The Horny Alcoholic
July 8th 2007 03:25
It had been the longer side of four days, but now it was almost over. Finally! “Damn, it feels good to feel good” Larry would implore to himself. At thirty-six years old, a hangover was no longer a simple morning ordeal to endure. No longer something that Larry could toy with, and possibly even ameliorate by sipping on a beer or having some coffee with his Kahlua.
No, no. These days a hangover was a full body experience, and it lasted for days. Headaches, on again-off again hunger, bloodshot eyes, scratchy throat, irritation in the lining of the stomach, difficulty speaking, lack of balance, and a general malaise that had a spit and a bite. Disrupted sleep would soon lead to the emotional leftovers, and the subsequent apathy was truly debilitating.
Larry would be reminded, “Oh yeh, this shit really is a depressant.” He had not been pouring the depression into his body nearly as often as he had in the past. In fact, before the ‘drunk he got on’ last Saturday, Larry had not even had a drink for several months. Not that he was in recovery or had identified for himself that he may have a problem with alcohol. No, Larry had simply found that the hangovers were too disruptive to the, shall we say, more functional aspects of his life.
And so it was. It felt good to feel good, and Larry was again able to tell himself that he had not missed any work, had no legal complications, had not spent an inordinate amount of money, and had made no enemies to the best of his knowledge.
Larry was a single man. His recent divorce had nothing to do with his relationship with alcohol. At least not on the surface. He did suspect, at times, that there may be a connection. Larry had read once that alcohol was one among many ways to create and sustain emotional distance. And clearly, his ‘ex’ was quite troubled by the lack of emotional intimacy in their relationship.
Being single was easy. Coming and going as he pleased. Eating what and when he wanted. Not having to lie about this or that. Going out to the bar if he wanted, or even drinking alone and at home if that was the whim that struck Larry.
Being single was easy.
One thing that was lacking, though, was sex. Getting naked and rubbing up against a nice lady, while she fondled and caressed him to his volcanic climax. He would generally be willing to reciprocate, and it usually worked quite well. Larry had discovered along the way that sex was really great when he was clear- headed and sober.
Dynamic, sensual, and alive! “Downright hot”, he would often recollect.
Well, now that Larry was feeling good again, recuperated from that last drunk, he was starting to think about sex. It had been a long time. Even before the divorce, there was very little physical intimacy. This, likely, a direct result of the lack of emotional intimacy.
“Whatever”, he would say to himself. It was time to more actively find a physical connection. He would become excited just thinking about it. “Nothing wrong with my stuff,” he would proudly tell himself.
Larry was horny. No two ways about it. He was working on convincing himself that it was time to ‘get laid’. So, where are the babes? He was clear that to find someone who would “do” him on first meeting, he would need to go back to the bar. That was cool. Larry had a good time at the bar, and last time, there were no problems.
Just the four-day hangover.
He would just not drink as much this time. No big. After all, the “mission” was to find sex. Certainly, a bit of the social lubricant would help. A bit of scotch, a bit of beer. Maybe a glass of wine before going out. Just not so much that there would be a severe hangover.
Because those long-side-of-four-day hangovers are a real bitch.
Larry decided to drink a glass of wine, while waiting until it was late enough to walk on down to the bar. Larry knew that it would be insanity to drive. Though he intended to not get drunk, it would be safest to leave the car at home, just in case. Just in case.
The cabernet was nice. Playful, yet with purpose. Larry liked that in a wine. Full bodied. A nice smooth touch on his otherwise crude palate. He never was a good sipper, though. Three swigs and a full glass is gone. Tastes nice, and leaves a warm glow. Yes, the warm glow is good.
As Larry walked down the hill to the village where the local dive bar was, he found himself fantasizing at how great it would be to hook up with someone as horny as he. No strings attached, no impending relationship, or any of the issues that come part and parcel. Just raw, unadulterated, ‘for the species’, sex.
“God, that would be nice!”
Once in the bar, Larry saw that there was an empty stool. A perfect perch to drink and watch all that goes on in the night life of a seedy little bar. Quite a lot does go on, and Larry always had a keen and precise eye. He could enjoy the karaoke singers as well as spot and track possible ladies with whom to mingle and hopefully sex up.
Larry would start with a scotch rocks, just to set the tone. It’s good, lasts awhile, and packs a good punch. “I love the bump this gives me”, Larry would muse to himself. He is able to relax and get into the flow of things. Become a part of the milieu, as the therapist-people would say.
Finishing the scotch, Larry orders a beer. He tells himself that he will nurse the beer. Make it last. “Do not want another mother of all hangovers.”
Many ladies in the bar, laughing and singing and dancing and gyrating and looking real fine. Many seem to be out on the town without a man, and this is good. In a sheer numbers game, someone is bound to want sex. Larry is good looking, articulate, and he imagines often that he is a real ‘catch’. So, at this point of the evening, all systems are a great, big, go!
