Based on a True Story

This is a tough story to write.  Not because it’s embarrassing like most of my stories, but because I have to be very careful to protect the identity of my friend, for reasons that will become obvious soon.  As such, I’m going to have to be really creative in changing names, dates, locations and cast of characters.

So, I can’t tell you how old I was when this story took place.  I can’t tell you if I was living in Champaign, Illinois; or San Diego, California; or End Of The World, Utah.  I can’t tell you why I was getting on a plane the next morning, because the sporting event I was heading to would make it too obvious.  I even have to give aliases to my aliases so no one can piece together who was involved in the story.

In other words, I can’t promise you that any of this story is actually “true.”  I’ve changed so many things it could probably best be described as “Based on a True Story.”

About all I can tell you is that it was my birthday, and I was catching a 7am flight the next morning.  Now, I’ve never been a big fan of my own birthday.  But, I’ve learned over the years that if I try to do nothing for my birthday, someone invariably tries to plan something on my behalf and it ends up sucking.  So I’ve started taking matters into my own hands and planning my own birthday party.  And by “party” I mean telling people what bar I’ll be getting drunk at.  If they want to come and buy me drinks, great; if not, that’s fine too.

So for this particular birthday I chose my local sports bar.  It was a weeknight so I didn’t feel compelled to go to some cool bar or club, and the waitresses and bartenders at this bar were hotter than anything we were likely to find out in the middle of the week.

My buddy Top Gun and I headed out early and started drinking probably about 6.  We flirted with the waitresses and watched whatever sporting event was on TV while drinking heavily.  I was knockin’ back my old standby, gin and tonic, while Top Gun was drinking either vodka tonics or red bull and vodka (sorry, my memory is a little hazy).  I thought we had an understanding that we would hold off on the shots for a couple hours, until other people started showing up.

Apparently Top Gun had no such understanding.

Top Gun was in the midst of trying to break up with his girlfriend of several years.  This had been going on for about two months.  He had had “The Talk” with her on at least two occasions, and both times she had completely lost it, crying and wailing and begging and fucking his brains out until he was powerless to go through with it.  A couple weekends before he had broken up with her on a Friday night, thought he was a free man, but as we were coming back from grabbing dinner and beers as prelude to his first Saturday as a free man, his roommate called to tell him the ex?girlfriend had been sitting on the front porch waiting for him for the better part of an hour.  We changed routes, headed to a bar to grab a drink and wait her out, but after another hour she was still waiting on the porch, crying, and Top Gun didn’t have the heart to put her through it anymore.  We went to his place, they fought, made up, fucked, fought some more, cried some more, fucked some more, and by Sunday morning he was more or less back with her. And I was out a wingman.

Now, Top Gun was a stand-up guy and hadn’t cheated on his ex?girlfriend through any of this, but he was at the end of his rope by now.  He wanted out.  Further complicating matters, there was a girl (we’ll call her Sweet Tits) he worked with who had been sniffing around him for several weeks.  Sweet Tits had invited herself out with us a couple times, gotten rip-roaring drunk with us, and then proceeded to throw herself at him.  To Top Gun’s credit, he had stayed faithful to the ex?girlfriend despite the new girl being hot and extremely available.

Sweet Tits had been texting him while we were drinking, and about the time a few more friends started showing up, she came strolling through the door looking smokin’ hot in a tight little dress.

Things were about to get interesting.

My friend Captain Caveman was on the scene now, and he was a fiend for shots.  We were knocking them back at an alarming rate.  Marlboro Men, Washington Apples, Sicilian Kisses, Jagerbombs, some other things I can’t remember.  I was quickly becoming a mess and it wasn’t even 9 o’clock yet.  And then Buddha showed up and ordered tequila, my old nemesis.

Bad news.

I have to be honest, there’s very little I remember about the rest of our stay at the bar.  I don’t know who was there, I don’t remember what girl I was trying to sleep with at the time that undoubtedly shot me down.  But here’s what I do remember:

At some point in the evening, after ogling Sweet Tits’ sweet tits for awhile, I leaned over and drunkenly draped my arm around Top Gun.  He was no doubt afraid I was about to become one of those emotional drunks that starts telling everyone what a good friend they are and how much I love him.  Not me.

“You know what I want for my birthday?” I said to him in my quietest drunk voice (which is probably just slightly below a roar).  “I want you to fuck the shit out of Sweet Tits!”

Top Gun looked at me quizzically, like this was the oddest request he’d ever heard in his life.  But then he shrugged, smiled, and just said, “Okay.”

A little while later, after Buddha and Captain Caveman had very nearly made me puke with their endless parade of shots, Top Gun appeared by my side with a shit eating grin on his face.  “Done,” was all he said.

It took a moment for it to register with me.  “Wait… what? … You mean? … No! … You didn’t! … You fucked her?!? … In the parking lot?!? … No!  Get the fuck outta here! … You fucked her?!?  Just now?!? … No fuckin’ way! … You really did it???”

