I had known Jon (name has been changed since I know homeboy reads this site) for a little over a year. Our entire relationship was based on drinking together; we met through a friend at a bar, exchanged numbers and quickly became one another’s drinking friends. You know, the one you call when you’re drunk at 10:30 on a Friday and looking for fun people to meet up with. Preferably with cute friends.
Our relationship was flirty and filled with sexual tension.
Yeah, from the moment we met I knew we would inevitably be taking a train to Sexy Town.
And so we did. Last weekend, after drinking one too many vodka sodas at a karaoke bar, I ended up at Jon’s apartment (after stumbling down the street and making a weird pit-stop at some stranger’s apartment who was entertaining 12 hippie friends with a 12-foot bong. Who knows?). Jon and I were talking in the living room and the next thing I knew we were making out on and our way to his bedroom.
“It’s really messy,” he told me between awkward, sloppy kisses.
“Don’t turn on the lights,” I responded. “I don’t want to see what it looks like.”
Jon obliged and pushed me toward the bed. Then we continued on our merry way. Or not so merry way. You see, no matter how much the room was spinning, the whole thing was just…bad. Nothing was working, limbs were flailing and after discovering that Jon was still wearing his (black) socks while otherwise completely naked, I pulled the plug and decided to go to sleep instead. Not that Jon minded; he was passed out and snoring within seconds.
An hour later I woke up to go to the bathroom. It was 6am and the sunlight was starting to shine in the room. The very dirty, very disgusting room. I found my underwear (between a muddy shoe and a Playboy magazine) and ran to the bathroom. While squatting over the dirty toilet I debated going home, but I was exhausted and just wanted to sleep so I tiptoed back to Jon’s room and climbed back into bed.
I was just falling asleep when he began thrashing around the bed, rolling from side to side. He clearly had no idea there was anyone in the bed with him. I know this because he rolled over to face the wall, pressing his back against me…and farted on my leg. I was disgusted but let it go; I closed my eyes and tried again to fall asleep.
But Jon just kept rolling and thrashing. First he punched me in the back of the head. Then he kicked me in the back. Then, finally, he rolled onto his back, sprawled out, and was dead to the world once again. I closed my eyes. I was just about to fall asleep when I heard water running. I sat up, confused. Where was it coming from? What was going on?
It took about 2 seconds for me to realize there was no water and was actually Jon peeing in his bed.
“Jon!” I screamed and jumped out of the bed. He didn’t move. The pee kept coming.
Thoroughly disgusted I gathered my things. There was no way in hell I was getting back in that wet bed and, quite frankly, I really didn’t want to be anywhere near the kid. I put on my shirt and my jewelry and my jacket. I started crawling around the floor looking for my jeans but they were nowhere to be found. I looked over at Jon snoring in the bed.
Fuming and just wanting to get out of there I looked down at my jacket.
“Is this long enough to go home without pants?” I thought to myself. “No, no I can’t do that. It’s 12 degrees out.”
I kept searching for my jeans and finally found them under the bed (next to the muddy shoe’s brother). I quickly put them on, not even bothering to button them, and ran out of there. Once home, I threw all my clothes in my hamper, took a shower then passed out. When I woke up a few hours later I contemplated texting Jon; I mean, did I even want to talk to him again? But I had to. And it’s a good thing I did.
Turns out, he thought I was the one who wet the bed.
Looks like that’s the last time I’ll be seeing that kid, clothed or not. Fart on me once, shame on me. But pee on me? Well, you’re on your own, friend.