The Stories You Cannot Tell

I threw a New Years Party at my apartment a few years ago. I invite the whole apartment block plus many friends and of course my girlfriend. Party was a blast, everyone had fun. It’s about 5 in the morning and everyone that’s staying over is situated and it’s time for my girlfriend and I to bring in the new year.

I lay her down on my bed. I stand at the foot of the bed and start doing a strip tease for her. I stumble in my drunken state, then fall backwards into my closet, ripping the door right off.

Still playing cool, I shake it off and resume my stripping, even though she’s laughing a little. I am finally buck nekkid and I lay down beside her.

Then it starts.

First a gurgle in my throat. Then the room starts spinning. She’s laying beside me, we’re about a foot apart, face to face.

The bed spins, my head spins, I feel sick.

Before I could even move, I puked. Now, when I say puke, I mean like the scene in Stand By Me when they do the pie eating contest. Projectile-type vomiting.

I hit her right in the face, full force. There was so much puke, there was an outline of her on the wall behind her, only where her head was, there wasn’t any puke.

It was bad news. I had drank red wine and white wine, Jim Beam and then had some conversations with my buddy Jack Daniels. Top that off with a few shots of Tequila and I puked right in her face.

We stopped dating shortly after.

Want to know the irony? I used to call her “stank-breath” behind her back. She had some major halitosis.(sp?)

Guess I was the stank-breath that night!

Wruf in Ottawa

This confession, secret or story was posted on Tuesday, November 29th, 2005 at 8:19 pm and is filed under dating, gross. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.