I was babbling incoherently, and then I was high fiving and hugging him and dancing around like a fool celebrating a touchdown.  “That’s fucking great!”  I looked across the bar and saw Sweet Tits checking her makeup while she waited for a drink.  “That is the greatest birthday present ever!” I hollered, forcing Top Gun to tell me to keep it down.  “So you’re a free man now!  I’ve got my wingman back!  This is the best birthday ever!!!”

But the night didn’t end there.  Inspired by my friend’s bold parking lot fornication, I decided I needed to get laid myself.  Somewhere between wasted and blacked out, I decided it would be an outstanding idea to drunk text my ex-girlfriend, who lived about 45 minutes away.  I can’t actually remember the conversation that transpired, but here’s a rough simulation:

SWASS- Hey, it’s my birthday!  Wanna fuck???

Ex-GF- Now?

SWASS- Yeah!  It’s my birthday and I miss you!

Ex-GF- Really?

SWASS- Hell yeah!

Ex-GF- Where are you?


Ex-GF- That’s like 45 min away!  I’m already in my PJ’s!

SWASS- Don’t worry, I’ll find a ride up there.  But can you take me to the airport in the morning?

Ex-GF- What time?


Ex-GF- WTF?  Are you kidding me???

SWASS-  But it’s my birthday!  And I miss you!

As long as we're "based on a true story," we'll say my ex looked like this

And it went on like this for some time, only with a lot more misspellings on my part.  When she finally relented I pulled the birthday card on Buddha and made him drive me all the way up to her place.

I’m pretty sure I passed out on the way up to her place, because I really don’t remember anything about the drive.  Buddha was a true friend and got me up there, waited patiently while I had to call her for the specific directions to her place, and finally dropped me off with an apology to my ex.  By this time it was close to 2 in the morning.  That meant two things: First, I had been drinking for somewhere near 8 hours.  And second, I needed to get up in about three hours for my flight.

So, not wasting anytime, I tried to get busy with her on a park bench outside her apartment.  When she refused me that we stumbled up to her apartment and went straight to bed.

Now, I’m sure you have all experienced Whiskey Dick before.  Well, this was Whiskey Dick’s evil cousin, Super Dick.  That’s when you’re hard as a rock but can’t climax.  Super Dick sounds like a great thing (“Hey, I can fuck all night!”).  But in reality, when you’re stupid blind drunk all you really want to do is cum and pass out.  It’s a cruel irony; you never last as long as you want when you’re sober, but when you’re drunk you’re like a machine.

I pounded on the ex forever.  It was the best cardio workout I’d had in weeks.  But there was no way I was going to cum.  The ex was moaning and groaning (she had to be faking it), telling me how much she missed me.  Finally, after an eternity, and when I felt like I might just puke if I exerted myself anymore, I faked my orgasm.

That’s right, I faked it.

Take that, ladies!

I rolled off her, told her how great she was, and before passing out set my alarm for 4:45.  Fifteen minutes before we technically needed to get on the road for the airport.

It’s amazing what two hours of sleep can do when you’re shitfaced.  I was still drunk when I woke up, but no longer a total trainwreck.  So, confident that Super Dick had passed, I nudged the ex awake, rolled back on top of her, and went at it again.

It couldn’t have taken me more than three minutes to cum.

In retrospect I feel a little bad, because even though it had lasted longer the night before I seriously doubt my performance had been anything to write home about.  But oh well.

So then the ex, bless her heart, drove my ass all the way back to my place to grab my bag, then drove me to the airport.  And all she got out of it was a beautiful sunrise.

In the aftermath of this epic night, the ex got the crazy idea in her head that we might get back together.  Thankfully I was gone for about a week so that helped a bit.

But the real story was Top Gun.  I think he felt guilty about finally cheating on his ex?girlfriend, even if it was barely more than a technicality.  He broke up with her, and almost immediately started dating Sweet Tits.

They were married a few years later.

Now isn’t that a happy ending?  And it was all because of me!  Of course, Sweet Tits has no idea about any of this, so we’ll have to keep it our little secret.

Who says I’m not a romantic???



  1. If you EVER pull the Birthday Card™ on me, I will douse you in tequila!

    I’m still laughing 😆

    • Well seeing as you’re a married woman I probably wouldn’t do such a thing to you. 😉 But if you ever need something extra special, just get your hubby to come to one of my b-day parties and I’ll see what I can do!

  2. Top Gun and his damn shots. A night never ended good when he showed up to a birthday. However, I think every birthday he showed up someone got laid, so maybe a good ending?

    • Top Gun was a magician. Too bad he was such a serial monogamist, he’d have been a great wingman. I could have lived just off his scraps and been a happy man.

  3. Aren’t you just a Vodka Cupid…..
    You can say that you were the catalyst of drunken escapades that lead to marriage for two (or four) of your close friends

    • This is true! I like that name, “Vodka Cupid.” What’s that bad Will Smith movie where he sets people up? I’m like him, only uglier and drunker!

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