Everything was in order. Things would go exactly as I anticipated and according to plan. With Jazz in on the mission, she'd make sure Derek never got me on my back. Or my front. Or my side. Or against a wall.
And that was the way it was supposed to be.
The only problem was that going to a bonfire, a place where there was obviously going to be fire and heat, wearing sweatpants, a hoodie zipped all the way to the top and paired with vans -basically covered from head to toe- meant a sweat fest. And not the attractive kind, if there even was such a thing.
If I had to go through with this plan, the first step was to cover all the goods to eradicate any temptation.
The air was humid and sticky and I wanted nothing more than to rip off all of my clothes and plunge my filthy body into the cold ocean water.
But obviously I couldn't do that.
Stupid mission, I screamed in frustration. In my head, of course, because then people would think I was weird. Well, weirder than they already do.
Can't stop my fans from aspiring to greater heights, I always said.
"Babe, you're literally dripping. At least unzip your hoodie from up under your neck," Derek's concerned voice said, even though his face portrayed his winning emotion: What tha fork?
"Ugh men. They always want something from you," I grunted as I pushed past him and headed for the bar, leaving Derek more confused than before.
Stage 1 in motion: Provoking the frontal lobe.
I grabbed Jazz from where she was perched on Polar Bear's lap on my way there and practically ran until we were out of sight. I pulled off my hoodie and pulled down my pants instantly and sprawled out on a huge rock.
"Oulala skipping the foreplay and heading straight to the main course! Damn girl, I love the way you think!" Jazz joked as she trailed a finger down my arm.
"Ew, don't touch me. I feel icky and disgusting and sweat is reaching places that it shouldn't," I cringed as I felt it drip down to my...
Nope. If I didn't say it or think it, it wasn't real.
I closed my eyes and repeated my mantra,"I am cool. I'm in a.c. I am cool. I'm in a.c."
"More like, you are sweaty, you are crazy," Jazz laughed and plopped down beside me.
I gave her a pointed look that told her to shut up and started fanning my boobs. Who knew even boobs could sweat? Certainly not me.
"Okay, girl, here's the deal. You get your sweaty but fine ass out there and get so drunk you can't even feel the heat. From the fire and Derek's pants," she smiled, feeling content with her plan.
"That's your advice?" I asked in disbelief. "Getting wasted?"
She nodded and pulled me off the rock, zipping up my jacket, "I like us better when we're wasted."
I stood up and dragged the cloth over my ass, "Turn down for what?" I grinned.
We already started to make our way back to the party. Me, with a renewed confidence, and Jazz, with moss on her ass.
"Not a freaking thing, darling,"
***
About five tequila shots, two screwdrivers and a margarita later, I was so buzzed I felt like one of those floating heads from Regular Show.
Yeauuuhhhh! Hm hm hm.
The music was blasting through the speakers - well, at least it sounded that way to my ears- while I danced non-stop. My head was fuzzy and it seemed like the temperature rose with my alcohol content - which was pretty high by now.
YOU ARE READING
Virgin Tales
Romansa"Ugh I give up! Why can't you come?" I screamed in frustration at the reflection of Cherry in the mirror. She wasn't fabulous, and neither did she fulfill her purpose. Some might say she was average, but I thought she was way below that standard. I...
