My my, this week has been eventful.
Wednesday I had my first softball game with the new job. It was cold and rainy and totally awesome. We won with some outrageous score, like 20-10 or some such. My first at bat I hit a double.
Of course the best part about playing softball isn't so much the game as the bar afterward. Nine of us went out to Dive on 96hh. Seems the team is compromised of only 25% players who still actually still work for the company. It is like that on every team everywhere it seems. So these people all have known each other for years.
Didn't stop me from having a great time though. A few beers make everyone instant friends after all. Got some interesting gossip, and didn't get home until after midnight.
Thursday was about recovery. Had to power up for Friday night, Spaghetti's birthday party.
It was at the Irish Rogue, scene of the crime from last week's 3:30 am escapades. We had a reserved space upstairs, and we had the same bartender as our last visit. You know, the one who I had spray me down with the soda gun. That one.
The party started out chill enough. Almost all the Peteys were there. As were some of the friends and co-workers of Spaghetti whom I've met before. Great people, great times.
Then the shots started coming. Last week after shots I kept insisting that everyone look at my chest. Because I was so damn proud of my spectacular cleavage. So what did I do last night?
These two English gentlemen came over to hang out with the remnants of the group towards the end of the evening. The one that lives in NYC was into Spaghetti. Which would have been a totally great birthday gift but her sister was already her guest for the evening, thus inadvertently cockblocking a tryst.
I went so far as to offer my place for an hour or so if she wanted a hook up, but she declined. So while she wasn't letting this guy get anywhere, I set my sights on his friend here visiting from the UK.
Honestly I don't remember what I said to him, but I believe it was somewhere along the lines of "you know...I live just across the street” and then started making out with him. He was cute, and a good kisser, and by god I was feeling randy.
So I took him home with me.
It was definitely fun. Drunken hookups tend to be. I'm not shy as it is, but you get a few shots in me and I'm pretty darn enthusiastic. Err, or until I get tired and just want to stop.
One interesting thing about this guy is he kept wanting to do it without a condom. I get the whole raincoat in a shower thing, but he doesn't know me or what creepy crawlies I may have. My whole theory on hookups and protection is the guy honestly should be grateful enough for the freebie to just get over it already.
Oh, and he kept twisting my nipples like he thought the secret to my pleasure involved taking them off. They do not screw off. Seriously, they still hurt today. I also found a bruise on my shoulder; totally don't remember where that came from.
All and all it was a really fun time, and considering the couple of weeks I have been through work-stress wise just what the doctor ordered. Now I need to work on getting a regular boyfriend to enjoy these kinds of benefits a little more often...
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