I WAS AT a little bar in Brentwood called El Dorado with Lydia. One of the reasons I like Lydia so much is that she's easy. The minute a glass of cheap chardonnay hits her collagen-injected lips, she is minutes away from being on her back. We're a great team.
This is also a girl who once sat me down to tell me she had joined a club called Sex Addicts Anonymous, and in response to my laughing said, " Chelsea, it's very serious. It's about being addicted to having sex with strangers."
"Isn't that just being a whore?" I asked her.
She went to a few meetings and then quit, once she realized that any sort of promiscuity was not going to be cured by fifty other people who were all trying to have sex with her.
At El Dorado, we came upon two cute boys whom we had met a couple months before when Lydia went home with one of their friends. She and the guy never spoke again, a true one-nighter. Apparently, Lydia 's dream of getting gang-banged by an entire football team never came to fruition, so she at least wanted to frequent the same circle of guys. Then, whoever was videotaping these affairs would be able to piece it together like a real live gang bang. See? Dreams can come true.
More important, their friend Gavin was a babe. Beautiful. The kind of face no one could say was eh. He was about five-ten and lean but muscular, with black hair and bright blue eyes. He was Ricky Martin cute minus the bounce in his step. He was a bit standoffish and I smelled a challenge.
Since I hadn't had sex with anyone they knew (not that they were aware of, at least), I was deemed the sweet, naive "good girl." I took on my new role with conviction. I talked of the all-girls private school I never attended, the Peace Corps in Guatemala that taught me so much, and how, if I played my cards right, one day I might head up the American Red Cross. It was a winning performance. At one point this guy asked me if I was Christian. I nodded piously and told him that while I don't agree with Jesus on absolutely everything (like not having sex on the first night), I did believe you had to live a life full of morals and goodwill.
I excused myself to do a little mingling, mostly because I had gas and didn't want to let one loose in front of Gavin, but also because I didn't want Gavin to take me for granted. Minutes later I returned and continued to conversation-rape him about my fictitious life full of noble dreams, hopes, and ambitions. I told him how the year I spent volunteering at the Boys & Girls Club of Santa Monica had really helped put me in touch with the urban youth. "Tomorrow's future," was the term I used. I could not stop lying, throwing out one ridiculous story after another. I was having a blast.
"What is that smell?" he asked as he crinkled his face in disgust.
My fart had ricocheted its way back to me.
"Ugh, gross, somebody totally farted. That is disgusting. People have no manners," I said to him, shaking my head.
Then I got a little cocky. I made my father Cuban with an indecipherable lisp who couldn't read or write. I confessed to Gavin how hard it was to grow up with a father who traveled to the States by way of an inner tube, and that all the kids used to call me Elian Gonzales. This is when Gavin started to clue in, considering that Elian Gonzales had gained notoriety only the week before, and I was talking about a time twenty to twenty-five years ago.
My gas was really acting up, so I decided to cut my losses, go to the bathroom, and take a dump. Boy, did I ever. I made a mental note to myself never to eat Mexican on weekends and came back to find Lydia making out with Gavin's friend.
She caught me by the back of my hair and whispered, or tried to, "We're going home with these guys."
I quickly pulled her aside and told her about my massive accomplishment in the restroom and that due to their lack of a bidet and toilet paper, I should probably go home and clean my butt. She reminded me that she had acted as my wingman on more than one occasion prior to this, and that a good friend will help you sleep around. Why we both needed to have sex on the same night was beyond me, but I was interested in seeing Gavin without his shirt on, so it didn't take much to twist my arm. Gavin seemed like someone who would have soap at his place, so I took comfort in the fact that at some point, my ass would be addressed.
We got back to Gavin's place and I immediately ran to the bathroom. I washed myself with soap but didn't feel right about wiping with one of his towels, so opted for toilet paper instead. Big mistake. I had used way too much water to clean myself and the toilet paper basically fell apart in my butt and got stuck there.
The real mistake turned out to be Gavin. He had a flat ass. One of the biggest turn-offs ever. I prefer a little something to hold on to. Guys can be on the skinny side, but a rear is a special thing to me. Gavin's ass wasn't just flat, though. He had a pancake in the place of an ass. A shovel, if you will.
