I woke up. Again. I don’t think I had slept longer than an hour all night. Could it be those last two Soco-Limes I guzzled, or the fact that I was not in my own bed and subconsciously didn’t want to drool on the (hot) boy’s pillow I was currently sharing? Regardless, light was finally filling the room, which could mean only one thing: this boy was about to wake up, see me and completely regret the last two Soco-Limes he had bought each of us.

I stared around the room, half willing the boy to wake up and prove me wrong – by initiating another round of lovin’ – and half planning my silent escape while he was still passed out.

It never changes. And I don’t think it is much different for anyone. No matter how great the evening was, no matter how hot you looked in that brand new going-out shirt and no matter the fact that he came onto you, we all spend some of the after-glow fearing the worst:

He is not going to remember what happened.

He is going to roll over, see me and freak out.

He is going to vomit from the amount of alcohol it took for him to find me attractive. Read More »