The night started off innocently enough. My best friend, Whore, invited me to a nearby trendy restaurant for drinks. It was a high school friend’s birthday and since I had met her once before he decided it was appropriate for me to join him even though I wasn’t invited. Whore has no boundaries. Neither do I, for that matter. In fact, since my recent break-up form Straight Girl and his from her best friend, Crazy Guy, the two of us have been inseparable. Most people think that we are “joined at the hip” (no really, those are their exact words), and I would be lying if I said we hadn’t already discussed the possibility of saving up for the operation.
My decision to join Whore for the evening was an obvious one. Of course I would. Besides. It beat staying at home for the evening and dodging Mom and dad’s incessant attempts to get me to watch “The Amazing Race” with them. I didn’t even change my clothes or brush my hair before leaving the house, I just expected the evening to be another dull, lifeless attempt on my part to escape the pain and loneliness I felt slowly gnawing away inside.
Having been raised by a violently unstable, mentally ill mother, I quickly learnt from a young age to be constantly alert and aware of my surroundings. The first time she left me in a crowded shopping mall because she “needed a break” (babysitters were expensive, she later explained), I didn’t fare too well. By the fourth time it happened I was no longer bothered by it and would easily find my way home. Which is why I am still so dumbfounded that I didn’t even see Shaneeqwa (spelt Shan-ee-kwa) coming.
Ok well actually I did see her coming. In fact, I distinctly remember standing up to greet her and her two friends when they arrived for the birthday celebration. For the rest of the evening, however, I didn’t notice her at all and completely forgot she was even there.
Most of that night is still a blur to me, a drunken haze of Jagermeister shooters and 2-for-the-price-of-1 Bacardi Breezers that. What I am trying to get at is that I was very drunk. Couple that with a broken heart, a wounded ego, and a growing sense of existential angst, and you have a recipe for disaster. Or should I say a recipe for an amateur porn lesbian public bathroom sex scene.
Having been oblivious to Sheneequa’a eyes on me all night, I didn’t realize her intention when she asked me to accompany her to the ladies room. “Girls go to the bathroom together all the time”, I thought.
The next thing I know, Shaneequa has pulled me into the tiny toilet cubicle with her and is all over me, tongue down my throat and her hands in my pants. So there I was, caught between a proverbial rock and hard place, doing unspeakable things of a sexual nature with a short, semi-hunchbacked lesbian named with a hair-lip. Not my finest moment let me tell you. I have no idea how long we were in there for or how much noise we made but from the sea of eyes staring at us as we made our way back to our seats I could tell that the rest of the restaurant did. Even Whore was giving me a look I had never seen before: it was a curious mixture of disgust, envy and awe- all facial expressions I had seen before, but never in this particular combination.
Like any emotional cripple, it is my nature to use sex, drugs and alcohol to fill the void I feel inside. When I was in that cubicle getting it on with Shaneequa, apart of me was hoping my ex would somehow find out and that it would prove that I am finally over her even though I am not. What was supposed to be revenge has only left me feeling stupid, cheap and even more alone. Not to mention the fact that my OCD has gone into overdrive. I need to go clean something right away.
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