Drunken Compadre

Last night I ended up in a hot tub, naked, with my best friend.

Whoa there, back up, let me explain. Everyone has a Drunken Compadre (DC), don’t they? The type of person that epitomises the notion of drunken adventure. When your DC arrives at the bar and says, I’ll start with an orange juice, you can shoot her that look, and she’ll correct herself with a white wine. Or two. Or maybe even six, depending on how long the bar’s open. My DC is the type of person to take me to other worlds when we’re together, always itching for debauchery that could result in tragedy, or … nakedness.

So I took my notebook out with me. All night we sat gossiping with me noting the occasional conversation and doodling. Sipping wine, more wine, more wine, spilt wine, sweet wine. Somehow we’re walking up and down town, making necessary pitstops of randomness. Met A in a club with his girls, hip humping in a room full of smoke (it was like a sauna with music). I think at one point I may have grabbed someone else’s arse other than my DC’s. Ooops.

The book. In the last page it is noted, “And what about if we take a bath together?”

The bath. Bubbles! Jacuzzi! Bubbles and vaginas and the penis!

Other adventures include:

The one with the naked sickness. Waking up in a strange empty bath, wet naked and shivering, thinking I’d been kidnapped & taken to a sordid drug dealer’s house where I was going to be pimped out to gay bears.
The one with the cigarette burn. Decidedly sticking a cigarette into our wrists to become ‘fag sisters’. Should have seen the blister.
The one with the sea. DC thinking she was a mermaid and launching herself into the sea, cutting her leg, and having to rescued by Angry Boyfriend.

Oh the adventures of me and the Drunken Compadre!