Breene, K F - Jessica Brodie Diaries 01

But here I was, opening my bleary,
make-up crusted eyes to a strange room, with strange lighting, and a strange
man next to me, currently trying to hump my back in his sleep.

While I didn’t usually wake up in
these situations with a guy trying to hump me—wait, yes I did. Usually the guy
in question was awake, though.

I rubbed my eyes, trying not to
smear my make-up any more than it already was, and decided I needed to figure
out if this character was an ex-boyfriend, a hot guy, or simply an ugly loser
like usual.

One might argue that the first and
the last were the same person.

Trying not to stir the bed, and
potentially wake the hopefully gorgeous stranger behind me, I cocked my head at
an unnatural angle to get a glimpse of the guy’s face—I’ll call him Joe. Having
a name for the dude I just slept with made the blockage in my chest loosen
slightly.

Joe lay with his nude groin against
my back, slightly rocking and pumping to an erotic dream. His head was angled
away, slightly turned toward the pillow, making seeing his features impossible.
The way he robotically thrust against my back reminded me of a dog humping a
leg; its head turned to the side with a look of grim determination as it worked
away at something that wasn’t working back.

I could sure pick ‘em.

Joe’s buzz cut could’ve possibly
been a flat top, but I couldn’t quite glimpse the top of his head. Regardless,
it was similar, which meant he was either in the military and therefore had
probably just given me an STD, or he was stuck in the 80’s and had just lost
his virginity. Either way, I did not know Joe.

One thing caught my eye. His body.
From what I could see, and being that the sheets were around our ankles, I
could see plenty, he was head-to-toe muscular. Not only that, but each muscle
was fantastically defined. In fact, I must have noticed this last night. Must
have, right? Or else, why would I be waking up next to him today?

I figured, in a ridiculous,
hung-over, stuck in the fog sort of way, that I might just wait the morning out
and see if I stumbled upon a blessing in disguise. Granted, if he was in any
way cute, he would shove me out of his…apartment? condo? house?! as fast as he
could. But what if he had noticed how witty, charming and amazing I was last
night, and didn’t mind that our looks didn’t match up? In fact, maybe he’d be
excited I didn’t sprint out of here.

“If hopes were nickels, Jessica, I
would be rich,” my Dad’s voice echoed through my pounding head.

I shouldn’t have started on the
Cuervo last night. The world always got a little too colorful when tequila was
thrown in the mix. It’s a bad decision that led to other, worse decisions.

Like going home with a random
stranger.

Again.

With a sinking feeling in my gut, I
decided it might be worth a try to grab the sheet, get it up over the bad parts
of my body—so to my neck, since putting it over my head would be weird—and
rustle around to wake the sleeping Adonis. It was do-or-die time.

I eased myself up, unable to help
myself, and giving a discreet look down at Joe’s stiff cock. My insides
fluttered. Good size. Not too big or thick to give fears of a second virginity,
but big enough to get the action that a girl in her mid-twenties deemed
necessary. Being that it was attached to a mouth-watering body of pure toned
muscle, I might’ve actually landed a keeper.

Maybe instead of cursing tequila, I
should praise it. Hmm.

I clutched the sheet in two
fistfuls and yanked. It came free from his legs and slid nicely over our
bodies. I was just about to turn toward him when I noticed the smell. It wafted
up and flirted with my nose.

I gagged.

It smelt like mildew mixed with
intense body odor. Imagine being in
New York
at the height of the summer with the moist heat, add a male German exchange
student after a day of not using deodorant, mix that with a musty aging
process, and you might have it. It was vile. Intensely vile. Fucking rancid if
I’m being honest.

And, correct me if I’m wrong,
please correct me because hopefully I'm wrong, but the smell originated from
his sheets.

I bent my head for a close-up
sniff, and then almost passed out from the pungent aroma. My queasy belly
rolled as the odor lodged at the back of my throat. I could handle the
headache, the cotton mouth and even the constant reminder that throwing up was
inevitable. Collage years made those sensations seem normal. But nasty smelling
sheets? I had to draw the line somewhere.

