I suppose my heart to heart with Tyler was not enough to snap me out of my path towards self-destruction. The worse my situation gets, the more I want to drink and be a dumbass. Currently, I find myself in a bathroom stall with some woman I had picked up at the bar. We give each other drunk, sloppy kisses, and I slide my hand up her shirt. Just as I am doing that, we wind up tumbling backward slightly, and I wind up sitting on the nasty toilet. “Eh,” I say, and she laughs.

“Why don’t we go back to my place?” she suggests, and I am more than willing to do this anywhere else.

We take a cab to her apartment in the city, and we bust through the door like a couple of wild animals. She’s really gorgeous, so I suppose drunk me could have done a lot worse. She has long, blonde hair and these crazy bright blue eyes. Seriously –I’ve never seen such blue eyes before. She’s well-toned, and her body type is quite different from the petite Brandi. This woman has a little bit of muscle on her, so I suspect that she works out a lot. I kind of like the change of pace.

Eventually, we find her bedroom; we both are drunk out of our minds, and I’m guessing she’s probably going to regret this more than me. We don’t waste any time at all. Her fingers slide up and down my pants, teasing me for a second before she unbuttons and unzips my jeans, pulling my cock out and stroking it for a second before she hikes up her red skirt. I see a sexy, black pair of lacey underwear. I grin and slide them down her long, toned legs. I play with her using my fingers for a moment, but she is pretty much ready to go. I press myself inside her while simultaneously working on the buttons on that blouse of hers. When I get her top and bra off, I suction cup my mouth around one of her breasts, and she squeals excitedly for a moment.

I feel her fingers reaching around my back, and she scratches my shoulder blades. She’s a lot stronger than my little ballerina had been, so the sex is a bit rougher than I had gotten used to, but I fucking love it. She grips me tight, and I can feel her warm breath on my neck as she nibbles on my ear. We pull apart slightly so that I can get some better leverage, and we lock eyes for the first time since leaving the bar. I catch myself smiling at her, and she suddenly has this perplexed look on her face. She groans when she speaks because I’m still violently prodding myself into her, “what did you say your name was?”

“Jonathan,” I say, “Jonathan Trial.”

I’m very confused by what happens next. She does this weird maneuver in which her fucking foot manages to come up and press against my chest; she pushes me right off and out of her. I wind up sitting up at the foot of the bed, still fully dressed with the exception of my cock hanging out. “Get the fuck out of my apartment!” she wraps her sheets around her and stands up. When I don’t move immediately, she shoves me off the bed, and I fall back and land on the floor.

“What the hell?” I stand up and shove myself back into my pants while she grabs me by the arm and shoves me out of her bedroom and down the small hallway that leads to her apartment entrance.

“Get out!” She shoves me out the door and slams it in my face.

“Bitch!” I shout at the door, completely flabbergasted by this interaction.

I’m still fucking hard; I hurry out of the apartment complex, hoping to God that I don’t run into anyone before my erection goes down. Now I’m drunk and horny and in an unfamiliar place. This is a bad combination of things to be.

Because I am just keen on making a bad decision tonight, I wind up wandering the streets in search of a bar when I spot a couple of women hanging out on a street corner. Don’t do it, a still slightly-sober part of me tries to warn my drunk self. I don’t listen, and I march right up to one of them, knowing I have a wad of cash in my pocket.

I start flirting with the less trashy looking of the two, but I know it’s not necessary. She asks me if I have a place to go, and I admit that I don’t. I may be drunk, but I sure as hell am not about to bring a hooker to Tyler’s apartment. We head down a back alley after I confirm for her that I have some money on me. The next thing I know, there are two fucking cops on me putting me in cuffs. Bitch was a cop.

Soon I am sitting in a jail cell, waiting for Tyler to show up with bail money. He had been my one phone call. I am so fucked. When I finally see him, I feel really relieved, but he looks pissed. “Moron,” he grumbles as we make our way to the front of the station to collect my personal items. “Have you sobered up yet?” he asks me as he is signing some paperwork.

“Not really,” I admit.

Tyler kindly asks the man behind the desk if he can give me some coffee before we leave. I don’t see why I can’t get coffee at the apartment, but for some reason, Tyler is pretty hell bent on sobering me up before we leave. Soon enough, I discover why. The damn paparazzi is outside of the building, waiting to get a shot of me leaving. How did they even find out about this? Someone at the station must have squealed.

Tyler and I march through the crowd of onlookers with their damn cameras, and Tyler curses at a few of them to get out of the way. He helps my still tipsy self into the passenger’s seat of his car before climbing into the driver’s side. He grips the steering wheel and peels out, almost hitting a couple of news anchors on his way out. “Look, man, I’m sorry-” I start to say, and he punches me in my jaw when we come to a red light. “Fuck!” I shout.

“No, fuck you!” Tyler shouts. “Man, I didn’t give you a place to say so that you can fuck yourself up even more.” The light turns green, and he speeds away, steaming. “You got to get a job. You got to get sober. I’m not kidding. If you don’t, I’m sorry man, but I’m throwing your ass to the curb.”

I can’t say that I blame him.