At seven-fifteen in the morning, an unbidden shaft of sunlight found its way through a gap in the drapes and illuminated Brendan's eyelids, resulting in a groan and a loud expletive including the word "Fuck!"
Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Brendan lifted his head from the pillow and gazed around the room The pink wallpaper and rattan furniture looked familiar, but for the life of him he couldn't remember where he was. Of one thing he was certain, that this was not his dorm room.
When Brendan had a hangover -- a really bad, head-throbbing hangover -- he sometimes found it helpful to close his eyes and let his mind wander until he found something very clear and definite in his memory. This morning, the last thing he remembered clearly was his organic chemistry exam. So he concentrated on that, as distasteful as it was, and thought about balancing carbon-chain reactions. And soon the fog started to lift.
First he remembered finishing his mid-term exams, and then he remembered packing his bag and getting into a car with his buddy, Joe. He remembered driving endlessly south on I-95, hour after hour and all through the night, until arriving in Daytona Beach, where thousands of oiled young bodies were laying on the sandy beaches and palm trees were waving in the breeze, and Harley Davidsons filled the air with lusty roars. Finally, he remembered checking into a grungy motel at the end of the strip called "Forty Winks, AAA-Approved," and going with Joe to the nearest bar where kegs were lined along the wall like foot soldiers, ready to sacrifice their lives for a noble cause.
Brendan smiled. No wonder his head hurt and his bladder felt like an overstretched balloon. "Must have been a pretty good party, " he chuckled.
Hearing the sound of a grunt, Brendan looked down and saw his roommate, Joe, on the floor beside the bed, and suddenly remembered something else that happened. Something between Joe and him. But his memory was so foggy--what was it?
Joe had been Brendan's roommate and buddy in college for almost two years. Just now he was curled on the floor snoring peacefully with his curly-haired head on a beach towel. He was wearing only a pair of navy blue briefs which were tugged so far down that Brendan could see the crack of his hairy ass. That in itself wasn't too remarkable, but Brendan also noticed that his own underpants were lying on the floor beside the bed, and Brendan wasn't in the habit of sleeping in the buff. What had happened?
He picked up his briefs and sniffed them Definitely used.
With growing uneasiness, he got a pair of clean underwear from his duffel bag and went into the bathroom.
"My God!" he whispered, washing his face. "My God, tell me we didn't do what I think we did!" The shock of cold water on his cheeks seemed to bring back some details that Brendan would have preferred not to remember. Turning to the toilet, he pulled down his briefs and aimed a long, powerful stream into the bowl. When his bladder was emptied he shook himself and looked down, studying his penis for a moment before tucking it away. Then as he brushed his teeth and combed his fine blond hair, he thought maybe it was all a dream. Maybe nothing funky had happened with Joe, he told himself. Maybe he just had some fucked-up dream after drinking too much on an empty stomach. But certain images in his head seemed too real. The more he thought about it, the more certain, and uncomfortable, he became.
When Brendan came out of the bathroom, Joe was sitting up on the side of the bed stretching his arms and yawning. He looked up and grinned.
"Hey, dude, how you feeling this morning?" he asked pleasantly.
"About like you'd expect," Brendan muttered.
"We got pretty trashed last night, didn't we?"
"Yeah, I'd say so," answered Brendan.
A long silence followed in which neither young man spoke, and the air in the room seemed so thick that Brendan thought he might faint. He walked over to the air conditioner and fiddled with the knobs without effect.
"I can't believe it, this AC is broken," he said. "What a fucking dump."
Meanwhile, Joe went into the bathroom and splashed some water in the sink. "We can call the front desk. They'll send somebody to fix it, " he yelled. A few minutes later he came out and sat on the bed again, and looked at Brendan.. "Listen, dude. About last night ---"
Brendan felt a knot in his stomach and turned away to avoid Joe's eyes. "I was drunk out of my mind last night, man. I don't know what the hell I -- or you – were doing. Whatever happened, maybe we should just forget about it, okay?"
Joe pursed his lips. "Are you sure? Don't you think we should talk about it?"
"No."
"It might be a good idea to –"
"Forget it, dammit! There's nothing to talk about because NOTHING HAPPENED. Zip! Nada! Do you get it?" Brendan snarled.