What a disaster. The sex was okay, but for some reason I lost interest… or consciousness. Whichever. I awoke to a blinding sunlight burning into the room at around seven A.M. This guy didn't even have blinds on his windows. This place was turning into some sort of torture chamber.
I climbed over him to get myself dressed so I could skedaddle, when there they were at the foot of the bed: my panties. Along with one giant skid mark straight down the center.
I immediately looked over to see if Gavin was awake, and when I saw he wasn't, I lunged toward the evidence. I grabbed my panties and did something I'm still not sure I understand. I threw them out his window into his backyard.
I scooped up the rest of my clothes and ran into the bathroom. As I got dressed, I tried to piece together the previous night's events, to get an idea if Gavin had seen my stain. I couldn't remember the exact moment my underwear came off. All I could recall were flashes of the two of us rolling around and, at one point, falling off the bed. I started going over different names I could adopt, other cities I could live in.
The door was cracked partway open and I heard footsteps coming toward me from the other bedroom. I peeked my head out.
Lydia was striding down the hallway into the bright, bright light, wearing nothing but black wool men's dress socks. Up to her knees. A series of thoughts ran through my head: Did Gavin and his friend live with their grandfather? Did Lydia have a threesome with their grandfather? Did she have an extra toe she was trying to hide?
There was dried mascara streaked down both sides of her cheeks and her hair was insane. She looked like a streetwalker. She explained the socks by saying she hadn't had a pedicure in two weeks and that her feet were starting to resemble something out of Jurassic Park. Then we heard a dog barking in the yard.
"Whose dog is that?" Lydia said.
Cujo's barking grew louder and louder. I heard a loud groan come from Gavin's room. That meant that contact was inevitable.
Lydia crept back to her bedroom, while I finished pulling on my outfit from the night before and raced to Lydia 's door, screaming about my aunt's baby shower.
" Lydia! Lydia! I totally forgot! My aunt's shower is this morning. I'm late."
My aunt's tubes were tied about five years prior to that night, but I've always been good in a pinch. That is, until I saw Cujo running toward me with my panties in his mouth.
Gavin grabbed me from behind and started to nuzzle my neck as I stood in frozen horror, watching the dog approach. I just kept hoping that at least the soiled part of the panty had been digested. Please, Jesus, please.
"Oh, shit, your underwear!" Gavin exclaimed. Here it was. I either had to come clean or completely turn the tables.
So I lied.
"Ah, I don't think so, asshole, I'm wearing mine." Before he could check, I mustered up some tears and ran back to the bedroom, plowing into some serious acting skills.
"Oh, I get it, Mr. Man," I sobbed. "You just bring girl after girl after girl after girl after girl back to your place whenever you feel like it, is that it? What, and then you collect their panties? Should I take mine off and leave them here for your collection too? Would you like that?"
I didn't want to lose momentum, so I didn't wait for his response.
"I confided in you! I was a virgin up until a month ago! And I thought we had a real connection. You really are some piece of work, mister!"
"Listen, I have no idea whose panties those are. I've never seen them before in my life. I honestly thought they were yours."
Then Cujo wandered into the room chewing on the remains of my panties. I thought I was home free. Then I saw a piece of the stained underwear hanging from his lower jaw.
The look of disgust on Gavin's face was mortifying. "Ew," was all I heard on my way out.
I got in the car and slammed the door. As I was pulling away, I saw Lydia running out the front door in only her shirt and the grandpa socks. I was hoping she would have retained a little of my dignity, but apparently not. Clutching her jeans and shoes she screamed, "Wait for me!"
I slowed the car in order for her to jump in but refused to stop completely. She hit her head on the door as it was closing. "What is your fucking problem?" she said.
I told her the story, and soon the mascara stuck to her face was no longer dry. We were both hungry and decided anywhere public was out of the question. So we opted for McDonald's and as we pulled up, saw a sign that read, "The McRib is back."
"Back from where}" I asked.
"I dunno, but you better not have one," Lydia said.
It took me many sleepless nights to get over the humiliation of what had taken place. Where did I go wrong in life? I thought to myself over and over again. I would lie awake wondering how many pairs of underwear a Mexican goes through in a year. Once the initial mortification wore off, I realized that like many things in life, this was a gift. I wouldn't have to learn twice about avoiding Mexican food on the weekends. Who knows how many girls I've helped by sharing my story?