I want sex. Because I’m drunk. And when I drink a lot, I become intensely sexual with anyone appropriate within my reach.
I am skinny. I am sexy. I am not eating anything. I survive off orange juice and vodka and I’m getting by. My body barely functions but that’s normal for someone on my diet.
I originally started finding people to hook up with on a lighter dating site but switched to Tinder to utilize hookups more quickly. Tinder is full of guys who want to fuck me just based on my pictures.
I start texting the multitude of men who are in my phone as potential fuck boys. It is a Sunday afternoon. Someone is bound to want to get it in. I wait to see who takes the bait. Within ten minutes I have 3 official offers and I try to narrow my selections down.
Assessment.
The poly husband. He needs permission from his wife. I am not waiting.
The separated husband. I don’t even know if this guy is separated from his wife, and I don’t care. But he’s only eh looking and he’s stupid so I can’t talk to him; pass.
The hot ginger guy in bumblefuck Pennsylvania. We have a winner with a setback; he lives in bumblefuck Pennsylvania.
I’d love to have this ginger inside me but I have no way to get to bumblefuck Pennsylvania. I’m drunk, so I cannot drive there. I tell him I refuse to drive, and he offers to pay for a Supreme Uber to and from his place.
I don’t know this guy.
At all.
But I want in.
This is a very irresponsible decision and I know it, but I don’t care, because I am currently drowning myself in the liquid courage named vodka because I feel guilty 24/7, 365, about drinking vodka. “Alcoholic!” I think, “this is what we do.”
He offers to have me stay the night and I reluctantly agree because I am putting a lot of trust into this stranger that he’s going to get me both to him and back to my home again safely. He promises he is even springing for a Supreme Uber or something which is supposed to be the most luxurious of rides. I pack a bag and fill three separate 16.9 ounce water bottles with vodka. The ride is about 1 hour and 40 minutes so that will give me a chance to drink a bottle and a half on the way there and a bottle and a half will be available as needed throughout the night.
My Mom is worried. I tell her it’s fine. I give her the address of where I am going and the phone number of the man I am supposedly riding to meet. I feel guilty that I am doing this, but I keep having trouble sleeping.
Ever since I moved out of the apartment I shared with my now ex-boyfriend and back home, I have been having a really difficult time. I can’t sleep in that bed because I was raped in that bed. There are no other beds.
For a while when I had gotten back home my drinking appeared to be at an all-time low. It was painful for me at first, but I wanted to show everyone that I could be “good.” What this translated to was me hiding it from them mostly, but not really slowing down. Just like when I used to wait for my parents to go to sleep before I drank so they didn’t have to see me like that, now things were somewhat out of control again. That was back when I was still meeting up with guys for actual dates to attempt a new relationship. Not like my “dates” now.
It is a necessity.
Surely everyone understands that.
JustCallMeTaco 