What is a wingman? In the gay world there really isn’t a need for such a thing. Guys are pretty good at going in for the kill without having an airbag.
It was a warm Friday night in Baltimore (remember I work down there), and my boss suggested we all go out for dinner. It was early evening and I was the only one that voted to stay at the office and order in. Long story short, we ended up at a restaurant. We all know that I like to get my drink on. Though I should come with the following warning:
**STOP** If more than 2 drinks inserted; do not provoke with fun!
My co-worker suggested we go dancing because I was practically dancing my ass out of the seat I was in. There was music coming from a dive across the street and I was ready to play. I’m very good about keeping my composure until I get that third drink in me. Once it hits me, all bets are off. We hit two bars and finally stopped at the third. It was a bar/dance club and a mix of straight kids in their 20’s.
Now, my boss said my co-worker needed a wingman. This was as I pounded drink number 5. I didn’t know what that meant, but I sure as hell was going to do it. So, I hit on girls, drank, danced, and flirted my way around the dance floor. Then I wanted shots! I forced a round on everyone and slammed another beer. I came to that special moment when you know you have to stop drinking. I ran to the bar and pushed right past the little voice in my head that was trying to inhibit my fun. A few more hours, and several beers, left me feeling pretty good. On the walk back to the car I was charged and ready to go back for more; at one point approaching a very large straight man to ask him if he crushed baby skulls to get his massive biceps. He wasn’t as amused as you would think, but come on, that’s funny shit.
Then the car ride, oh the car ride of doom. I-95 is a windy expressway that left my stomach in knots. I made it almost home before I yelled, “STOP!” I jumped from the car, leaving my dinner all over the side of the road. Feeling better I made it back to the house, again running for the toilet. I blacked out, somehow managing to get myself into bed. Waking halfway through the night I had to puke. It was coming so fast I only had time to turn my head, vomiting all over the floor. I passed out, waking in the morning with the headache from hell. Taking four aspirin and a sip of coke I made one final run for the toilet. I think that finally cleared the beer out of me.
Even though I felt like hell all day, it was so worth it. There’s nothing more fun than a night of harmless flirting with girls I won’t have to go home with, and guys that don’t want anything to do with me.