Whiskey Burns

Time to get this blog back on track! Less self-exploration, more SEX STORIES! Woooo!

So while reading this one, it's probably best if you just pretend you don't actually know me. Although I suppose if nothing I've written so far has made you think less of me, nothing will, and as usual I have to ask myself if it matters. I mean... this is who I am. Sometimes I'm sweet and lovey and want nothing more than a solid, intimate, snuggley Relationship, and sometimes I'm raucous and slutty and out there. Just sort of depends on my mood and where I'm at in life, etc etc.

This story is clearly from a raucous slutty phase, although it wasn't planned. Back in the day, I was hanging out with these folks who were/are in a fire performing troupe. ("troupe" is such a weird word... sort of haughty, but also brings to mind images of dirty carnival people for some reason.) Some spun poi, some breathed fire, some did whatever else there is to do with fire. When I discovered they had not done vapor locks, I was shocked.

If you Google "vapor lock shot" you'll get a few different results, but the one I learned in Corpus Christi, TX, uses 100 proof cinnamon schnapps (Hot Damn is what we used). Pour into shot glass, light on fire. Place hand over glass so fire goes out and glass suctions to hand. Lift, drink - and immediately put hand back over glass. After swallowing, lift hand slightly to suck out the vapors left in the glass.

Fuck if I know what the vapors do, but you get damn drunk. Granted, it's 100 proof liquor, so OF COURSE you get damn drunk. Mostly it's just fun to light it on fire and suction it to your hand and make fun of people who are too chicken to slam their hand down on a fiery shot. Naturally, the fire troupe folks were completely stoked to do this, and at the particular party I'm concerned with in this story, we ended up drinking WAY too much. More than once, I tried to walk away from the table of liquor, only to be ushered back with someone pointing angrily at me saying "DO ANOTHER ONE!" and lighting a bunch of shots on fire.

Back story: I went to this party with one of the girls in the troupe who was at the time a good friend. Anne (all names changed to protect the not-very-innocent-at-all) was going to this party with one goal: sleep with the host, Ted. They'd been friends for a while, in the troupe together, and there was definitely chemistry, but their timing had always been off - one or the other had always been dating someone else. Finally, at the time of this party, both were single. SEX WOULD HAPPEN.

After getting ridiculously, retardedly drunk, a few of the guests left. It was down to Anne; Ted; me; and a couple from the troupe, Kate and Ben. I can't recall at the moment whether I'd already fooled around with Kate, but that happened at another party and while drunk, and is a story for another time. In any case, it was just us 5, and SO MANY VAPOR LOCKS OH GOD.

How it started is fuzzy, but we all ended up in Ted's bedroom. Anne and I were naked and going at it, the others were watching. At some point Ben thought it would contribute to the festive sexy mood to pour whiskey on us - rather, to pour whiskey on my crotch while Anne was down there. I guess to make it taste even yummier? Friends, let me tell you right now: whiskey does NOT belong anywhere near your sensitive bits. It burned! Anne thought it was just great, but I was all, FUCK DUDE don't do that shit again!! So Ben moved on to a different form of entertaining himself, which was encouraging Ted to "man up and get in there!"

I was on the bottom, so when Ted "got in there" he went for Anne. That was fine by me, as I didn't have interest in Ted myself, and Anne+Ted was the sex that was supposed to be happening. At some point, Ted ran and got a jar of peanut butter (creamy if you wondered) and was smearing it on us girls in order to lick it off. Some went in my belly button.

Another pro tip: dried peanut butter is rather difficult to clean out of your belly button.

The whole time this was going on, I'm fairly certain Kate was taking pictures. I haven't seen them, nor do I know if they still exist, but here's hoping they don't ever end up on the Internet. I think I insisted on that at some point in one of my more sober moments that night, but of this whole group, Anne is the only one I'm still in touch with these days, and that's only via Facebook as it is.

Eventually, the fun ended, as it does. Kate and Ben left, and Anne went into the bathroom to be sick from all the OH GOD SO MUCH LIQUOR. As I recall, she was laying in the bathtub, mewling sadly. She closed the bathroom door to be sick in peace, but Ted was still drunk and wanting action. I was sprawled on the couch, where I intended to sleep. Ted would come in the living room, lay on top of me on the couch to make out until I managed to push him off, then go to the bathroom door and knock. He kept calling for Kate, thinking she was in there, and asking where Anne was. I would tell him that Kate and Ben had left ages ago, and Anne was the one in there, and that he should leave her alone and go to bed. This would prompt him to come try to make out with me again and try to drag me to the bedroom. As politely as possible, I'd push him off and tell him Anne was the one he'd be sharing a bed with that night, and to go away. He'd go knock on the bathroom door calling to Anne, then asking me where Kate was. Rinse, repeat.

Finally, finally, finally he went to bed. I was too drunk and itchy to sleep - the couch was infested with fleas from Ted's dog - so I put in a movie (Waiting, which I still haven't seen all the way through) until I passed out. The next morning I tried to barf quietly while Anne and Ted went at it in the bedroom. When they came out, Ted wanted to know why there was an open jar of peanut butter in his bedroom. Turns out I was the only one who remembered most of the details of the previous night. ...Lucky me.