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A drive-thru attendant who’s messed up your order? Hell no.
The guy you just cut in front of in line at the supermarket? Bitch slap waiting to happen.
A lover, a boyfriend, a husband…no, none of the above (not unless they’re pulling your hair and slapping your ass WHILE YOU’VE AGREED to play dirty).
But a best friend? A bitch who’s seen your boobs, smelled your farts (yes, guys, we fart too), and shared burnt Pillsbury cookies with you while you polish off a bottle of red wine?
Absolutely!
Ben was one of those friends, one of the girls, and at the moment he’d stepped up behind Jill and had bent her over, pretending to do her from behind. She went along with it rubbing her ass against him.
/> “Make your knees touch your elbows,” he sang.
She sprang up and wrapped her arms around him. “I love you, Benny.”
“She’s being too nice,” Ben said as he looked my way. “What has she been drinking?”
I pointed at the dresser where a bottle of cheap tequila sat. She’d polished off a quarter of the bottle. But if anyone could hold her liquor, it was Jill. I’d seen her drink everyone under the table, from sailors to truck drivers to bartenders. The night was still young.
The line at the club was long, but those with the special bracelets were waved through rather quickly. We entered to find the biggest crowd of partygoers I’d ever seen. I’m not really a nightclub kind of girl. I prefer a chill bar where I can actually hear my friends over the music. This was definitely not one of those places.
This was a semi-clothed orgy. Girls danced on platforms and swirled around stripper poles wearing next to nothing.
Guys grinded up against girls, girls grinded up against girls, and guys grinded up against guys. People of all ethnicities and all shapes and sizes were thrashing around to the loud techno music that pumped from the speakers.
From where we stood I could see the DJ with his backwards ball cap, his sunglasses, and his one hand on an earphone while the other played with the mixer. His grey hoodie looked bright blue in the neon lights.
The lights made the dance floor look freaky. Lipstick was amplified to a whole new level giving the ladies a cartoon-like quality. Blonde hair looked yellow. My orange dress looked amazing, Jill’s white dress looked blue, and Ben’s black suit looked kind of linty.
“I so hope I’ve never gotten any come on these pants,” Ben shouted.
I laughed and it was the last thing I heard over the music. As soon as we descended the steps into the crowd of epileptic dancers my head began to thrum along to the music.
“This is insane!” I yelled.
Jill mouthed the word, “What?”
“I said this is insane!”
“What?”
I suddenly felt completely alone in a crowd full of people. It was kind of like wearing headphones with the music cranked up. I walked along to the beat but it was a beat of my own. Jill and Ben looked perfectly at home. They pulled me onto the dance floor and we created a circle.
Or I guess that would be a triangle.
Don’t ask me what songs played. It was a mix of police sirens, car alarms, and futuristic sounds. I’m sure people were making up moves as they went along because surely squatting down and hammering your fist against the ground can’t be a well-thought out plan.
Spur of the moment, right?
A waitress walked over and handed us glow sticks that cost a dollar each. I took one, not sure exactly why I’d need a glow stick, but at that point I just wanted to fit in and have a good time. Jill and Ben waved their bright new toys around expertly, looking like whirlwinds of neon light.
“I need a drink!” I yelled.
Nobody heard me. But a waitress showed up suddenly with a tray of test tubes filled with different neon-colored drinks—my fairy alcoholic godmother. She looked at my bracelet, nodded, and handed me one.
Now this is cool.
I threw my head back and downed the drink. She handed me another and I downed it. And another and another. I tried every color and they were all amazing.