While Larry is ordering another beer, he notices two fine looking ladies sitting next to him. One, moving and swaying to the music, brushes up against him. He likes that a lot. He is so horny and starved for female attention, he finds a frotteristic pleasure in these ‘touchings’. Maybe he even leans a little bit into the woman who appears to have a buzz on.
With beer in hand, Larry starts a conversation. Introducing himself, he learns that this slim and pretty brunette is Connie. Connie is loose, well lubed by whatever alcohol she has been drinking. And, she acts as if she is interested. So much so, that Larry buys her a drink, and adds another scotch to his arsenal.
They talk, though do not seem to say much. It is much more of a non-verbal thing that is going on. Powered, no doubt, by the alcohol. At some point, from out of nowhere, Connie grabs Larry and kisses him on the lips. “This is good.” A couple more drinks, and his arm around her, they decide to kiss a bit more and then go dance to the drunken cowboy singing about trains and dogs and broken homes.
Even a rowdy and off-key slow dance between two drinking fools is a great opportunity to become even more hot and horny. Brushing up against her, Larry is quite aware that his emerging hardness is in no way a secret to Connie. She, in fact, is egging it on. More kissing and public foreplay leads to the ultimate suggestion: Connie, not Larry, says, “Let’s get a bottle and get out of here.” Larry is approaching drunk by now, and agrees. “I’m there, baby.” He remembers that he walked and tells Connie that he does not have a car, but that he lives just above the village. Though getting sloppy at this point, Connie proclaims that she can drive if it is just a little way.
“Great”, Larry slurs.
They do make it safely up the hill and into Larry’s place. He pours a couple of ample scotches, and they sit down. By now, both Larry and Connie are extremely drunk. Kissing and feeling each other up, they somehow manage to take off their clothes. Naked, they each sip a bit more of the liquor before sliding down to the floor.
Various versions of sexing take place, both seeming to be fully engaged in the commingling of their bodies. Just what Larry had hoped for. Just what Larry needed. At some point, both Larry and Connie are either fully spent or they have simply passed out. They drank a lot of alcohol.
When Larry wakes up in the morning—probably around 10 or 11 in the morning, he feels like shit. “Oh shit,” he says, “I feel like shit.” And he really, really does. Just like last week, and there is no doubt that the recuperation will be equally long and tortured.
The long side of four days.
As Larry sips on his coffee, which he can barely hold down, he wonders why he slept on the living room floor. And he wonders why he took his clothes off. Her knows he went out, though he does not know how he got home.
Larry figures that he must have gotten too drunk to ‘score’ last night. Oh well, he’ll try again later when he is feeling better.
deorre
No, no. These days a hangover was a full body experience, and it lasted for days. Headaches, on again-off again hunger, bloodshot eyes, scratchy throat, irritation in the lining of the stomach, difficulty speaking, lack of balance, and a general malaise that had a spit and a bite. Disrupted sleep would soon lead to the emotional leftovers, and the subsequent apathy was truly debilitating.
Larry would be reminded, “Oh yeh, this shit really is a depressant.” He had not been pouring the depression into his body nearly as often as he had in the past. In fact, before the ‘drunk he got on’ last Saturday, Larry had not even had a drink for several months. Not that he was in recovery or had identified for himself that he may have a problem with alcohol. No, Larry had simply found that the hangovers were too disruptive to the, shall we say, more functional aspects of his life.
And so it was. It felt good to feel good, and Larry was again able to tell himself that he had not missed any work, had no legal complications, had not spent an inordinate amount of money, and had made no enemies to the best of his knowledge.
Larry was a single man. His recent divorce had nothing to do with his relationship with alcohol. At least not on the surface. He did suspect, at times, that there may be a connection. Larry had read once that alcohol was one among many ways to create and sustain emotional distance. And clearly, his ‘ex’ was quite troubled by the lack of emotional intimacy in their relationship.
Being single was easy. Coming and going as he pleased. Eating what and when he wanted. Not having to lie about this or that. Going out to the bar if he wanted, or even drinking alone and at home if that was the whim that struck Larry.
Being single was easy.
One thing that was lacking, though, was sex. Getting naked and rubbing up against a nice lady, while she fondled and caressed him to his volcanic climax. He would generally be willing to reciprocate, and it usually worked quite well. Larry had discovered along the way that sex was really great when he was clear- headed and sober.
Dynamic, sensual, and alive! “Downright hot”, he would often recollect.
Well, now that Larry was feeling good again, recuperated from that last drunk, he was starting to think about sex. It had been a long time. Even before the divorce, there was very little physical intimacy. This, likely, a direct result of the lack of emotional intimacy.
“Whatever”, he would say to himself. It was time to more actively find a physical connection. He would become excited just thinking about it. “Nothing wrong with my stuff,” he would proudly tell himself.
Larry was horny. No two ways about it. He was working on convincing himself that it was time to ‘get laid’. So, where are the babes? He was clear that to find someone who would “do” him on first meeting, he would need to go back to the bar. That was cool. Larry had a good time at the bar, and last time, there were no problems.
