Sex Diary: The time I lost a really good pair of underwear
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When I was living in LA, my group of friends had an annual Christmas scavenger hunt in Hollywood. Before the hunt, everyone would pregame at someone’s house in Silverlake and get liquored up enough to convince themselves that scavenging for treasure in the world’s dirtiest city was a good excuse for not visiting their families over the holidays. It was.
While drinking some whiskey at the pregame, I ended up befriending Thomas. He was cute, a bit older, and had grown up in the small town near my college across the country. We bonded over obscure references and Midwestern nostalgia, spending most of the party chatting alone on the porch. After a few hours, the time had come for everyone to hitch a ride over to a Hollywood bar to start the hunt.
When they were dividing up the teams for the scavenger hunt, I was busy buying myself more drinks and by the time I came back, everyone had left except for a group of fellow stragglers, including Thomas. We were the only coed team — and definitely the drunkest.
Needless to say, we did not win the hunt. Halfway through, we gave up and were drinking with a few Santas at a punk bar since Santa-Con fell on the same day. Eventually, we stumbled back to the final bar where the winners were celebrating their victory and the losers drank away their sorrows. Piss drunk, wearing a stolen Santa hat, I ended up making out with Thomas and eventually he talked me into coming home with him using the home-run line: “I thought you were cute from the moment we met”.
I sort of remember getting to his house, and flashes of a drunken hookup still come back to me time and again, but everything became crystal clear when I suddenly woke up, completely naked, with the undeniable feeling that I was going to vomit. I ran out of the room, not completely sure where I was going, still naked, holding my mouth closed, desperately searching for a bathroom. As I unsuccessfully opened door after door, I knew I wasn’t going to make it and began to puke into my hand. It was only enough to fill my palm, but I still hadn’t found the bathroom so out of desperation (and drunkenness) I put the puke into my mouth, and swallowed it back down. I eventually walked back into the room, shamefully laid down and fell back asleep.
The next morning Thomas and I decided to go get coffee as an attempt to fight off the extreme hangover from which we both suffered. As I started getting dressed, looked around the room for my underwear but they were nowhere to be found. I searched and searched but came up empty-handed. I ended up asking Thomas and after he helped look for a few minutes we both heard barking coming from the living room. Just then a look of horror appeared on his face.
“Sometimes my dogs eat underwear … I am so sorry.”
I decided to just put on my tights and not worry about the eaten panties but as I pulled them above my knees I noticed it was a little bit breezier than normal. As they reached my waist I looked down and realized a large hole existed where the crotch should have been.
“Sometimes my dogs also eat out the crotches of clothes …”
I spent the next hour and half walking around Silverlake with no underwear, crotch-less tights, and a man who knew I had eaten my own vomit just a few short hours before.
To my surprise, a couple of days later, he friended me on Facebook and still wishes me a “Happy Birthday” every year.
- Blitz Barker, 26
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