My head is pounding. The second I open my eyes— I slam them shut. That one tiny pinprick of light was like an ice pick to my skull.

A warm body is pressed up against my side. Her hand travels south.

She's going to be disappointed.

I partied excessively hard to be up for a morning quickie today.

"Mm mm," a breathy moan comes from my right.

What the fuck?

Bits and pieces of the previous night plays in fast-forward.

Twins.

Blonde.

Their huge fake racks and smiles, reminded me of the Double-Mint twins from the eighties. The first time I saw that commercial, I popped my first woody. Those twin blondes in their tight tank-top dresses, tans and white teeth did it for me—and there were two of them.

So we had to do it. I mean the Double-Mint twin doppelgangers were a no-brainer. I fulfilled every fantasy that I had as a horny teenager.

I stretch my legs bumping into a hairy leg.

I shoot out of bed like a firecracker.

Holy shit.

I've hit a new low. Blake and I double-teamed the Double-Mint twins’ daughters.

"Quit looking at my junk!"

"Fuck Ry—stop shouting. My heads going to explode."

I trudge to the bathroom and turn the shower on—ice-cold. I sink onto the tile floor and let the water pound into my back.

What the fuck am I doing with my life?

More images of what we did come in flashes...I puke and watch it wash down the drain.

I guess I can check off an orgy and fucking twins at the same time from my bucket list.

It was goddamn filthy—even for my low standards of fuckery.

I need to clean myself up— as soon as I get some grease and coffee in me along with a handful of Motrin.

The room rolls right under me.

Shit.

I just remembered that we are off the coast of Boston; somewhere between Cape Cod and Martha's Vineyard. Blake wanted to impress the twin bombshells with a night out on his brand new multi-million-dollar yacht.

This thing is fucking huge. It's bigger than a modest home and we are going to get a lot of ass, cruising the coast this summer. But after last night, I might not want anymore. I over- indulged at the skank buffet. I've hit my limit of dirty sex—at least for now anyway.

I turn off the jets and don a fluffy white robe. My hand reaches for the phone by the toilet and I press 0, "Jen—I need a double-shot of espresso, a buttered-croissant and a heaping plate of scrambled eggs and bacon....add some home fries and you better find a few bottles of Motrin while you're at it.”

"Of course Mr. Stone, it'll be ready in ten-minutes on the aft deck."

I smile; Blake hired one hell of a chief stewardess.

***

 

"How are we going to get rid of them?"

"They'll probably sleep for half the day. I'll moor off the shore of Falmouth and call them an Uber."

"To Boston? That's at least two hours, Blake."

"What? It's not like I can't afford it."

“Where are you going to dock this monstrosity of a boat anyway?”

“My father’s house, right outside of Mystic. It has a deep-water dock.”

“Are you and him getting along any better?”

“It’s not that we don’t get along Ry. He’s just never been the doting daddy. After my mother died, he threw everything he had into his business and left me alone with a nanny who didn’t even speak English. I was fucking thirteen years old. I didn’t need a goddamn nanny. I needed a father and he was never there.”

“Hmmm. That’s not too far from me. It should only take a few hours to get there from my new place in Back Bay. I’ll come down every weekend and hang with you—you lonely bastard. But I need a break from these raging parties that you’ve been christening the boat with.”

“No way—you’re the best wingman that I’ve ever had. I’ve never pulled so much tail. Rest up, but you better be back on top of your game soon.”

“I’m spent. I’m not sure how many times I banged each twin last night, but I’m too young and virile for a hard night of drinking to slow my dick down. I feel dirty.”

"Well, that's a first for you Ryan."

"I know. What the fuck were we thinking?"

"We weren't. But I still enjoyed myself. I kept checking out their tits—trying to see if even they were identical to each other's."

"Weren’t they?"

"No. I don't think they used the same plastic surgeon."

I shake my head, "I need to slow down Blake. I've been doing this too hard, for too many months now. I think it’s time that I take myself back." I rip the earring out of my ear and toss it into the ocean. “I’m going to start detoxing today, cut back on drinking and hit the gym and my career hard.”

"Thank God. I thought you'd never stop drinking. I'm always game for a wild night of debauchery but you were taking it to new levels. Let's take a two week break from drinking and fucking randoms.”

"Make that three weeks."

"Hell no, maybe you should—me? I'm not slowing down for that long. The summer has just started and I have a rep to uphold.”

"What—the King of Mystic?"

"To the new Kings of Mystic," he replies raising his hand and gesturing between the two of us, “it's going to be an epic season. We'll get you right again, Ry—you have a new career to focus on...a new place and this yacht to party on every weekend. This summer—we are kings."

I look off the starboard side, seeing nothing but blue sky and miles of ocean. Jen comes out wearing a tiny white uniform and hands me another espresso.

He's fucking right, and I need to stop being such a pussy. I dial my barber and make an appointment to clean up my hair and get a steam shave. Then I call a housekeeping service and book a housecleaner and personal grocery shopper to come twice a week. I’ll never take a dime of my father’s money. I’m going to be a self-made man and lucky for me—I have a gift for numbers and a great gut instinct on where to invest my own as well as my client’s money. I want to shed the skin of self-loathing that I’ve been living in: starting right now.

Abbs would be so ashamed of the man I’ve become.

I don’t even recognize myself. I’ve been using sex and drinking to forget everything. It’s easy not to care when all you focus on is mindless pleasure.