Just the four-day hangover.
He would just not drink as much this time. No big. After all, the “mission” was to find sex. Certainly, a bit of the social lubricant would help. A bit of scotch, a bit of beer. Maybe a glass of wine before going out. Just not so much that there would be a severe hangover.
Because those long-side-of-four-day hangovers are a real bitch.
Larry decided to drink a glass of wine, while waiting until it was late enough to walk on down to the bar. Larry knew that it would be insanity to drive. Though he intended to not get drunk, it would be safest to leave the car at home, just in case. Just in case.
The cabernet was nice. Playful, yet with purpose. Larry liked that in a wine. Full bodied. A nice smooth touch on his otherwise crude palate. He never was a good sipper, though. Three swigs and a full glass is gone. Tastes nice, and leaves a warm glow. Yes, the warm glow is good.
As Larry walked down the hill to the village where the local dive bar was, he found himself fantasizing at how great it would be to hook up with someone as horny as he. No strings attached, no impending relationship, or any of the issues that come part and parcel. Just raw, unadulterated, ‘for the species’, sex.
“God, that would be nice!”
Once in the bar, Larry saw that there was an empty stool. A perfect perch to drink and watch all that goes on in the night life of a seedy little bar. Quite a lot does go on, and Larry always had a keen and precise eye. He could enjoy the karaoke singers as well as spot and track possible ladies with whom to mingle and hopefully sex up.
Larry would start with a scotch rocks, just to set the tone. It’s good, lasts awhile, and packs a good punch. “I love the bump this gives me”, Larry would muse to himself. He is able to relax and get into the flow of things. Become a part of the milieu, as the therapist-people would say.
Finishing the scotch, Larry orders a beer. He tells himself that he will nurse the beer. Make it last. “Do not want another mother of all hangovers.”
Many ladies in the bar, laughing and singing and dancing and gyrating and looking real fine. Many seem to be out on the town without a man, and this is good. In a sheer numbers game, someone is bound to want sex. Larry is good looking, articulate, and he imagines often that he is a real ‘catch’. So, at this point of the evening, all systems are a great, big, go!
While Larry is ordering another beer, he notices two fine looking ladies sitting next to him. One, moving and swaying to the music, brushes up against him. He likes that a lot. He is so horny and starved for female attention, he finds a frotteristic pleasure in these ‘touchings’. Maybe he even leans a little bit into the woman who appears to have a buzz on.
With beer in hand, Larry starts a conversation. Introducing himself, he learns that this slim and pretty brunette is Connie. Connie is loose, well lubed by whatever alcohol she has been drinking. And, she acts as if she is interested. So much so, that Larry buys her a drink, and adds another scotch to his arsenal.
They talk, though do not seem to say much. It is much more of a non-verbal thing that is going on. Powered, no doubt, by the alcohol. At some point, from out of nowhere, Connie grabs Larry and kisses him on the lips. “This is good.” A couple more drinks, and his arm around her, they decide to kiss a bit more and then go dance to the drunken cowboy singing about trains and dogs and broken homes.
Even a rowdy and off-key slow dance between two drinking fools is a great opportunity to become even more hot and horny. Brushing up against her, Larry is quite aware that his emerging hardness is in no way a secret to Connie. She, in fact, is egging it on. More kissing and public foreplay leads to the ultimate suggestion: Connie, not Larry, says, “Let’s get a bottle and get out of here.” Larry is approaching drunk by now, and agrees. “I’m there, baby.” He remembers that he walked and tells Connie that he does not have a car, but that he lives just above the village. Though getting sloppy at this point, Connie proclaims that she can drive if it is just a little way.
“Great”, Larry slurs.
They do make it safely up the hill and into Larry’s place. He pours a couple of ample scotches, and they sit down. By now, both Larry and Connie are extremely drunk. Kissing and feeling each other up, they somehow manage to take off their clothes. Naked, they each sip a bit more of the liquor before sliding down to the floor.
Various versions of sexing take place, both seeming to be fully engaged in the commingling of their bodies. Just what Larry had hoped for. Just what Larry needed. At some point, both Larry and Connie are either fully spent or they have simply passed out. They drank a lot of alcohol.
When Larry wakes up in the morning—probably around 10 or 11 in the morning, he feels like shit. “Oh shit,” he says, “I feel like shit.” And he really, really does. Just like last week, and there is no doubt that the recuperation will be equally long and tortured.
The long side of four days.
As Larry sips on his coffee, which he can barely hold down, he wonders why he slept on the living room floor. And he wonders why he took his clothes off. Her knows he went out, though he does not know how he got home.
Larry figures that he must have gotten too drunk to ‘score’ last night. Oh well, he’ll try again later when he is feeling better.
deorre
| 69 |
| Vote |
Subscribe to this blog
Comment by Stanley
Comment by Ash
Australian Traveller
Flashes of memories
These stories are really thought-provoking. It is scary what goes on in a drunken night that the mind wipes clear.
ash