Slippery When Wet

Party Animal

His face was hot and pink before he even managed to raise his head. His head slowly tilted up to meet to the alluring gaze of CORYAWESOMERUSSO.

"Are you alright? Quite a spill you took. You really know how to make an entrance," the muscular man joked, slowly steadying Wes back unto his feet.

"Yeah I've never been great with coordination. Little me learned to walk way later than all the other babies," he blurted out, surprisingly swiftly. He was amazed that talking to such a greek god of a man could be so easy.

"Wes, come on. We wanna find where this repulsive music is coming from, so we can change it," Bella said before noticing the interaction, "Oh um sorry. I didn't realize y'all were chatting." Her eyes glanced at Weston with a surprised look. He knew she was just as amazed as he was.

"I don't care who he's talking to," Emma interrupted, "I need to find a bathroom, and I'm NOT going alone." Grice stood behind them with a roll of toilet paper struggling to balance on their head.

"I'll talk to you later, uh..."

"Wes. Well Weston actually, but I'm fine with Wes too."

"Wes, right. I'll talk to you later, Wes," he said while deserting Weston and his friends.

His body may of dragged him along to the bathroom with his pals, but his mind was led elsewhere. It may have been a short interaction, but he cherished it. His heart fluttered thinking of CORYAWESOMERUSSO's embrace. I'll talk to you later. Those words have never sounded so sweet. Wes was only snapped back to reality by a terrifying realization.

He was missing a shoe. His greasy sock was exposed, and his panic began to rise. How long had it been without it? How could he not have noticed? He ran away from the bathroom he was waiting outside of, and into the nearest bedroom he could spot.

Right after the door slammed, he sunk to the floor. His sweaty sock disgusted him. He took it off and threw it, only for his anger to grow when his sock made a deep splatting noise as it hit the wall and slowly slid down.

He stood up in hopes of finding a towel to rap his feet in to avoid ruining the floors as he let his feet breathe. When his gaze rose, he realized he wasn't alone. A metalhead man that looked like he may or may not relate to Patrick Bateman laid asleep on the bed. He was only awoken from his drunken sleep by the sound of Wes' squishy feet hitting the floor.

"The fuck is going on man," he lazily uttered.

Wes stood paralyzed, hoping he wouldn't notice him if he just stayed impossibly still.

"Dude, what is that?" the stoner said pointing at his feet along with the marks that trailed behind them.

Wes' face was flushed with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. Telling his friends was troublesome enough, but now he had to deal with a complete stranger knowing. This was his nightmare. He felt hot tears welling up in his eyes until his saw something quite peculiar.

"What the fuck are those?" Wes questioned in the same bitter tone, gesturing towards the two sweat marks that stained the bedding on both sides of his torso.

Both of them sat in silence with the realization that they may be quite similar. But how? Weston had never met anyone who sweat as much as him. It's practically unheard of.

"I guess I should introduce myself if we'll be sharing this room to hide away from the party," he said to break the silence, "I'm David." His chains rustled as he sat up.

"I'm Weston. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone about your grease," He joked, hoping to lighten the mood.

He chuckled and explained, "Thanks man. I usually wear long sleeves to cover these dripping elbows, but this party is hot as hell. I thought I was joining a small get together where we would just smoke weed and talk shit." Weston watched as David adjusted his body on bed, desperately trying to hide the stains.

"I didn't think there was anyone else like me. My dilemma occurred today when I didn't tie my shoe tight enough. Still don't know where it is, but at least I'm away from the chaos," Wes stated. Something about David slightly drew him in.

The two grease-balls hid away in that bedroom trading stories of their sweaty pasts. Wes didn't feel any anxiety. He hardly noticed the droplets of sweat puddling on the floor. He felt at peace. But of course, that peace had to be interrupted.

Being the only one completely sober, he carried Emma out to their car after they took a nice dip into the pool fully clothed. His three friends sloppily attempted conversations in the car as he drove them all to his cozy home.

He was chasing sleep as his brain kept busy thinking about the events of the evening. He finally got to talk to the man of his dreams, but it didn't appear to him until now that there could be others out there ready to listen.