Compromising between my bare body
and sheets that could probably walk out of the room on their own, I bunched the
fabric right above my br**sts. I took a deep breath—through my mouth so I
didn’t need a Hazmat suit—to focus.

Okay, let’s get our bearings. In a
bed that smells like moldy ass. With a dude that is sculpted in the image of a
god. A Roman or Greek god, perhaps. Or maybe a son of theirs.

I loves me a good body.

I hates me terrible smells and
unquestionably bad hygiene.

I really loves me a good body. I
love to touch said body. Kiss it. Run my mouth along the muscles and ripples of
it.

Suddenly my nether regions were
rousing to the thoughts of playing with his body. There had to be a positive
side to this. I wanted to step out of my current rut as a single girl and
settle into something more predictable. With someone more predictable. I was
getting too old for the constant drunken nights and guilt-ridden mornings. I
wasn’t quite out of college, but I was ready to be out of the college
lifestyle.

There was a chance I picked a
winner last night. While black-out drunk. On tequila.

Yeah, a chance, alright. It didn’t
take a math major to figure out the odds on that one.

Decision: Wake up the dude,
hopefully learn that this is his friend’s bed, and that he is visiting from
Italy
where he will be returning in a month. I will then need to clear my calendar
and go with him when he asks, because he will. Obviously.

Pushing down my instincts to scream
and run from this room, I turned toward his now still body. I allowed my
glass-mostly-empty mind to think about the location of my clothes as I gingerly
put my hand to his arm and gave a little shake.

A harder shake.

I know he is alive because he was
gyrating against my back not ten minutes ago.

A good push and he finally grunted,
swinging his head from deep inside the pillow’s recesses.

I jerked back with a grimace. My
head pulsed in agony. An exit plan solidified out of thin air.

The kid got beat with the ugly
stick! And you know how nuns can whack really, really hard? And it hurts? And
they do it over-and-over again when you’ve been bad? I went to a Catholic
school as a girl, and I know.

Well, think of this kid as getting
hit with the ugly stick by God; the Guy that taught the nuns everything they
know. Not only that, but made an example of this poor fellow in order to prove
a point, because Christ-on-a-cracker, this dude was f**king ugly!!!

His buzzed flat top did a poor job
of covering the point at top of his head. His fuzzy side burns and thick, black
mustache were unkempt, riding atop a short, thick neck. The list continued with
a hooked nose, eyes too close together, and other horrors, but I was too busy
shivering with the heebie-jeebies to analyze.

And who did I have to blame? When I
was so anxious to lick his clothes off last night, did I not look up to meet
the face of the man I was speaking to? And if I did, because I might have,
why-did-I-not-turn-and-run? It was like introducing Mr. Hyde to Mr. Cuervo, and
then getting really mad when a hooker ended up dead.

I eased myself toward the edge of
the bed, away from my captor. Trying to keep my violent gagging at bay by
breathing through my mouth, I made good time without too much bed movement.
Small miracles. As I slipped out from under the sheet, I put my foot on the
ground and something squished.

I gagged again. It was last night’s
condom and some spilt KY jelly. The KY squeezed up between my first two toes
like jam. The condom wrapped around my foot and hooked onto my pinky toe.

Well, at least we were safe! I
thought desperately, shaking my foot with vigor.

My stomach lurched viciously as I threw
another gag into mid-air. Nothing came up—another stroke of luck. But now,
looking down, where the hell were my clothes?

Eyes scanning the ground with
fervor, I couldn’t find a stitch that was mine.

What, did I strip at the bar and
take a taxi in the buff?

I gingerly tip-toed to his side of
the bed and past a discarded pair of men’s white underwear. My eyes caught,
then glued, to a deep brown poop stain in the crotch.

I groaned. What the f**k was I
doing here with a guy like this? Why did my life keep replaying these bad
scenes? I was way too old for this.

Freezing my ass off, but too afraid
to pick up anything because of the possible insect infestation, I finally got
glimpse of my underwear. Oh thank god!

I darted in like a wild animal
scavenging the plains before a predator could find and kill it. Underwear, on.
Bra, yes, straps…on. Nice! Pillage, pillage, snort… snort?

