she hadn't just read his thoughts. Women have a strange talent for that—not that it is particularly complicated to decipher a man's mind, but still...
“Dude,” she began, head shaking, voice dripping with venom, “You're a filthy pig. Do you know that?”
He gulped.
“A filthy pig with a magnificent dick, nonetheless,” as the disgust in her face made way for her signature smirk. “Now that you're single, why don't you gurgle some mouthwash and put your otherwise useless pecker to some good use and plough me into my bed?”
Pansy
- 10.12.2020
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- Humor
