Eaten Out by a Stranger in the Back of an Uber
Ugh, I'd had one too many drinks yet again. Why did I always do this to myself?
The dance floor swirled in my vision as I stumbled through the crowd, desperate to lean against a wall or something solid. The neon strobe lights seemed to swim through the air, reaching out for me as if to catch me (whether in the meaning of like the police or to stop me from falling, it wasn't clear). I swayed, bumping into laughing couples and giggling groups of girlfriends, nearly tripping over my own two feet at several points. Everything in the club sounded much too loud, so immediate, pressing down on me like a cloak of suffocation, thick heat that smelled of booze, sweat and sex.
Unfortunately, though I'd hoped not to trip at all on my journey to find stable ground, someone's feet suddenly appeared in my way (or perhaps I appeared in its way) and I went crashing to the floor. I suppose I did find stable ground, just not in the way I wanted to. I grimaced as my bare knees and hands slammed into the sticky matte floor. Ugh, I immediately wanted to wash myself; it even felt like I needed a thorough cleansing. I tried to stand up again, but I must have been way drunker than I'd thought I was because no matter how much I tried to get to my feet, my body, feeling heavier than normal, stayed stubbornly and resolutely down.
That's when big hands came around my waist, hoisting me easily up, as if I weighed nothing more than a twig. The sudden movement brought me stumbling right into the mountain of a man's chest. I tried to steady myself and ended up placing a hand on his bicep.
"Easy there, darling," his cool, calm, collected voice boomed in my ear, so close it almost curled up and made a home in me. "What's a pretty girl like you doing on the floor?"
"Tripped," I said, hiccuping. I tried to press against his chest to put some distance between us. He loosened his grip on me, just marginally, though his hands remained on my waist.
"Do you need help?" His voice rang with deep, low surety, I couldn't help trusting him in this moment, even though a part of me knew not to. I had no idea who this guy even was, and honestly he sounded way too sober to be at a club with a bunch of drunk girls.
"Just need to find my friends," I said, swiveling my head, looking around the room, trying to spot the group of college friends I'd come here with. At some point, one by one, we'd started peeling off from the group, some drawn away by their boyfriends to make out in secluded booths, others picked off by hot strangers to also make out in dark corners. Eventually, without realizing it, after choking down one too many shots, I'd been left alone in the middle of the dance floor. But now all I wanted to do was go home, and I had to go and find the other girls and see who wanted to go home and split an Uber.
"I'll help you," he said, which sounded gentlemanly enough to me. I nodded, probably a bit too enthusiastically, like a bobblehead on a dashboard on a bumpy road, and moved to walk around the room.
Well, more like stumbled. The guy kept his hands on my waist, which I found a little bit claustrophobic especially since his grip was tight, as if he was possessive over me. But, maybe he was just trying to make sure I didn't fall again.
Except that, unfortunately, a bouncer chose to intercept us at that point, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring down at me.
"You need to leave. You're drunk past the limits of our club."
My cheeks burned with humiliation as I tried to register his words. They were kicking me out of the club? I wasn't even creating any drama, not screaming or yelling or anything. I tried desperately to look around for one of my friends, hoping they could come sort this out, but the people dancing around us were just dark shapes, looking unfamiliar to me.
"Come on." Without further preamble, the bouncer grabbed me by the arm and started pulling me towards the entrance. Oh my god, how my cheeks burned. I tried to protest, but all that came out was a garbled mess of words, a slurring incoherence that didn't help at all to plead my case that I wasn't that drunk.
Then, just as abruptly, the bouncer's hand was shoved off my arm--by the very same guy that was possessively hugging me around my waist.
"Chill, man. I've got her--will bring her out."
"But... my jacket--" I tried to get out, gesturing vaguely towards the coat room. Apparently nobody heard me though, because before I knew it, the dude and I were stumbling out into the cold street in the dead of night. The jarring, head-splitting noise of the club fell away past the entrance, replaced by more mellow but still constant chatter from pedestrians and traffic sounds.
"My jacket!" I cried out, more coherently this time. I must have been louder than I thought because my cries turned quite a few curious heads.
"You can get it tomorrow," the guy said, pulling his own jacket off his body and layering it over my shoulders. I looked down at myself, stunned to suddenly be cloaked in his warmth. It sat much too largely on my slight frame, hanging off me almost like a dress.
"Where do you live? I'll call you an Uber."
"That's not necessary," I said. So far the dude hadn't done anything wrong but I still didn't want a complete stranger to know where I lived--even if he was being helpful. "I can get home by myself."
He looked down at me doubtfully. "Don't think so, sweetheart. You look wrecked."
I bristled upon hearing him call me a 'sweetheart', and was just about to try to argue my case--
When, out of bloody freaking nowhere, I heaved and puked all around the ground. I narrowly just missed his shoes, and quite a few passers-by hissed as they jumped to avoid the splash zone.
Fuck, was I really that out of it?
I groaned, grabbing my head as my vision swam. My throat felt so ragged. I hadn't realized it, but while I'd been wretching, the guy had gathered my hair all up into a ponytail, sweeping it out of harm's way, keeping a soothing hand on the back of my neck until I was done. Then, he gently helped me back up to a standing position, letting me lean against him. My head now throbbing, I turned to look up at him a little sheepishly, "Okay, can you help call an Uber now?"
Fifteen minutes later, we piled into the back of an Uber. Though I hadn't wanted him to join me, he'd insisted, saying he'd feel better making sure I got home safely--taxi drivers couldn't always be trusted. I didn't really agree with that, considering that I had the Uber driver's contacts on my phone--or maybe he did, since he'd called it from his phone--, but I was too out of it by that point to argue. Feeling like a lead pipe, I let mystery dude situate me in the backseat of the Honda Civic, and then the world of downtown slipped by quietly in the night.
"I don't feel good," I whined, complaining pretty much like a drunk girl.
"Just rest." The guy pushed me gently, arranging me so that my head was leaning against the car door, my back lying across two-thirds of the backseat. In this position, it was all too easy to fall into a near sleep state, the car's movements lulling me into a false sense of safety.
"Okay," I said, giggling slightly as I felt him shift, lowering himself towards me as he shifted my legs over his shoulders. I tensed slightly. "What are you doing?" I whispered.
"Just making you feel better, princess," he said, as nonchalantly as if he was telling me the weather, even as he slipped the hem of my skirt up to my hips and dragged my hips up so he could slip my g-string off my legs. Weakly, I tried pushing his hands off me, even knowing in my drunk state that I was being taken advantage of, but he had the benefit of being sober--and a hundred pounds heavier than me.
