For a long while (ahem, code for way too long) I dated a guy a little younger than me. And by dated, I mean every Friday night, we would get together after an intense evening partying and make out like wild animals.
We were pretty serious about our business. We would run off from parties, and cozy up in his car. We would sneak into my apartment when the roommates weren’t home and make out on my dirty, toothpaste stained sink. We would frolic through the side streets from parties, making out like bunny rabbits. We would rush up to the bathroom of any party and eat each others faces off. Anywhere we could go in “private,” we would go.
One morning, after a particularly awesome night with my fave younger man, I woke up pretty early to go to the bathroom. My make out king was sleeping soundly, so I tried not to wake him as I crawled to my demise. In the bathroom (which conjoined the only two bedrooms in our suite that we all shared), I was welcomed by a bodily fluid surprise. The entire bathroom was completely painted in urine. The walls, the ocean scene shower curtain, the toilet seat, the ceiling, the door, the towels, the everything. Covered in urine.
My eyes bugged out, and I stood frozen. A girl absolutely could not make this happen with the constraint of having a va-jay-jay. This was a complete man-made mess. My angry roommate showed up on the other side of the bathroom and gave me a look I would imagine getting before my head was cut off. Kevin showed up behind me and looked around the bathroom in embarrassment. I looked up at him slowly and was face-to face with two hickeys the size of Texas.
My roommate snorted from the other end,
“You might want to get some concealer for those marks on your neck…oh and have fun cleaning this up.” Needless to say the romance fizzled after we spent 6 hours bleaching away the smell the his piss.
[You think that’s bad? Check out our other cringe-worthy Morning After stories.]