I
went to a party not too long ago. It was a house-warming party for friends of a
friend (who is only really, sort-of a friend). I hadn’t planned on drinking or
staying very long, due to me being on the tail end of being sick, as well as
still taking anti-biotics. But, we all know how plans work out in the end,
right?
After
a couple of hours being at the party, and feeling the effects of mixing alcohol
and medicine, I quickly found myself standing line for the one bathroom at the
house. I started talking to another man, who was in line ahead of me, and a
super cute, red headed, local girl who was behind me and trying, and failing,
to use her feminine assets to get us to let her go ahead in line. I was too
focused on the beautiful ‘lady’ I had met earlier, who was currently surrounded
by men trying to get her attention, to pay any real attention to this red head.
‘Red,’
while standing in line with us and finding that only asking to cut in front of
us wasn’t working, had then tied the bottom of her shirt up around the top of
her beautiful, golden-brown, tanned stomach. Then asking us if we thought she
had a nice stomach. My response was to laugh and poke her in the belly with my
finger. The other guy said nothing, just stood there staring. She did have a great
stomach, but I was seriously too enthralled with my ‘lady’ to really focus on
this girl in front of me.
Later
in the evening, when I was back in the kitchen, watching and trying to not care
about the half-circle of men forming a wall around my ‘lady,’ ‘Red’ showed up
before me again. Her shirt was still tied up and she seemed very proud of her
flat stomach; as she should be. She wanted me to come into the other room and
dance with her, but I still couldn’t be pulled away from my ‘lady’. But, even
after turning ‘Red’ down, she stayed and talked/flirted with me for a little
bit. I’ll never complain about a beautiful woman flirting with me, especially
one that has, and is showing off, such an amazing stomach, but all I could
manage was to poke her in the stomach again. With my finger! Stop being
inappropriate.
Much
later, after my ‘lady’ had left and I stayed for a bit with her phone number in
my pocket and my heart full of courage and stupidity, I found myself confronted
by ‘Red’ again. I was in the living room, just sitting and talking to a couple
friends. Someone got us all up to dance and before I knew what was happening,
‘Red’ was in front of me, smiling with a dangerous look in her eye. The alcohol
coursing through my veins, my ego inflated beyond imagination, I allowed her to
take my hands and put them on her naked hips, where her shirt was still pulled
up. We didn’t dance for long, but we did bump and grind for a bit. Something in
my gut told me to stop. I thought it was just that I was trying to be satisfied
with having already won the attention of the most beautiful girl at the party
and gotten her number, but there was something else that was going off like
spider sense. Screaming at me to go home and stay away from the evil temptress.
I didn’t go home yet, but I did stop dancing and went over to the line for the
bathroom.
‘Red’
didn’t follow me at first, but after coming out of the bathroom, she was
standing in the hallway leading back to the living room, talking to one of the
other guys I had met earlier. I stopped and talked with the two of them. ‘Red’
quickly turned the conversation to sex and other such things that drunk people
talk about. She also told us that she lived just down the hall, in another
apartment. There was so much flirting and sexual tension in that hallway that
anyone else who might have walked by would quite possibly be risking his or her
life.
When
‘Red’ mentioned her living down the hall, I asked her who she lived with. A lot
of people here will live with their parents or other family members up until
they are married, but occasionally you’ll meet some that live alone, or with
friends.
‘With
my parents.’ she replied with a sly smile.
‘Damn!’
I thought to myself.
The
stupid drunk part of me was taking over and all I could think of was, ‘How
tanned is the rest of her.’ I clearly wasn’t listening to my gut. Luckily, the
other guy stepped in and saved both of us.
‘How
old are you?’ he asked.
Most
of the people at this party were at least in their mid-20’s. I was 27 and my
beautiful ‘lady’ was 28. I expected ‘Red’ to be 22 or so. I knew she was young,
but I had no idea.
‘I’m
16!’ she said with a devilish twinkle in her eye.
‘Well,
bye!’ I half-stammered, half-laughed, while turning around and walking as
quickly away from her as possible. I may have been drunk, but my survival
instincts kicked in and saved my life. I made sure to thank the other guy
before I left the party. I’m pretty sure some higher force saw how much I was
ignoring my gut and sent an angel down, in the form of a half-drunk stranger at
a party, to protect me.
‘Red’
was pissed that I had just walked away and kept yelling at me any time she was
near. She could yell and talk shit all she wanted, I wasn’t going near that death
trap of a 16 year old ever again. I feel like anyone under 21 should be required
to wear a wristband or something to identify them when in a group of drunk
20-somethings. Or drunken men should just always ask a young looking girl how
old she is, before anything else is said. What’s the word I’m looking for here?
Oh yeah, responsibility.