Mistake number
one-million-and-eleven was waking up, feeling around my newly vacant side of
the bed. Oh crap, hurry, hurry!

Pants. Got pants. It was tricky to
get them on in a hurry with a bleary head. I got them over my butt and nearly
buttoned when I heard, “Oh, hey, you’re awake.”

I froze. The high, squeaky voice
reminded me of a boy before puberty. Slowly I raised my head, and met beady
eyes.

In all fairness, his eyes were a
nice shade of brown, but for our purposes here, they were beady.

“Oh hey, yeah, I really need to get
going! I have class in about an hour. Sorry to run and all, but…”

Wait, it was Sunday. School on
Sunday? That wasn’t even a good lie. Too late now.

I continued my desperate search for
my articles of clothing. I only had a few pieces to go before I had a full set.
I was prepared to walk home barefoot if need be.

“Oh right. I forgot you were still
in school.” He grabbed something small and metallic off his night-stand.

“Yeah. Don’t want to be late. Lots
to do. My group needs me. Don’t you need to get going for…anything?”

He paused to light a small, bronze
object, then sucked on the end of it for all he was worth. Looking at me,
scanning my br**sts and body, he held his breath for a brief period before
blowing a plume of smoke into my general direction. The waft was
sweet—definitely not tobacco.

“Don’t you remember?” he asked as
he reached down to fondle his balls. His dick was at half-mast, probably from
waking up. If it got any bigger, I would seriously leave without the rest of my
crap. “I am un-em-ployed. Lay-offs. Yeah, I am enjoying it. I pretty much hang
around and smoke weed all day on someone else’s dime. Well, and work out. Not
as big as I want to be yet, but I'm working on it.”

“Uh huh, sure. Definitely, yeah.”

My shirt, a cute little number that
showed off my cle**age and matched my browny-green eyes, would not let me hook
the clasp! Of all the times to rebel!

Apparently, suddenly feeling like
he needed to switch from lightly stroking his manhood, to helping me, Joe
heaved himself from the bed.

Oh man, God was a f**ker to this
poor guy! Either that, or Joe did something really awful in a past life. He was
mini-sized! I was not tall, being five-foot-six, but I had to cast my eyes
downward to meet his.

Without another thought, I turned
toward the exit. I just wanted this little escapade to be over. I wanted to
laugh about this later. I really wanted to think these types of things were
still hilarious at twenty-five years old, I really did. Just like I wanted to
think that being in college for a bachelor’s degree was also still normal at
twenty-five.

“Oh, I’ll walk you to the door.”
And out he followed. In the buff.

Why me?

I figured I would just throw it out
there. “You know that you are naked, right?”

He looked mildly surprised as he
looked down. “Oh…yeah. I swear I thought I told you this last night. Yeah, I am
a nudist. Well, not 100% or anything. I just like being in the flesh. More
natural, you know? I wear clothes when I have to go in public--or else I’ll get
arrested.” He chuckled. It wasn’t funny. “But when I can, I really like being
out there. Not restrictions, you know? It totally gives a sense of freedom. You
should try it.”

He gave me a soft but firm push
toward and out the door as he followed me. He wanted to prove his convictions.

This wasn’t happening. It wasn’t.
This wasn’t real life.

I led the one-man-NAKED-band down
the stairs of the apartment complex, through the lobby, and to the front
entrance. The whole time he was dangling away behind me, showing off his goods
for all the building to see. This was the worst walk of shame I had ever
experienced. Ever! And I wasn’t even the one on display!

Two old, church-going women were
making their way into the building as we headed out. Instead of scoffing or
screaming, I heard, “Oh gracious, Irene, he’s got no clothes on again. He will
catch cold one of these days--mark my words! And he managed to get a girl?” And
they strolled past, continuing their conversation just out of earshot.

“Well, it was fun, Jo..uh…see ya
later, then.” I gave a small wave and bounded from the premises. I didn’t know
where in the city I was, how to get home, or even where my socks were, but I
couldn't stay in that kid’s presence another second!

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