I buried my sorrow and began fucking any woman who moved... and a couple who didn't. I used to be the life of the party, but it was the Republican Par...y so that's not saying much. Now I sit alone sipping a watered-down cocktail, living in mortal fear of even a microsecond of eye contact.Still, I managed to glance up long enough to spot HER standing at the end of the bar like a lighthouse, both beckoning and warning of impending doom. My type: leggy, languid, long dirty-blonde hair. (Although. There were thin, prison-issue mattresses, uncomfortable and yet strangely bouncy. There were clumsy efforts at styling one's pubic hair while a harrumphing line formed outside the bathroom, and there were drunken, aggressively-tonguey kisses. There was one time I saw a guy getting a blowjob behind a pool table, as though that offered any real privacy at all.And then there was Elsa.Elsa wasn't the first person I slept with at university. She wasn't even the first woman. But she was the only one. At least I have accomplished my mission for the departed one."She kissed Clara on the cheek and they hugged as they fell asleep.It was late the next afternoon when Clara heard a knock at her door. It was Robert, Christopher's wingman. He stood, cap in hand, "May I speak with you?" Oh, please come in. Would you like a sip of Scotch?" That was Christopher's favorite libation. Robert nodded and took a seat on the small couch, thanking his hostess as she brought a small tumbler holding the brown. ‘Don’t you remember?’ I asked.‘No.’ She replied shaking her head.‘I hadn’t seen you at the station and got worried so I went looking for you. I found you unconscious in a park. I brought back here, warmed you up, gave you some medications and let you sleep.’ I explained.‘Medication? What for?’ She asked.‘It looks like you have a severe infection which is why you were so ill.’ I lied.‘Oh, I thought it was just hypothermia.’ She replied.‘No, in fact you’re due some more now. Let me get you some.
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